The “man of genius” narrative is catnip for male auteurs, who often seem to be crafting stealth autobiographies by paying tribute to brilliant risk-takers. Yet Michael Mann’s portrait of Enzo Ferrari never fawns in its portrayal of the legendary automotive entrepreneur or of the literal and emotional devastation he often left in his wake.
The screenplay for Ferrari — by the late Troy Kennedy Martin, based on Brock Yates’ biography — wisely focuses on a pinpoint in the automaker’s life: 1957, which it presents as a tumultuous year for Enzo (Adam Driver), his company, his racing team, and his personal relationships. The film appears to be worshipful at first, with Enzo waking up before everyone else in the household, rolling his car to the end of the driveway to start the engine away from his sleeping loved ones, as Daniel Pemberton’s score swaddles him in a hagiographic string section.
But it’s a bait-and-switch: the home Enzo departs is the one he shares with his mistress Lina (Shailene Woodley), who is raising their son Piero. And the reason Enzo has to leave so early is his standing arrangement with his wife Laura (Penélope Cruz), who doesn’t care where he sleeps so long as he comes home before the maid brings in the coffee. Laura is Enzo’s full partner in the company, handling the books and even carrying a gun when she transports the factory payroll in her handbag. And she’s still deeply mourning the loss of their son, who died of kidney failure one year earlier.
Enzo is no less grief-stricken, and the death of his and Laura’s son makes him all the more determined that she never learn about the existence of Piero, even though seemingly everyone else in the town of Modena is aware of his existence. Amid this personal turmoil, Ferrari, facing fiscal ruin, begins the process of negotiating with Ford or Fiat to buy the company, which would give him the financial security to continue racing. (This aspect of the story will be familiar to fans of Ford v. Ferrari.) With Ferrari and rival Maserati seeking outside funding to stay afloat, both companies become all the more determined to win the grueling Mille Miglia race, since victories on the track mean more sportscars sold to the general public.
That race involves a number of personalities behind the wheel, from veteran Piero Taruffi (Patrick Dempsey) to aristocrat Alfonso de Portago (Gabriel Leone). Auto-racing historians will be aware that the 1957 Mille Miglia ended in tragedy, and Mann’s camera does not spare viewers the horror of this accident, which ended the lives of two drivers and nearly a dozen bystanders, including five children. It’s a tragedy that underscores an earlier scene in which the drivers, like soldiers headed for battle, write letters to their wives and girlfriends, just in case they don’t survive.
It’s difficult not to think about the many Italian or Italian-American actors whom Mann might have cast as his leads, although Driver and Cruz make the most of the assignment. (Woodley comes off as something of a blank, which is at least partially the fault of the script.) Driver’s Italian vowels are less overstated here than in the ridiculous House of Gucci, and he carries himself more effectively as a continental titan of industry than either Jeremy Irons or Al Pacino did in that earlier film.
Cruz goes full Anna Magnani here, her smoky eyes both shrouded in grief and blazing with fury over Enzo’s personal and corporate betrayals. (Unlike the usual great-man biopic, Ferrari gives us a wife whose rage at her husband is justified and whose evaluation of his shortcomings is dead-on.)
For real-life racer Dempsey, the chance to put pedal to the metal in these vintage vehicles was probably enough to get him to sign on, but he brings a real gravitas to his role as a veteran of the sport. For someone who began his career as a teen idol, he has grown into an elder cinematic statesman in the best way, sporting impressive waves of silver hair and the imposing visage of a man who’s seen and experienced a great deal, even as he keeps that knowledge locked inside. It’s a relatively small role, but whenever the camera is on Dempsey, he dominates the proceedings.
Editor Pietro Scalia very capably weaves together Enzo’s various conflicts, and he and cinematographer Erik Messerschmidt make the auto-racing segments thrilling without being too showy. The way Ferrari and the recent Gran Turismo handle such sequences makes for a fascinating study in contrasts: Gran Turismo, like the simulation game that inspired it, wants to put audiences in the driver’s seat, while Ferrari adopts a POV around and between the cars that’s thrilling in its understanding of the aesthetics of these powerful machines, their beauty and danger enticing drivers in equal shares.
Awash in lush period design and car-porn for automotive festishists, Ferrari emerges as that rarest of films: the complex, complicated biopic. Like his subject, Mann appreciates beauty and power while never forgetting that beauty can wither and power can destroy; within that matrix of messy contradictions, he creates haunting drama.
Director: Michael Mann
Screenwriters: Troy Kennedy Martin, based on “Enzo Ferrari: The Man and the Machine” by Brock Yates
Cast: Adam Driver, Penélope Cruz, Shailene Woodley, Patrick Dempsey, Jack O’Connell, Sarah Gadon, Gabriel Leone
Producers: Monika Bacardi, Thomas Hayslip, Andrea Iervolino, John Lesher, Michael Mann, Laura Rister, Thorsten Schumacher, Lars Sylvest, P.J. van Sandwijk, Gareth West
Executive producers: Mohammed Al Turki, D.C. Cassidy, Miki Emmrich, Michael Fisk, Artur Galstian, Wei Han, Neill Hughes, Niels Juul, Qi Lin, Conor Molony, Udaya Sharma, David Thomas Tao, Vahan Yepremyan
Director of photography: Erik Messerschmidt
Production design: Maria Djurkovic
Costume design: Massimo Cantini Parrini
Editing: Pietro Scalia
Music: Daniel Pemberton
Sound: Bernard Weiser, supervising sound editor
Production companies: STX Entertainment
In English and Italian
130 minutes
