Clint Eastwood’s tete-a-tete with a chair at the Republican National Convention seems a distant memory now that the 2012 election is a wrap, but at BAFTA’s Brittania Awards in Los Angeles last night Daniel Day-Lewis sat invisible Obama down for an encore of sorts.  Gesturing to an empty chair of his own, Day-Lewis, who received the Stanley Kubrick Award for Excellence in Acting from his Lincoln director Stephen Spielberg, said:

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Damon Lindelof:

Drive is a vicious thrill of a film. The visceral kick of that hour and a half in the theater becomes aftershocks of insight during the drive home, the next morning’s coffee, and even a walk with the dog a week later. Beneath its slick skin of 80s-video glam and mob-flick bravado beats a slow, contemplative pulse. The film slyly acknowledges, and complicates, star Ryan Gosling’s status as the thinking woman’s sex symbol by presenting his character, a stunt driver who loans his services to L.A.’s underworld as a getaway guru, as the newest member of the fraternity of Men With No Names—or, more accurately, men who want to be The Man With No Name.