Director: Michael Mann
Writers: Troy Kennedy Martin and Brock Yates
Stars: Adam Driver, Penélope Cruz, Shailene Woodley
Synopsis: Set in the summer of 1957, with Enzo Ferrari’s auto empire in crisis, the ex-racer turned entrepreneur pushes himself and his drivers to the edge as they launch into the Mille Miglia, a treacherous 1,000-mile race across Italy.
There reaches a point in Michael Mann’s Ferrari in which Enzo (Adam Driver) is bringing his son, born out of wedlock, Piero, into the science of making race cars. When Piero emphasizes a desire to get behind the wheel of such a death trap, Enzo shifts gears. He points out all that he is looking at in the blueprints of a particular engine, and utters a phrase that, when examined through the lens of Mann’s oeuvre, becomes a statement both utterly fascinating and a deep falsity. “The better something works, the better it looks to people.”
Now, as viewers and admirers of Mann’s cinematic work, this is fundamentally true. With Thief, Frank (James Caan) methodically cracking open a safe over the course of a night takes on an operatic impact. Seeing Vincent (Tom Cruise) in Collateral track around Los Angeles as a hit man plays out in our minds like a horror film. Miami Vice, one of the coolest movies ever made, works because we wholly believe Crockett (Colin Farrell) and Tubbs (Jamie Foxx) will get the job done under any circumstances. In other words, Mann’s characters are consummate professionals. They’re often experts, speaking in jargon specific to their respective fields that the audience may be one step behind on. Even still, we inherently find ourselves drawn to their dedication, regardless of which side of the law they fall on; it’s what makes a movie like Mann’s Heat one of the all-time greats. But we must also remember, these characters exist beyond the simple scope of a movie. What makes Mann’s work special is how they also operate as fundamental ruminations on life. With Ferrari, which he has been trying to make for more than two decades, that statement feels more like a thesis statement for why his characters are so inherently compelling. But on the flip side, Mann’s characters are also proof that this thesis statement is fundamentally false.
The film, while only looking into a specific 3-month period of Enzo Ferrari’s life, does a pretty great job at succinctly portraying the complex qualities of the man at the center of it all. Set during the late 1950’s, we see a struggling Enzo dealing with his company teetering on the edge of insolvency. The cars look unbelievable, and they run like dazzling machines. Each car is built by hand, and while they sell quantities well under the industry standard, it’s due to the strict quality requirements Enzo uses as a guideline. And by the way the man carries himself, it’s clear he values these qualities in aspects beyond that of just his business. He runs his days like a well-oiled machine, making sure to stop at the same barbershop every morning for a shape-up, before visiting the tomb of his 24-year-old son, Alfredo Ferrari. Even so, one key element of Enzo’s life is made clear fairly early on: he is a man of isolation. While his cars may dazzle onlookers on the street, he gives off a cold aura at nearly every moment. He is a man who has broken himself off from the world to remove any semblance of a distraction. One would be remiss to not mention Neil MacCauley’s similar sounding ideology in Heat, but Enzo feels far more like a haunted figure than that of Neil. It seems like even if Enzo does believe his own statement of looking better to others if he works better or harder, he’d push them away all the same.
To be a central figure in a Mann film is to thread the needle between just existing and truly living. At the point at which we meet Enzo, he seems to be leaning a bit far into the former of merely going through the rigorously set motions he has created for himself. With that, there are moments of clarity and raw emotion to be mined from such a fascinating character. And lucky for us, Mann has found one of the greatest actors currently working to channel this complex range.
In the titular role, Driver is extraordinary. It’s a performance that perfectly understands what makes any Mann character so compelling. Much of Ferrari is hyper-focused on the interiority behind the sunglasses and signature suits, and there are countless sequences where Driver’s face swallows up nearly the entire frame. To even attempt to read into his mindset at any given moment feels as if it’s for naught, but we, as viewers, clamor to do so anyway. And this extends beyond the titular performance of the film. Playing Ferrari’s estranged wife Laura (Penélope Cruz) would seem to be no easy feat. The relationship between the two is incredibly complex, but Mann’s film is able to distill it all into a short window. While Mann’s films have justifiably been criticized for a lack of strong female characterization, it presents an interesting challenge for the actresses he has worked with. Cruz, in a painfully, yet highly effective, reserved role, serves as what amounts to a specter floating through the film. She is haunted by all those around her. In reality, she was somewhat unjustly maligned in the media at the time for simply being a woman responsible for the finances of a car company. Ferrari, in an admittedly limited way, at least attempts to right some of these wrongs. As we witness Laura slowly uncovering her husband’s hidden life, it allows us to understand the man a bit more. But there’s still so much buried away, making his relationship with each character ripe for examination. With each one-on-one conversation comes the hope of a bit more understanding. Yet for all the strong character work that is present in this film, in some ways, the titular vehicle is what matters most in this film. The cars which Enzo has devoted seemingly everything to take center stage for him, and it feels as if Mann understands this commitment wholeheartedly.
While Mann’s films are always deeply interested in their characters, the worlds they inhabit also receive an equal share of passion. That brings us to the cars themselves, machines which Mann has referred to as “savage.” And in many ways, that’s about as apt as one could put it. These vehicles, shockingly tiny yet packed to the brim with power, roar across the screen. As Enzo and his team test the limits of these machines prior to the climactic Mille Miglia, Mann frames the onlookers as inconsequential while the driver zooms by every 90 seconds or so. In a quest to gain absolute control over speed and time itself, we have given ourselves over to those very concepts. A simple gear shift made too late or a slight twist of the wheel can bring forth utter mayhem and destruction. It’s in this visceral reality that the actual horror of Ferrari is felt. Even as beautiful and cool as the imagery within Ferrari is, our minds know it’s terrifying. Every time we find the camera mounted on the hood or capturing the driver’s seat, it never dulls the fear; in fact, it only strengthens it. There are multiple sequences that are designed to elicit gasps, and not just from depicting events in the personal history of Enzo. Going beyond the scope of the film, these moments serve as a reminder that we are rarely in control of what might happen at any given moment.
Enzo, as a car-maker, is clearly respected. People in the street flock to him in hopes of an autograph. He’s referred to as “Il Commendatore” out of respect. When detailing the necessary drive which he commands all his racers to have, everybody listens attentively. Even if what Enzo’s statement amounts to is: “be willing to die for me.” It’s a standout scene, captured in the type of manner Mann is so beloved for. Pure intensity pours off of the screen… but is this actual love? Is Driver’s Enzo even capable of receiving such a powerful emotion anymore? One of the few times he allows himself to be open in the film, it is in the tomb of Alfredo. As his words echo off the marble walls in a haunting manner, his self-imposed isolation pains the viewer. But in mere moments, the sunglasses go back on and it’s back to business above all else. It’s as if his true self, a father who misses his son, is not allowed to leave the tomb. It’s as if Enzo cannot be himself for even a second, or everything would crumble into dust. Enzo certainly believes his statement to Piero from the beginning of Ferrari, at least in relation to his own life. If he believes himself to be beloved simply because he’s doing a good job at work, then he has the only excuse he feels he needs to devoid his life of any interpersonal relationship. It’s a bleak look at taking pride in that which we do, but Mann knows exactly how to make it beautiful and impactful. Furthermore, he knows how to make that exact notion terrifying, and it serves as both a warning and a way of living for the audience. It’s what makes Ferrari, and Mann as a filmmaker, so utterly compelling.
