Films about motor racing are not exactly a rarity. For example, last year saw the release of F1: The Movie, with Brad Pitt and Javier Bardem in the leading roles. It is fair to say it did not unite opinion. The guy in The Guardian wrote: “There is a fair bit of macho silliness here, but the panache with which Joseph Kosinski [the director] puts it together is entertaining.” In contrast, The Times called it “the dumbest sports movie yet”. Of all sports? Hey, that is a low/high bar.
A recent poll of motor-racing films had a 1-2-3 that I would not argue with too much. First was Senna, Asif Kapadia’s extraordinary 2011 no-talking-heads documentary about the life and violent death of Ayrton Senna. Second was Rush, the 2013 Ron Howard film about the rivalry between James Hunt and Niki Lauda. Third, going back a whole 60 years, was John Frankenheimer’s classic, Grand Prix. I watched it through the other day. It definitely could not be retitled Back to the Future.
The story is essentially about the fight between four men seeking to become the Formula 1 world champion: Pete Aron (James Garner), Jean-Pierre Sarti (Yves Montand), Scott Stoddard (Brian Bedford) and Nino Barlini (Antonio Sabato). The action begins at the Monaco Grand Prix. The cinematography and soundtrack are spectacular. (The film won three Oscars for its technical aspects.) At one point, a car crashes into the harbour. That could never happen now, you will think, and I would think you’d be right. But look at the photo on the home page – that was the actual Monaco Grand Prix in 1966, with waterfront safety barriers notable only by their complete absence.
Amid the on-track action, there are love-interest angles involving all parties. The most entertaining, I think, is the one between Nino and Lisa, a striking young woman played by Francoise Hardy. (She died last year aged 80.) She is sat alone when Nino approaches her at a club and takes the beret off her head. “Dance?” he asks. “I don’t dance.” she replies.
“Have a drink with me?”
“I don’t drink.”
“Smoke?”
“I don’t smoke.”
“What do you do?”
The smouldering look with which she reponds to that is sensational.
Subsequent racing footage, as with that shot at Monaco, is stupendous. The terrifying splendour of Spa for the Belgian Grand Prix, hurtling through the dunelands at Zandvoort in the Netherlands, the vertiginous banking at Monza – all the while, in addition to admiring the work of Frankenheimer and his crew, there is the frightening reminder that this is how FI used to be, with potentially life-threatening peril lurking at every corner. Disregard the storyline for a moment. Even though this was not a point Frankenheimer could have contemplated making at the time, his film emphasizes how exceedingly dangerous the sport was for the drivers. Oh, and for the spectators.
The 2026 British Grand Prix at Silverstone yesterday was won by Charles Leclerc. In Grand Prix, the venue for that race was Brands Hatch in Kent, which doesn’t cut the mustard these days. But as re-watching this film forcefully drove home to me, things ain’t what they used to be.