In a year where films like Fast X (2023) and Gran Turismo (2023) showcase the cartoonish, videogame-like qualities of racing (or defying the laws of physics for the former film), one can forget how unbelievably dangerous a fast-moving metallic chariot can be to human senses. Michael Mann’s long-gestating project, Ferrari (2023), exhibits the intense kinetic energy between vehicle and asphalt and the volatile energy between Enzo Ferrari (Adam Driver) and his complicated relationships. Mann is no stranger when it comes to scrutinizing the complex tethers of his male leads to the women in their lives. Ferrari avoids the typical biopic trappings of a cradle-to-grave story and focuses on Ferrari in one of the most tumultuous years of his life (1957).
The late Troy Kennedy Martin’s screenplay pinpoints Ferrari at a time when his factory was drowning in debt and losing the market share of car sales to Ford and Maserati. The film opens with a driving test to push the speed capabilities of his Formula One racer to make his cars desirable, ultimately to compete in the 1957 Millie Miglia. Meanwhile, he is grieving the death of his only son, Dino, yet already harbors an offspring child with his mistress, Lina Lardi (Shailene Woodley). All of this is done behind closed doors, as he has to keep the peace with his current wife and business partner, Laura Ferrari (Penélope Cruz), a woman who feels disconnected, tossed aside, and must refrain from literally shooting her husband just to feel anything.
Indeed, Enzo’s life is in a constant state of flux and movement; like a race car barreling toward a wavy road, decisions can’t be made with uncertainty or doubt. Mann chronicles Enzo’s effort to construct the fastest car and craft the perfect public image of his cars and personal life, all while deciding how to embrace his newfound curated family while respecting the remnants of his old one. The film juggles so much that some aspects are shorthanded due to the quickened nature of the narrative. Lina and her son, Piero, feel they exist to offer Enzo a haven from the complicated turbulence of his life. Perhaps their cinematic treatment is meant to emulate how Enzo relegates them: hidden, quiet, and present when it’s convenient for the plot. Lina finds it difficult to be with a man who isn’t proud to show his son to the world. They exist in tandem with Enzo, not separately, which causes their scenes to feel mechanical. “How do we reconcile this?” asks Enzo to a distraught Lina. “I don’t know,” she responds. Sadly, the film never revisits this dilemma.
Adam Driver is a proven actor of immense range and magnitude. It would be easy to label this as a goofy interpretation of such a famous Italian. Yet, accent and all, Driver finds an interior sadness and steely callousness that demonstrates the formidable character Enzo has to be to navigate this period. There’s a caged perspective where all the walls seem to be confining his single-minded pursuit of a lasting legacy, and his cold demeanor affects those unfortunately tangled in his orbit.
Enzo doesn’t wear his emotions on his sleeves, even when he bears witness to accidental death and carnage. His loyalty doesn’t lie to his current wife or secret child but to the desire to win. Ultimately, Driver delivers an excellent performance of unwavering determination. He doesn’t relent to tragedy or weakness; his steadfast indifference to other peoples’ emotions keeps him distant and unaffected by failure, even when it’s blown up in his face.
The true engine of Mann’s elegantly composed and viscerally charged drama is Penelope Cruz’s impactful performance. Laura is not just grieving; she is dejected from a husband who openly cheats on her and has found a new son. Her sadness envelops her eyes while her frustrations surround her demeanor. All she has is ownership of the company—which Enzo hopes to take full control of to make decisions to work with other manufacturers—and the memories of a life that brought so much happiness and joy—all of which have been ripped away by the death of Dino. Cruz is extraordinary, conveying so much with forlorn looks that could pierce through the glistening metallic red sheen of the racing Ferraris.
As Enzo becomes consumed by his work and burgeoning new family, Laura is left to keep the scraps of a life that promised so much yet has infused her and Enzo with so much tragedy. In one explosive scene, Driver and Cruz go head-to-head as years of secrets and deeply hardboard emotions burst through the seams. Enzo may be detached from the reality of Laura’s world, but Cruz reminds us once again how much of a potent force of reckoning Laura can be. She may seem to be running on fumes, but every glance, dead-eye look, and word uttered is enough to stop even the most doggedly determined of men dead in their tracks.
It’s a testament to Mann’s natural direction that allows actors to deteriorate and chip away at each other, like the complicated interweb of marriages and relationships in his magnum opus, Heat (1995), or the butting heads of Al Pacino and Christopher Plummer in The Insider (1999). When characters become combative, no one is wrong; it’s just interconnected palpable forces colliding with each other and a reaction spurring into the universe. Every moment when Cruz and Driver share a scene, the passions reverberates off the screen.
Working alongside Oscar winner Erik Messerschmidt, the cinematography of the driving sequences is immersively violent. A lot of the framing is in close-ups of the driver’s faces or right behind their heads, as the road ahead becomes increasingly blurry and indiscernible. The intensity is compounded by how well the sound design is intermixed with the frame, keeping up with the unfathomable speed and backgrounds whipping past the frame, all while focusing on the drivers amidst the constant bumping and jittery movement. All of the technical achievements slowly culminate into one of genuine horror and macabre. The notion of kinetic energy translating to heavy mass and unrelenting force that can be inflicted on the human body is visualized in full, unmitigated glory; the climax demonstrates how the pulpy flesh that makes us up can be quickly decimated by just a single, unforeseeable mistake. It’s one of the most damning sequences in a Mann film and a grave reminder that seconds are the difference between life and death.
After the Millie Miliage race, the film suddenly ends, and it’s a resolution where nothing was seemingly built up to but instead placed to force an ending when so much is left to be explored. This year of Enzo’s life could not be entirely dramatized, yet the moment it ends is where the film truly could’ve soared. Instead, it opts to utilize on-screen text to provide closure for a man whose life is just beginning.
Sometimes, an ending can undo a tremendous amount of goodwill established in a compelling narrative, and sadly, the ending feels far more reductive, turning Enzo’s ark into a schmaltzy, unearned moment between him and Piero. Despite this rushed, forceful ending, one can’t help but smile at Mann bracing audiences with an assaultive film that transgresses the eyes and mind. While not perfect by the standards Mann has set for himself, it feels good to have Mann back in the driver’s seat as one of America’s most celebrated filmmakers, propelling an audience into a whirlwind of calamitous hardware and fragmented souls.
Review Courtesy of Amritpal Rai
Feature Image Credit to Neon via Vulture
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