A clock is always ticking, somewhere, in Ferrari, from director Michael Mann. A condensed biopic about Enzo Ferrari, founder of the Italian car company that bore his name, this is a movie about the tyranny of time—how, as mortal humans, there will never be enough of it.
Consider the first of many standout set pieces in the film: a parallel-editing sequence during which Ferrari’s factory employees dutifully attend Mass, even as they know their competitors at Maserati are attempting to break Ferrari’s speed record at that very moment. Hearing the starting gun while sitting in the cathedral, Ferrari’s engineers start their own stopwatches in the pews, hearts and minds glued to the ticking hands with far more reverence than they’re giving to the priest. (Meanwhile, we in the audience get the benefit of cross-cutting to the track where the Maserati car chases down the record.)
This is, of course, a reference to one of the most famous instances of parallel editing in cinema: the baptism/assassination sequence in The Godfather. That’s bold company to put yourself in. Yet if Ferrari comes nowhere near the heights of that masterpiece, the movie is still a signature achievement in its own right, up there with Mann efforts like The Insider, Thief, and Heat. Those last two titles, in particular, detail obsessed men working within obsessive professions, in which time is the most precious commodity.
As Enzo Ferrari, Adam Driver habitually checks his watch in almost every scene. Enzo makes time for the various people in his life who demand his attention—Laura (Penelope Cruz), his wife and business partner; Lina (Shailene Woodley), his lover and the mother of his illegitimate son; the various designers and drivers under his command—but he gives them not one second more than is dutifully required. Driver delivers a performance of immaculate gestures—watch his hands during the movie’s big speech, in which Enzo lectures his team about the “deadly passion” and “terrible joy” of racing—as well as a wayward accent. I try not to be too picky about such things, but I must admit I was distracted when Driver would swerve into Dracula.
Woodley seems to struggle with the language, as well. Technically she hits every beat that the role of the patient yet long-suffering Lina requires, but she still sticks out like a sore thumb. Cruz fares best of all, although to be honest it may partly be due to the fact that I’m used to her English-language performances coming with an accent. Still, she’s the only one in the cast who proves that she doesn’t need words or gestures to communicate a depth of feeling. Visiting the tomb of her and Enzo’s young son, who died a year before the events of the film, Laura melts from a generous smile to bitter tears, carrying us through the range of raging emotions she lives with every day (and which Enzo has less and less time for).
Ferrari largely centers around the 1957 Mille Miglia, a race across the Italian countryside that Enzo’s drivers need to win in order to turn around the fading fortunes of the company. The race itself is another of the movie’s astonishing set pieces; Mann and cinematographer Erik Messerschmidt give it a fresh sense of vroom, even if you think you’ve seen all the movie car races you’ll ever need. My favorite sequence, however, comes earlier, during an opera performance attended separately by Enzo and Lina, with Laura and Enzo’s mother (Daniela Piperno) able to hear through their windows back at home. (Some magic-realist liberties are taken both here and in the Mass scene.) Mann and editor Pietro Scalia cut between the performers on stage and the individual memories that the music stirs up in each of the people listening. It’s a lovely way to fill in character and history in a few brief, touching moments. In other words, to manipulate time.
(1/3/2023)
