Ferrari

I watched Ferrari while wearing a pair of itchy wool socks that made me feel exactly as irritable as Enzo Ferrari looks in every single scene. It was a fitting atmosphere. Michael Mann’s 2023 biopic isn’t the high-octane, "Vroom-Vroom" crowd-pleaser the marketing might have led you to expect. Instead, it’s a cold, pressurized, and surprisingly haunting look at a man who has replaced his soul with an internal combustion engine.

In an era of cinema dominated by neon-soaked blockbusters and "content" designed to be scrolled past on a phone, Ferrari feels like a massive, heavy piece of industrial equipment dropped into a modern living room. It’s a $95 million R-rated drama that arrived in theaters, made about as much noise as a flat tire at the box office, and then vanished onto VOD platforms within weeks. It’s a shame, because while it’s not the easiest watch, it’s a reminder of what big-budget adult filmmaking used to look like.

A Marriage Under the Hood

The film ignores the "birth-to-death" biopic trap, focusing instead on a single, sweltering summer in 1957. Enzo Ferrari is in deep trouble. His company is broke, his racing team is losing, and his personal life is a chaotic mess of shifting loyalties and deep-seated grief. Adam Driver plays Enzo with a stoic, silver-haired stillness that I found genuinely unsettling. He’s not a hero; he’s a man who views people as parts that either work or need to be replaced. Driver’s hairline in this movie is doing more heavy lifting than most of Hollywood’s leading men, conveying a sense of aging vanity and relentless pressure.

But the real engine of this movie isn’t the cars—it’s Penélope Cruz as Laura Ferrari. While Enzo is off juggling a mistress (Shailene Woodley) and a secret second family, Laura is the one holding the checkbook and the shotgun. Cruz is so good here that she should have been allowed to throw a heavy object at the Oscar voters for ignoring her. She plays Laura with a weary, jagged intensity. When she’s on screen, the movie pulses with a dangerous energy that makes the actual racing scenes feel safe by comparison. Their marriage isn't just failing; it’s a mutual hostage situation conducted in Italian-accented English.

The Horror of the Open Road

When we finally do get to the cars, Mann treats them with a reverence that borders on the religious. These aren't the sleek, safe-looking machines of Ford v Ferrari. These are thin metal coffins strapped to massive engines. The sound design is incredible—if you have a good sound system, the roar of the V12s will make your teeth rattle. I loved how Mann avoids the "video game" aesthetic of modern CGI racing. The camera stays low, the vibration feels real, and you get a genuine sense of how terrifying it must have been to drive 150 mph on dirt roads with a leather cap as your only protection.

Then there’s the ending. Without spoiling the specifics for those who haven't brushed up on their 1950s racing history, the climax involving the Mille Miglia race takes a hard turn into genuine horror. It’s one of the most shocking sequences I’ve seen in a major studio film in years. It’s not "action"; it’s a gruesome reminder of the human cost of Enzo’s obsession. It’s the moment the film stops being a drama and becomes a tragedy of errors.

An Expensive Ghost Story

So, why did this movie tank? Part of it is the post-pandemic theatrical landscape. We’re in an age where audiences usually only show up for "events," and a talky, depressing drama about a grieving Italian industrialist is a hard sell. It also suffered from a bit of an identity crisis in its marketing. People wanted Top Gun with Ferraris, and instead, they got a Michael Mann "Dad Movie" that spends forty minutes discussing bank mergers and probate law.

I suspect Ferrari will be one of those films we look back on in ten years as a "hidden gem" of the 2020s. It’s a film made by a master director who doesn't care about franchise-building or catering to TikTok trends. It’s a slow burn, occasionally cold to the touch, but it lingers in the mind like the smell of burnt rubber. It’s a ghost story where the ghosts are still driving, trying to outrun the bankruptcy and the grief that’s already caught up to them.

Michael Mann’s latest isn't a joyride; it's a meticulously tuned, slightly grim autopsy of ambition. If you can get past the somewhat distracting "International Actor" accents and the deliberate pace, you’ll find a powerful character study hiding inside that red chassis. It’s a film that demands your full attention and rewards it with a haunting, bone-shaking finale. Grab a drink, turn the volume up, and give this one the theatrical-style focus it deserves.