F1 producer Jerry Bruckheimer made his name in the ‘80s by guiding very ‘80s films (Flashdance, Beverly Hills Cop, Top Gun) to box office glory. One could say that Bruckheimer has been making ‘80s films ever since, decade be damned. His ledger is full of glossy entertainment like The Rock, Armageddon, and Bad Boys. His most recent successes have seen him turn to the past with Top Gun: Maverick and Beverly Hills Cop: Axel F. But as I mentioned, Bruckheimer has never really left the past when it comes to making blockbuster films. F1 is no exception.
Early on in the movie, you hear two needle drops that speak to his “greed decade” obsession, Ratt’s “Round and Round,” and Billy Squier’s “The Stroke”—choices so obvious and out of date that they almost seem like self-parody. For F1, Bruckheimer brings back Maverick director Joseph Kosinski, a skilled technician who often makes emotionally inert films (see Tron: Legacy or Oblivion). Maverick did break this trend to a degree with the relationship between Tom Cruise’s title character and Val Kilmer’s Iceman, but the second Top Gun movie had the advantage of nostalgia on its side.
That’s not the case for Kosinski’s take on Formula One racing, and without a precursor to fill in those blanks, the director’s worst instincts are back on display. It feels strange to say that F1 is simultaneously too fast and too fatuous, but it is. Too fast in the sense that even off the racetrack, the movie runs through its interpersonal scenes with far too much alacrity.
A key example is the relationship between veteran driver Sonny Hayes (an ever-golden Brad Pitt), with a checkered past, and the rookie driver (Damson Idris) he’s been brought in to race with and mentor by embattled car owner and old friend Ruben (Javier Bardem). Idris’s Joshua is talented, but egotistical and unaccomplished, while Sonny is a phenom who flamed out and isn’t lacking in ego himself. Of course, their relationship is immediately contentious. The trouble is, Kosinski never lets you sit with their friction for long, so there’s no sense that their dislike for each other comes from a real place. Furthermore, when Sonny extends Joshua an olive branch by telling him he’s a very good driver who could be great, we have no idea why, because Kosinski has spent so little time in Joshua’s car that we don’t see what Sonny sees. We just have to take his word for it. Pitt sells it well, but up to that point, we haven’t seen a single flash of greatness from his teammate. I understand why Kosinski is in such a rush to get back to the high wire of the track where his camera flourishes, but there’s no sense that Kosinski has any interest in building relationships between his characters.
Oh, and the fatuous part? There is absolutely no reason why this film needed to be 155 minutes long, other than to pack in some more formulaic clichés.
While I’m glad that terrific actors like Bardem, Tobias Menzies, and the luminous Kerry Condon are on hand to receive the sizable paychecks that come with being main supporting players in a blockbuster budgeted film, they are largely wasted in the service of rushing to the vroom vroom.
All of this hustle and flow speaks to Kosinski’s desire to entertain, while the running time is nothing more than length masquerading as gravitas. That’s why Bruckheimer and Kosinski are so fortunate to have Brad Pitt, the best-looking sexagenarian on the planet. Pitt’s very presence holds up a film with a weak foundation despite all the fast car fireworks on display. That’s not to say that Pitt is asked to do a lot while playing Sonny Hayes, but being Brad Pitt is just enough. In an era where we are told that movie stars no longer matter, he, Cruise, and Denzel Washington are slow-walking their way down the dodo bird’s path. F1 needs a movie star, and they hired the right one.
Kosinski makes multiple efforts to make us feel the danger of racecar driving. Too many efforts. Recent films like Michael Mann’s Ferrari and James Mangold’s Ford v. Ferrari were more successful due to the restraint employed by those two filmmakers, who limited the number of car wrecks on display. As a result, when carnage is shown on the track, it lands with a far more devastating punch.
That being said, F1 succeeds almost in spite of itself. Pitt’s star power aside, when the movie reaches its inevitable big race climax, Kosinski really delivers the goods. The final sequence of these high-speed death traps roaring around the track is exhilarating in both its cinematography and, most importantly, in its visceral impact. At one point on the final lap, when Bardem’s driver (no fair saying which one) is hurtling towards the finish line, a member of his racing crew asks, “What is he doing?” Bardem’s beleaguered car owner looks at the track with a perfect sense of awe and replies, “He’s flying,” and I’ll be damned if you don’t feel the glide. I’ve seen more scenes of the driver’s eye view down a blacktop than I can count, but in that moment, you know precisely what Bardem means. All of Kosinski’s prodigious filmmaking skill comes to the fore in a way that is both muscular and elegant, creating a slice of cinematic heaven. And boy, did he ever do it just in time.
Pitt held the film up, and Kosinski finally got out of his own way; then the crowd went wild, both on screen and in the packed theater where I was sitting. Sometimes, the formula works. I guess that’s why they keep repeating it.
F1 can be seen now, only in theaters
