F1 Review: Brad Pitt-Led Motor-Racing Drama Low On Fuel

The supposed second innings of a race-car driver forms the center of F1. Director Joseph Kosinski is formidable at drumming up feverish excitement and anticipation. We’ve already encountered the buzz, glitziness and charge in his Tom Cruise-starrer Top Gun: Maverick (2022). Now, F1 drops us from air-borne hot pursuit to speeding, sleek cars. The intent stays pretty much the same. We are asked to surrender to a frenetic, spirited chase, darting through extreme risk. The thrill stems from believing against all odds that the characters will get to the finish line, unscathed. Both Cruise and Brad Pitt, F1’s star, share a kind of indefatigable physicality. Frequently, the fact that their characters might be straining and fully spent, sits at odds with their real-life mythic superstardom.

They carry a halo of sorts. While Cruise in Top Gun: Maverick found a sweet spot between action and a bittersweet, emotional full-circle, Pitt is too stuck in F1’s generic, bland fare to soar. The actor remains opaque, curiously cut off from any access. In a similar spirit to Top Gun: Maverick, there’s a passing of the baton from the old guard to the new, an implicit vow to take forward a remarkable, inspiring legacy. While that film landed smoothly, F1 lacks the dizzying glorious high of striding through a victory lap. What creeps in rather is derivativeness, a tired riff on a superstar hanging up his boots.

With no insight into Sonny's (Pitt) inner life, demons he seems to have exorcised, it’s a character hanging in the dark. He was on his way to grab a world championship in the 90s when a crash broke off his career. What ensued was a string of divorces and terrible gambling stints. F1 is his story of landing a second chance, the revival that seemed a too-distant dream. Now, he lives in a van and does a slew of odd gigs. Kosinski packs in all the archetypal beats. When his old friend and former teammate Ruben (Javier Bardem in fine form as the best kind of rallying friend) seeks his help out in saving his Formula 1 team, Sonny baulks at accepting. The bid is to be the second driver to the rookie, Joshua (Damson Idris, cheeky and sporting in suave measure). Ruben assures Joshua is phenomenal but lacks maturity. He needs someone like Sonny to show him the ropes, think out tactical approaches.

Yes, there’s the initial wave of doubt and skepticism Sonny is struck with. He tries to turn down Ruben’s proposal. But he honors good old friends, realizing the desperation in his request. The promise of a fancy pay cheque is too hard to resist. Plus, he might score another shot at the trophy. Throughout the film, Sonny keeps turning to a picture with his dad and a stack of cards close by. They anchor him, propel him.

That’s roughly the depth of characterization we’re offered. Sonny is an eternal wanderer, not tied to any place. Once he has his fill of the game, he will move elsewhere.

Sonny’s extra edge is his recklessness. He doesn’t always play straight. Rather, he leads rivals through trickery and false starts. He courts danger happily, if it gives him a leg up in the game. A lone wolf, he doesn’t subscribe to groupthink. It’s his eventual team that nudges him to be more considerate. Ruben and the technical director, Kate (Kerry Condon, mostly wasted but does bring some pizzazz), insists Sonny be open, see Joshua as someone to work alongside.

Pitt and Idris’ sparring lends the film an appearance of smarts and dazzle greater than it actually has. The former brings a cool, devil-may-care nonchalance; the latter tapping brash exhibition. Joshua gets a kick from playing to the gallery, doing the social media game. He’s ready to do whatever it takes to keep his spot secure. Sonny couldn’t care less. He’s purely in it for the love of the sport. Having burnt his hand already decades ago, he’s seen up close the iterations of Joshua’s want to prove himself.

To watch Sonny and Joshua chafe, grow towards mutual understanding is one of the film’s key pleasures. These are charismatic actors who can make amateurish material come thrillingly alive. We follow them over each globe-hopping Grand Prix.

However, individually, the duo doesn’t register as sharply. Kosinski also takes for granted that we know the lay of the land. There's no additional dispensation of the lingo or how the matches work. Kosinski operates from an assumption that we know everything. But this principle is also peculiarly offset by Ehren Kruger’s dialogues, which crank up banalities. Announcers do most of the heavy-lifting, spelling out the obvious. To presage concerns that finer details might hurtle past the lay viewer, Kosinski ensures stakes are listed out.

His primary commitment here is doling out visceral thrill. On that count, F1 delivers in spades. Re-teaming with Director of Photography Claudio Miranda and composer Hans Zimmer after Top Gun: Maverick, Kosinski’s craftsmanship—when in perfect synchrony—leaves viewers reeling. Stephen Mirrione’s electrifying cross-cutting turns the film punchy and operatic. High-speed pursuits in F1 are laced with dynamism and dramatic vigor. The camera whizzes faster, the cutting more delirious than we can keep up. When Kosinski gets the momentum blazing, F1 acquires an unmatched energy. As drivers swerve off steep, deadly turns and collisions, the film aces breathless popcorn entertainment.

But sheer thrill isn't self-sustaining. Characters with clearly etched conflicts and arcs must exist. This film falls easy prey to broad-strokes and sketchy writing. When characters feel so slight, any rising drama lasts as brief sensations. Kosinski is too busy chasing the heat of a moment to ground the story with particular, rounded conviction. The larger Formula 1 world—spaces beyond anxieties of rookie techies handling swift tire changes—never feels credible. F1 kicks off only sporadically, when Sonny is about to unleash chaos and flaunt his legendary unpredictability. But the rest of it is a blur. It's all glossy and bewilderingly impersonal.