F1: THE MOVIE. All (well, most) of my constant pearl-clutching, tooth-gnashing lamentation at the state of American cinema comes from a place of love. I’m a generational relic, but surely not alone in experiencing many of my transcendent moments and epiphanic revelations while knelt at the altar.
This abiding affection is tempered by reticence and occasional contempt at the ever-increasing corporate whoring out of what I hold up as the greatest medium we as a species have yet devised to represent our collective urge toward self-expression and undying love of spectacle. Movies are so much larger than any of us, but they are as much the work of hands and hearts and minds as anything we’ve produced. I’m not sure I believe they can change the world anymore, but I know and believe that they have, because I have experiential evidence. The sense of discovery and possibility borne of seeing movies — some great, most not, all important — has, in my life, been unrivaled. Art is the wellspring, and cinema combines and celebrates art of all media more holistically, more inclusively than any other known form of expression.
I’m repeating myself, but I know it and I’m grateful, because I have had occasion, in these recent dark years that may well signal the end of our tenancy on the planet, to celebrate rediscovered joy in movies that, because of and in spite of their outmoded, outsized Hollywood bona fides, have inspired more than a little of the exhilaration, uncertainty and joyfulness (innocence?) that defined the early days of our relationship.
I’ve seen almost every Joseph Kosinski movie, despite IMDb listing his height at 6 feet 4 inches (I distrust the talls, even though I count a few as intimates). I didn’t watch Tron: Legacy (2010), because I have no connection to the source material and may have been (was) foolish and a little discriminatory at the time. But he arrived in Movieland seemingly fully vested, a maker of blockbusters and handler of stars the likes of which the industry hasn’t really seen in decades. A dinosaur with laser-blood, Kosinski has, in a continuing act of entertainment magicks, allied himself with stars and producers of bygone eras to advance what we all could rightfully have pronounced a dead medium: the artful blockbuster.
We might all think of his output as crass and commercial, which to an extent it obviously is, but he is also one of a select few who can, within the ever-narrowing lane of widespread appreciation and approval, render large-scale, spectacular stories as earnest, uncynical celebrations of skill, craft and endurance. And F1, despite every capitalistic, potentially nasty thing about it, raises the bar yet again.
While motorsport, with its conspicuous consumption, egoism and courting of death, is perhaps an arcane, even barbaric pursuit, I’ve always been fascinated. I don’t have the gene, the need to compete and excel that breeds exceptional racing drivers. Nor am I ever going to find myself in a conflict because of my allegiance to a team or driver. But racing, even at its tamest margins, is an electrifying, frustrating, community-building form of human expression that can, like cinema, free us and bring us together and make us feel alive.
Formula One has maybe always been a problematic, entitled, prejudicial branch of motorsport; it is, after all, the fastest, most dangerous, most advanced form of racing (competition?) we have. It’s a waste of money for the billionaire elite and probably emblematic of the hubris that will end our species, but it’s also impossible and fascinating. And now, with the apparent full cooperation of the FIA (the primary sanctioning body of international motorsport), Kosinski has put Brad Pitt in the seat of a racecar and made maybe the best racing movie yet.
Sonny Hayes (Pitt), a ’90s phenom whose career was derailed by a horrific crash, has spent the intervening decades in whatever racing seat he can find from Daytona to Baja. His one-time teammate and perennial rival Ruben (Javier Bardem) has enjoyed greater success. Now an F1 team owner, he faces an ouster from his corporate board based on the low performance of his cars. He taps Sonny to reenter the fray and help guide his talented lead driver Joshua Pearce (Damson Idris) to something better than last position on the grid.
This may be the most perfect vehicle of Pitt’s career, with his taciturn, beautiful face and inimitable charm ideally suited to a racing driver who refuses to be counted out. And Kosinski, with director of photography Claudio Miranda, has found unparalleled ways to put us in the racecar.
I’m still awaiting the commentary of Charlotte Hamilton, the F1 correspondent with whom I attended this screening, but she has informed me she approves. PG13. 156M. BROADWAY.
John J. Bennett (he/him) is a movie nerd who loves a good car chase.
NOW PLAYING
28 YEARS LATER. The rage virus saga continues with an island holdout of survivors. Nobody let RFK Jr. see this. R. 115M. BROADWAY, MINOR.
ELIO. An imaginative kid finds himself representing Earth to the rest of the universe. Honestly, far better than who we have representing America to the world. PG. 99M. BROADWAY.
HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON. Live-action remake starring Mason Thames, Gerard Butler and Nico Parker. PG. 125M. BROADWAY (3D), MINOR.
JURASSIC WORLD: REBIRTH. Scarlett Johansson, Jonathan Bailey and Mahershala Ali join the franchise as a team in search of lifesaving dino DNA. PG13. 134M. BROADWAY, MINOR.
LILO AND STITCH. Live-action remake of the space alien adventure in Hawaii. PG. 108M. BROADWAY.
M3GAN 2.0. The return of the homicidal robot frenemy. PG13. 119M. BROADWAY.
For showtimes call: Broadway Cinema (707) 443-3456; Mill Creek Cinema 839-3456; Minor Theatre (707) 822-3456.
This article appears in A Place to Stop and Rest.