It’s not just a big action biopic. That’s probably the first thing to get straight about Ferrari (2023), a film which could well just be a fairly straightforward story of making fast cars, racing fast cars and occasionally filling us on on the human drama unfolding nearby – always within reason, of course. Rather, Michael Mann’s take on the history of the legendary car manufacturer at a critical point in its timeline opts for an often oblique approach, a social and personal history which gradually comes together to tell a more orthodox story. It won’t be for everyone and petrolheads will probably feel cheated, but there’s a great deal to recommend this ambitious and complex narrative. Stick with it.
We start with a brief introduction to the legendary firm first established by Enzo and Laura Ferrari post-WWII, spliced with some newsreel-style footage – some contemporary, some edited to include lead actor Adam Driver as Enzo (one of the film’s only genuinely weak sequences, actually) racing his early vehicles. But then we skip ahead a decade; whether or not Enzo chooses to drive his respectable family car as if he’s still racing, he’s retired from the sport and his company is struggling (as were a lot of the other big names at the time). Essentially, whether or not Ferrari survives is down to its success in the racing world, which is presented to us as an oddly surreptitious pursuit, with messages being phoned in hither and yon, drivers arriving, drivers departing – there’s a lot going on. Enzo, now middle aged, is presented as a sullen, changeable soul, but gradually, we see sound reasons for this. He has been bereaved of his son, Alfredo, and he has a fractious relationship with his wife Laura (so, not the woman we see him waking up with at the start of the film. That’s his long term mistress, Lina). If the film makes one thing clear, as it gradually unfurls its various plot points and characters, it’s that we start our narrative in a place of turmoil – though maybe with some new beginnings, or else more and more irrevocable endings.
There’s certainly a new beginning on the cards for hopeful newcomer De Portago (Gabriel Leone), when an accident deprives Ferrari of one of his best vehicles and star drivers (there were no seatbelts then, which seems like one of the most bizarrely slow learning curves in human history). Ferrari needs him; he begins to see that, without racing glory, the factory will soon be finished. Laura also owns half the firm, and she’s less and less in the mood for compromise.
Whilst there are, naturally, some high-octane racing scenes as inevitably pushed forward by the trailer, and there is a bit of car lingo for car people (this reviewer is perfectly happy to drive a car with only a notional idea of how they work), this isn’t The Fast and the Furious with a period setting. Ferrari is a very careful, low key film for the most part, creating engaging characters who are clearly flawed without this being spelled out for us in simplistic terms. The way in which the film opens almost in medias res, with the audience playing catch-up to determine what is actually going on, works very well; it captures the chaotic, rather desperate state Ferrari was in at the end of the 1950s. And if Enzo himself is often unknowable – to us, and to people in his life – then his counterbalance is the mesmerising Penelope Cruz as Laura, in what must be one of her best performances. Laura is a parade of explosive or suppressed emotions by turns, alert to every slight and secret as only a deeply hurt woman could be, a fierce custodian of her own dignity. She dominates every scene she’s in, a deeply sympathetic character who can communicate just as much with a smile fading into tears as she can with her note-perfect takedowns.
There are a lot of other ways in which Ferrari creates depth and complexity, one of which is in its completely plausible frame. A film needs some serious budget to really – really – do a period setting, something which I wish even the most ambitious indie filmmakers could appreciate, as it’s fertile terrain to just trash the entire premise. Here, the post-War Italy created on film is very convincing, looks wonderful and is – aside from that opening newsreel sequence – fully consistent. Mann and writers Troy Kennedy Martin and Brock Yates play around with humour, too, which feels welcome, and often comes at the expense of religion, or at least is linked with religion (such as the men timing racing laps during Mass; the priest who avers that, had Jesus been born in 20th Century Modena, he would have made cars). But as part of a picture of a modernising, but struggling Italy, of course the Church is important. This is a country dreaming of carving its own path, of being self sufficient – hence Ferrari’s reluctance to take outsider backing, American money, to keep his factory running. It was a risky kind of pride, given Italy’s economic state at the time. Necessity is the mother of invention here, but accompanied by very human stories of loss, jealousy and desperation.
All of this elevates the races themselves, as we see how much is riding on them: Enzo develops a kind of monomania, but not out of nowhere, and the film explores this confidently. Ferrari does feature, without question, some phenomenal race scenes, though doled out carefully – thanks God, because much more of that balletic carnage would have shredded the nerves (and incidentally, the film makes good use of opera, too, either by including operatic music and performances, or by itself turning into a bit of an opera. It makes sense). Some of the accented English spoken in the film – whilst the decision is appreciable – can make the dialogue difficult to parse at times, but it’s not a continual concern. This is overall an impressive, sensitive, unorthodox exploration of the Ferrari story, and its decisions pay off.
Ferrari (2023) is in cinemas now.