F1: The Off-Balance Review.
Fast cars, predictable finish.
Broadly, it must be said, F1 delivers on its baseline promise: that being, the type of raw action spectacle perfectly attuned to the cinema-first experience so decried as being MIA.
And by design, no less.
Be it in following the racing film mold or with both former Top Gun: Maverick collaborators, in director Joseph Kosinski and screenwriter Ehren Kruger, at the helm.
The aim then, transparent though it may be, cut-and-dry.
Taking what is, in essence, a Formula One sizzle reel and repurposing it as needed. Swapping out fighter jets for race cars, with all the product placement-drenched, corporate-first backing the production can muster.
But once the smoke clears, the pits empty and the crowds disperse?
It is clear that F1 is caught between other, competing instincts it simply can’t escape. Making it, while an adrenaline-heavy trek around the track in some respects, a noticeably conflicting, deeply predictable and lesser one in others.
Thirty years ago, Sonny Hayes (Brad Pitt) was a promising up-and-comer on the Formula One circuit.
Reckless yes but undeniably skilled.
But after a horrific on-track accident saw him barely escape with his life, Sonny has spent much of the intervening decades as little more than a racer-for-hire, as he moves from tracks and teams with little consistency. Living hard and gambling through his winnings quicker than he can cash them.
Though when his old friend Ruben (Javier Bardem), now the owner of the (fictional) APX F1 team re-emerges, he comes with an offer he knows Sonny can’t refuse.
APX is struggling through their season and Ruben needs a driver to temper his number one, talented but arrogant rookie Joshua Pearce (Damon Idris), before the team goes under.
So as Sonny signs on, alongside Pearce, lead designer Kate (Kerry Condon) and the rest of the APX team, he insists, against convention, on doing things his own way.
Success or bust, no matter the cost.
Where F1 shines brightest, is, as expected, in its racing sequences and in a GQ piece promoting the film that ran in late May, it was to see a potion of that curtain pulled back.
Kosinski, taking every lesson learned previously and once more, pushing the envelope.
Filming, taking place on-location, during both the 2023 and 2024 racing seasons, F1 superstar Lewis Hamilton being brought on as a consulting producer (he also appears briefly, as do many of his F1 peers) and whenever they were able, having Pitt and Idris actually behind the wheel.
The cinematography-editing tandem (Claudio Miranda and Stephen Mirrione, respectively), the audio design, the tightly-scripted set-pieces.
The speciality-built Formula 2-style cars made with the full technical backing of Mercedes’ engineers (for both filming and track function), Apple, developing one-of-a-kind cameras in an effort to capture that in-car verisimilitude like racing films prior never quite could or the over-arching, broader commitment to practically that never once wavers (inevitable CGI touchups notwithstanding).
All-in-all, it builds towards what is, undeniably, an in-cinema experience that will put people in seats.
But once off the track, F1 simply can’t keep up.
Right from the jump, it is evident the film is following the action-first playbook to a tee: the grizzled but wise veteran, the cocksure youngster, the can’t-keep-her-down love interest, etc, etc.
And on its own terms, sure, maybe it would land with a degree of expected but comfortable familiarity.
Yet another but mostly inoffensive case of the supersized Hollywood machine eating its own tail, if not without a measure of begrudging but understood cause (in wanting to keep a sliver of the, as-reported, 200-300 million dollar plus budget in check).
But knowing Kosinski and Kruger’s direct involvement, it almost immediately robs F1 of anything, either way, that could resemble storytelling integrity.
Actively recycling not just genre standard but so much of their fundamental work on Maverick and running it back.
And Maverick worked, in spite of itself in that respect, if only because it had an honesty F1 doesn’t.
The individual arcs, the character dynamics, pushing-and-pulling, the narrative structure that propels everything forward. There are no surprises here, no active conflicts, no attempt to challenge the viewer in any legitimate way, in two-plus hours of formulaic grandstanding.
Forget eating its own tail, please, cue the proverbial snake, serving itself with a kerosene drizzle.
Procedural, overtly corporate and lacking, any character to call truly, its own, to its repeated deterrent.
Elsewhere, to a more positive result, while the story they’re working with may be trapping them in tropes, the film’s performers do what they can to inject some spark, even just in filling the shoes of stock roles.
Idris believably sells Pearce’s self-centred attitude, thinking himself about any sort of growth or criticism before slowly coming to realize that Sonny may have a thing or two to teach him after all, even if he never really loses his edge. Maturing yes but not being totally humbled, which is an appreciated diversion from the norm (one of the few instances of the film, to its credit, doing so).
Condon is a strong presence, considering but has no opportunities to showcase her character’s individualism beyond whatever can be used to further Sonny’s arc, twice over, with Bardem’s Ruben which is greatly disappointing but not wholly surprising.
For at the centre of the entire enterprise, is Pitt.
He plays Sonny exactly as one would probably expect, in his usual style. Suave and effortless, though with a weathered, hard-won experience. Battle-scarred, befitting his decades behind the wheel, particularly in how it plays out in his back-and-forth dynamic with Idris.
And though it works well enough, in many ways, watching the film, it is a reminder that no art exists in a vacuum.
Tied, intrinsically, to those who bring it to life.
Easy as it would be, to simply kick back and take in this half-hearted Maverick do-over for all its attempted worth, Pitt, for many, rightfully, will be tethered to the allegations which continue to surround him following his divorce from Angelina Jolie. Specifically, an incident aboard a private plane in 2016, including accusations of abuse against Jolie and their children.
Sure, it isn’t as though he has keep things on the down-low in the last decade because of that per se: be it winning an Oscar for his role in Once Upon a Time in Hollywood or leading strong ensembles in high-wire but ultimately scattered projects (Bullet Train, Babylon) but more so than those previous efforts, to see Pitt on his F1 press tour, talking about his time in AA or presenting his long-established cool front with a little more urgency, read as it will, it seems as though he wants to cut, print and move on.
Of course, nothing is that simple or should it be, much as he and his PR team may wish otherwise.
Both
of and of wrote great pieces on Pitt that ran earlier this month (here and here, respectively), albeit, from their own unique perspectives. Each, examining and tackling the complex place Pitt, alongside some of his contemporaries, continues to occupy in the filmmaking and larger cultural space, via that slice of his public profile.He isn’t the first movie star, athlete, man of low character no, nor, maddeningly, will he be the last. And it is understood that trying to parse that image in the face of a film that will surely, either way, pull in billions, though seemingly indifferent, it is a critical exercise all the same.
To be a filmmaker, a critic, a moviegoer one-to-one, whilst still being disgusted, horrified, by Pitt’s actions as described on record.
To consume, to create, it is to examine, to challenge, to critique, both within external application and personally. Plain acceptance, to serve nothing but stagnation. Easy? No. Worthwhile? Undoubtedly, even if the results are not felt in a way that prizes immediate gratification but instead, something else entirely.
But front-to-back, all tanks full, beyond its most front-facing swings, F1 just doesn’t have the gas.
Playing it too safe and too easy, to what is, ultimately, far too forgettable an effort.