Film Review: Senna

I wasn’t really a fan of auto racing before I lived in the UK. Sure I had my Hot Wheels and lived near a speedway in Denver when I was a kid, but I never really viewed it as a true sport. I felt like the car was doing all the work, and in America, stock car racing seemed like just one really long left turn. I thought racing overall was pretty stupid.

That was until I saw my first Formula One race on the telly, and I was hooked. Taking a chicane at 120mph and having to turn both right and left, all the while dealing with other drivers, constructor technologies and the elements, it all seemed like a giant chess match. In the middle of all this was the driver - at the time I was watching it was consistently a two man race between Mika Hakkinen of McLaren and Michael Schumacher of Ferrari for the world title, and both men competed on a level that matched any of the greatest rivalries in sport.

I remember watching a race where Schumacher mounted a furious comeback in the rain in Germany, and the commentator kept referring to Schumacher’s driving as “Sennaesque.” I wasn’t really too familiar with the history of F1 racing at the time, so I had no idea what he was talking about. All I knew was that Schumacher was driving like a man possessed, toeing the line between control and complete disregard for life.

After seeing Asif Kapadia’s documentary Senna about Brazilian F1 legend Ayrton Senna, it finally made sense as to what “Sennaesque” meant. Schumacher, a now unprecedented seven-time world champion, was emulating the style of the man who would have most likely eclipsed that achievement were he to be still driving. Ayrton Senna, a three-time champ, was killed in a racing accident at the age of 34. He was widely regarded as the greatest Formula One driver that ever lived.

One could argue that a race car driver’s contribution to the world is minuscule at best. Formula One is the playground of billionaires and supermodels, and likely encapsulates a society that is both consumptive and elitist. But Kapadia’s tender dissection of Senna’s life showed another face of Formula One, a face that was Senna’s alone. Hailing from Brazil, a country that was facing destitution, poverty and an unfathomable disparity of wealth, Senna was the voice of the other world to the elite of Europe and Asia. A child of privilege himself, Senna never once downplayed his identity as a Brazilian, and every victory of his was done with the the nation in his heart and hand.

Kapadia directs the film under the duress of both a blessing and damnation, which is access to an incredible wealth of archived footage from Senna’s life and work. He masterfully weaves the gripping race footage (a must-see on the big screen, especially the camera footage from Senna’s cockpit) with the dour politics of F1, peppered with scheming personalities straight out of a comic book. Kapadia successfully mirrors Senna’s battles for acceptance and respect from his peers with the catharsis of victory on the track - Senna’s ultimate middle finger to his detractors.

When we learn the details of Senna’s skill - for instance finishing (and winning) a race with a broken gearbox (a superhuman feat on a regular domestic car, let alone driving at 160mph in a F1 car), or showing catlike reflexes in the most hostile of driving climates, we can truly appreciate the sheer athleticism of a race car driver, and we also get the intellectualism behind the pursuit. Like all master athletes, Senna was a philosopher, and as a devout Catholic his faith in God overtook his own hubris.

And hubris came in boatloads with Senna. Cocky and brash, he often toed the line between competitive drive and suicide. Sennaesque. But just when we think Senna could be no more of a competitive jerk, Kapadia reminds us of the drive in Senna’s heart, which was to the people of Brazil. Senna’s commitment to his people, from serving as a worldwide representative to pouring a vast majority of his wealth into social programs, was as unwavering as his driving line. A true superman in every sense of the word.

I could tell that Kapadia had a lot to work with, and that some vital elements of Senna had to be left on the cutting room floor (supposedly there is a 160-minute cut of the film). Most abundantly missing is the final chapter in the relationship between Senna and his former McLaren teammate / competitor Alain Prost, equally one of the greatest drivers in history. Senna and Prost battle throughout the film both on and off the track, and the competition turns bitterly personal and dangerous. Prost is painted as Senna’s archnemesis, an encapsulation of the prejudice and nepotism rife in Formula One. But towards the end of the film we see Prost as a pallbearer at Senna’s funeral. One has to believe that these men made amends at some point, and a little independent reading thereafter proved it so. A small footnote at the end of the film informs us of Prost’s place in Senna’s life, but it is an afterthought considering Prost had been painted as a villain for the two hours preceding. I guess every film needs a villain, and Prost was convenient.

Prost and Senna, teammates, bitter competitors and dear friends.

After watching Senna I felt I had watched something special, not just a portrait of a man but also a distillation of the traps of man’s ambitions. Every season of athletics boasts competition that is stronger and faster than the last, bolstered by science and technology that is supposed to outperform the base designs of the human body and intellect. At some point, however, things might get too fast, and the competitive drive, fueled by ego and money, overrides our better judgment as to our own physical limits. The spirit has no limit, but the body does. There is a reason concussions are skyrocketing in the NFL. There is a reason why ligament tears are so frequent. Nutritional and sports science is making us stronger and faster than our bodies can handle, and when a 300lb man who runs a 4.5 second 40-yard dash slams into another man of equal proportion, then something has got to give. Senna sensed the dominance of sports technology over pure driving instinct, and we can only guess if he began to question his increasing reliance upon the machine. At what point does the driver stop driving the machine, and the machine begins to drive the driver? The answer is with Senna in his grave.

Senna is a must watch, even if you haven’t a clue about auto racing or if you have a general contempt for the sport. I myself haven’t seen an F1 race for almost ten years (most in part because I have no idea how to see it in the United States), and watching Senna was like reuniting with an old friend and picking up right where we left off. It’s a magical film about a rare talent, and should not be missed.