REVIEW: Pitt crew helps ‘F1’ succeed with flying colours

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There’s no better time for a throwback than summer, and “F1 the Movie” is here to send audiences to a blissful era before constant cape slop, when the movies were loud, their stars were hot and the male main-character energy was flowing with exhilarating abandon.

From its opening scene – a credits montage featuring Brad Pitt, producer Jerry Bruckheimer and Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love” – “F1” settles into a supremely confident, viscerally entertaining groove: an old-school, still-handsome movie star; sexy racecars; roaring crowds; vintage Zep; fireworks – “F1” has it all, and that’s just in the first 10 minutes.

What follows in “F1,” true to its title, may be formula. But it’s one that works, even when the constant vrooms, tricky turns and explanatory dialogue threaten to become tediously repetitive. “F1” is directed by Joseph Kosinski from a script by Ehren Kruger – the same team that brought us the irresistibly nostalgic “Top Gun: Maverick” a few years ago. Kosinski and Kruger co-wrote “F1’s” story, in which Pitt’s Sonny Hayes, who after a promising early career in Formula One racing has been busted down to driving one-off competitions for hire, returns to the circuit for one last chance at the championship.

It’s a plot as old as the horseless carriage, but in “F1,” it’s fuel-injected by an exceptionally appealing cast: Sure, we’ve all witnessed the old crime boss/close friend/comrade in arms asking the protagonist to come back for one last job. But when it’s Javier Bardem doing the asking, with Pitt as his skeptical foil, even the hoariest scene in Final Draft’s user manual becomes a playfully pleasurable seduction. Bardem plays Ruben, who was Sonny’s teammate when a traumatic crash sent them in different directions: Ruben now owns a struggling team that needs to get points on the board, or else he’ll be forced to sell.

It’s no surprise that Sonny comes home: in this case, to a sport that operates more like a family business than cutthroat competition. The motley, bracingly polyglot crew he joins includes technical director Kate (Kerry Condon); team principal Kasper (Kim Bodnia); a shark-eyed board member (Tobias Menzies); and a young, hotshot driver named Joshua Pearce, played with cocksure self-possession by Damson Idris. (Logos for real-life F1 sponsors Rolex, T-Mobile, Heineken and Tommy Hilfiger play themselves.)

The intergenerational friction between Sonny and Joshua accounts for much of the narrative tension – and humor – in “F1,” with Pitt and Idris milking every moment of aggression, overcompensation and unwelcome humility for maximum effect. But the joys of “F1” can be found even in the smaller moments, especially those anchored by Joshua’s mother, Bernadette, portrayed by Sarah Niles with a slyly observant mixture of maternal concern and no-nonsense directness. The supporting ensemble playing Ruben’s team moves with the kind of balletic coordination that makes a high-end pit crew so mesmerizing to watch, and they have an easy command of the sport’s jargon, which they spout at every opportunity to keep the audience oriented.

If it’s a foregone conclusion that Sonny and Kate’s initial sparring will light a romantic spark, the resulting chemistry carries a vicarious zing. And it’s quietly revelatory to behold: Not only does Condon make everything she’s in better (her big breakout was her Oscar-nominated turn in “The Banshees of Inisherin”). She’s also something of a unicorn: an actress who presents as an unaugmented woman in her 40s, opposite one of the biggest male stars on the planet, flirting and sensuously teasing up a storm. The results – and let’s hope Hollywood is paying attention – are spectacular.

As for the male movie star in question, Pitt is entering his 60s with the kind of ease and self-awareness that give his performances a new dimension: There’s a de rigueur shot in “F1” of Sonny taking a knee and squinting pensively into the middle distance, but for the most part, Pitt’s looks are played for can-you-believe-this-guy laughs. (The movie includes some amusing imaginary flashbacks of Sonny as a young showboater, all insolent sneers and bleached-blond mullet.) The grin he flashes throughout “F1” suggests a man looking into the mirror and taking satisfied stock of himself, but also having great good fun with taking the mickey at every possible turn. The mood is larky, un-self-serious, and it’s gratifyingly contagious.

As a car-race movie, “F1” joins a pretty strong cinematic grid, most recently including “Rush” and “Ford v Ferrari”; the granddaddy of ’em all, the 1966 John Frankenheimer classic “Grand Prix,” receives a respectful hat tip with an occasional split screen. The movie’s aspirations to flawless authenticity – it was filmed at actual F1 events in England, Abu Dhabi, Mexico, Belgium, Las Vegas and beyond – should impress fans, who will appreciate the sport’s combination of hardware, high-tech gadgetry, and sheer physical stamina and prowess. Squeezing a camera into the car with Pitt and Idris, cinematographer Claudio Miranda puts viewers into the driver’s seat, with all its nerves and g-force gyrations; for the uninitiated, Kosinski keeps up a near-constant explanatory narration by way of announcers and Sonny’s team members, who are always taking pains to make the engineering details, track challenges, physical dangers and personal stakes crystal clear.

Those expository passages can be tiresome, as can the lap after lap of race upon race. But “F1” finishes with flying colours, mostly because it delivers so thoroughly on its promise as a big, noisy, piece of hyperkinetic escapism. Like its grizzled, still-golden hero – the inveterate loner who turns out to be the consummate team player – “F1” obeys Hollywood’s first law of physics, which is always to have it both ways, and to have it both ways a LOT. In any other movie, the second fireworks display might be considered one too many. Somehow, for this one, it’s just right.

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RATING: *** out of four