‘F1’ Review – Brad Pitt, Power, and the Politics of the Modern Sports Movie
Joseph Kosinski returns to the director’s chair with ‘F1: The Movie,’ a muscular, precision-crafted racing drama that often falters to meld emotional weight with turbocharged spectacle. With dazzling practical effects and a grounded script, ‘F1’ is a solid popcorn drama that demands to be seen on the big screen.
‘F1’ is not a subtle film, and it is not trying to be. It’s bombastic, heart-pounding, and a very formulaic (no-pun-intended) underdog story. This is a $200 million spectacle backed by Formula One, featuring real-world racers, immersive practical effects, and director Joseph Kosinski’s signature flair for hyperreal action. Much like his iconic work in smash hit 2022 film ‘Top Gun: Maverick,’ Kosinski trades narrative complexity for aerodynamic clarity: the stakes are simple, the motivations direct, and every frame is tuned to maximize velocity. It is less an introspective look at the world of racing than a sensory ride through it. In this sense, ‘F1’ becomes a study in the gamification of sports movies, blending the choreographed intensity of live competition with the high-gloss style of blockbuster filmmaking.
The film follows aging, retired racer Sonny Hayes (Brad Pitt) as he returns to Formula One racing after three decades to help rescue APXGP, an underdog team headed by his old rival-turned-friend, Ruben Cervantes (Javier Bardem). The plot unfolds with mechanical precision: washed-up legend meets cocky rookie (Damson Idris’s Joshua Pearce), they clash, they bond, and they take on the elite racing world one lap at a time. Familiar? Sure. But it’s elevated by Claudio Miranda’s frenetic cinematography—especially in the racing scenes, which are alternately claustrophobic and operatic, and Hans Zimmer’s growling, hybrid score, which pulses like a V6 engine.
In many ways, ‘F1’ hinges on Brad Pitt’s onscreen mythos. But that myth is more fractured now than it has ever been. Since his messy and ongoing legal fallout with Angelina Jolie, Pitt’s reputation has become a site of scrutiny, complicating the easy charm that once defined him. Recent roles in ‘Babylon’ and ‘Wolfs’ have leaned into this ambiguity, casting him as men grappling with mortality, irrelevance, and disillusionment.
‘F1’ furthers this meta-narrative. Sonny Hayes isn’t just a grizzled underdog; he’s a cinematic avatar for Pitt himself, a once-revered icon confronting a younger, hungrier generation. The problem is that Sonny is never really allowed to lose. He’s still Brad Pitt: rakish, wiry, commanding. The film flirts with vulnerability, but rarely lets it disrupt Sonny’s composure. There’s a moment where he teaches Joshua to drown out distractions and focus on the “craft,” a clear gesture toward an older, analog masculinity out of sync with social media culture. It’s both touching and troubling, a nostalgic plea from a star who’s unsure if the spotlight still belongs to him.
It’s hard to watch ‘F1’ without thinking of the racial dynamics that underpin its central relationship. Like many sports dramas—think ‘Any Given Sunday,’ or even ‘The Blind Side,’—this is a tale of a White mentor figure and a Black newcomer learning mutual respect. But the power imbalance is baked in. Joshua Pearce is introduced as a self-interested, fame-chasing rookie coach. Sonny, by contrast, is the soulful journeyman with scars (literal and figurative) and wisdom to share.
The implication is that Joshua must be humbled to grow, while Sonny is already whole. That formula might work in theory, but in 2025, it feels regressive. Damson Idris is charismatic and sharp, but his role lacks the depth to push back against Sonny’s dominance. The film smooths over the racial optics with good-natured banter and a shared love of driving, but the underlying narrative, of an older White hero stabilizing a younger Black man’s ambition, feels unexamined. It’s not that the film is overtly problematic; it’s that it repeats tropes without interrogating them, leaning on nostalgia in ways that re-inscribe old hierarchies.
Much online discourse surrounding ‘F1’ has focused on the conspicuous absence of Simone Ashley, whose role was cut to a brief, non-speaking cameo. Director Joseph Kosinski brushed this off as a routine editorial decision, but it echoes a similar situation with Manny Jacinto in ‘Top Gun: Maverick.’ Two films. Two actors of Asian descent. Two characters edited down into oblivion.
Ashley, a rising star after ‘Bridgerton’ and ‘The Little Mermaid,’ seemed poised for a meaningful turn in this high-octane blockbuster. That her character was excised raises valid concerns about how easily representation is sacrificed in service of a tighter runtime. Particularly in a film so invested in the visibility of its real-world drivers and pit crews, the erasure stings. It reminds us that inclusion is often conditional, a casualty of pacing and market calculus. That Ashley took the high road publicly doesn’t erase the frustration many viewers rightly feel.
Yet despite its baggage, “F1” delivers on the promise of spectacle. Claudio Miranda’s camerawork is nothing short of electrifying. Racing sequences feel immersive rather than illustrative, shot with a visceral tactility that places the audience in the cockpit. Apple’s custom-mounted cameras, designed for hyperreal onboard footage, pay off handsomely. The race scenes jostle, rattle, and slice through the screen like hot steel.
And then there’s the legendary composer Hans Zimmer. His score hums with purpose, alternating between throbbing electronic minimalism and swelling orchestral grandeur. It’s a brilliant encapsulation of the sport’s core tension: man versus machine. When Sonny barrels through a critical turn with seconds to spare, Zimmer’s music rises like a revving engine.
Following the billion-dollar success of ‘Top Gun: Maverick,’ Joseph Kosinski has become the go-to director for weaponized nostalgia. His films are clean, masculine, and emotionally guarded, haunted less by failure than by time. While ‘F1’ lacks the thematic depth of ‘Maverick,’ it retains Kosinski’s gift for constructing tactile, aerodynamic action sequences that flirt with transcendence.
That said, ‘F1’ never quite achieves the emotional resonance of racing films ‘Ford v Ferrari’ or the philosophical despair of ‘Le Mans.’ Its characters are sketches, and its message rarely moves beyond “go fast, win race.” Still, in a landscape cluttered with franchise bloat and CGI sludge, a sincere, standalone sports drama feels like a minor miracle. Kosinski’s filmmaking may be sleek to the point of sterility, but it’s also refreshingly free of ironic detachment.
‘F1: The Movie’ is a contradiction: a precision-engineered studio product that nonetheless thrills on a gut level. It is both a comeback vehicle and a PR rehabilitation attempt for Brad Pitt, whose charisma remains intact, if slightly weathered. It’s a celebration of motorsport, rendered with loving detail and blistering intensity, even as it avoids deeper engagement with the sport’s geopolitical, economic, and cultural dimensions.
The film doesn’t rewrite the sports drama rulebook; it follows it line by line. But within those constraints, Kosinski, Zimmer, and Miranda have created a polished, high-adrenaline entertainment that understands the spectacle of speed and the simplicity of a comeback story. In the end, ‘F1’ may not say much, but it shouts it beautifully.
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