Ferrari the Movie is as Lousy as Ferrari the Man

Enzo Ferrari was an asshole. A lying, cheating, bullying bastard. And those were just his good points.

The Brock Yates book upon which Ferrari is based leaves no doubt: Enzo was a thoroughly despicable human being. Unfortunately, that Ferrari isn’t in this movie.

Why would he be? Who wants to see a movie about an ugly, sex-obsessed misogynist for whom “the fast cars, the Grand Prix victories, the factory itself were all secondary to what they stood for, the towering ego of the man whose name they carried.”

I would! Unfortunately, Michael Mann is not Martin Scorsese.

Whereas Marty confronts audiences with “you can’t look away” anti-heroes (e.g., Raging Bull), Mann makes slick pics about slick people doing slick things in slick places to a slick soundtrack (e.g., Miami Vice).

So instead of Ferrari the boor, we get Ferrari the bore. Adam Driver’s Enzo is so dull and self-controlled he’s practically Swiss.

In the first Ferrari-on-track scene, a test driver crashes and flies to his death. Enzo turns to the aspiring racer standing next to him and says “Call my office Monday.” Just. Like. That.

Yes, after son Dino’s death from MS, Enzo thought little to nothing of his drivers’ deadly crashes. But Ferrari the man was far from bloodless. In real life, he raged daily, focusing his ire on anyone whose success threatened to steal the spotlight.

When Cinematic Enzo slams his fist down on a dinner plate, berating his drivers for not dying enough, the “violence” seems completely out-of-character. When he’s told his business is about to go belly-up, he pretty much shrugs.

Another scene shows Enzo as an engineer, explaining an engine modification to his bastard son. Nope.

In fact, Ferrari was technologically illiterate. He refused to adopt any racing innovations (e.g., aerodynamics, rear-engines) until they beat his vehicles on the track, repeatedly, always believing that raw power was the key to success.

You get the picture (so to speak): Ferrari isn’t Ferrari.

Judged on its own terms – as a love story set in the midst of a do-or-die automobile race – Ferrari is a fail on both counts.

Ferrari’s scenes with his supposed love interest – his mistress and the mother of his surviving son – are as passionate as a plate of plain pasta.

Ferrari’s relationship with his long-suffering, mentally unstable wife are as fraught as the aforementioned bankruptcy meeting. Which is to say not at all.

The best bit of the movie – a low bar if there ever was one – are the vintage race cars. Specifically, their monumental engine sounds.

If there is any thrill to be had here, it’s from the monstrous noises coming from cars that bellow and roar like wounded bears.

Make that exclusively. The racing itself is virtually meaningless. Unlike the mack daddy of racing movies – Grand Prix – we have little to no idea who’s in what car in what position when.

Part of that’s due to the number of virtually identical Ferraris competing and the fact that you can’t identify the drivers in their face-obscuring goggles. Most of it’s down to the fact that the marquis competition is the Mille Miglia, a long distance road race.

It’s shown as wheel-to-wheel racing, which it wasn’t. When I saw drivers downshifting to pass, I screamed in frustration. Not that you could hear me over that wonderful, unholy din.

The crash that should define the movie – that led to Italy banning road races – is appropriately gruesome. It has no effect on Ferrari’s overarching ennui. Both the man and the movie itself.

Penélope Cruz plays Enzo’s wife, providing the only credible attempt at acting in the entire picture.

It’s clear she’s motivated by the loss of her son Dino and jealousy at Enzo’s philandering. What motivates moody AF Enzo is left a mystery. A hole in the movie that rots it from the inside out.

Ferrari begins with Enzo talking to dead Dino in his mausoleum, tearing-up. A completely fabricated scene with no basis in reality.

If Ferrari had stuck with the fiction that Enzo was a tortured soul, it would have made sense. Just as a race scene on a track with Enzo in attendance (another fiction) would have delivered the missing racing excitement.

Ferrari ends with Enzo about to introduce his live son to dead Dino. By then, not a shit do we give. The credits update us on the aftermath, also to no appreciable effect. I’d say Enzo’s legacy deserves better. Truth be told, it doesn’t.