[h=1]'Rush': A Racing Movie Where Formula Won[/h]
<cite>Universal Studios</cite> 'Rush'
Ron Howard's "Rush" arrives just as Formula One is trying to find a parking space in the psyche of sports-minded America, which has preferred up till now to watch its race cars go around in circles. Which is one thing "Rush" doesn't do: It's a classic story of competitors on a headlong collision course, a 450-horsepower movie traveling at 220 miles per hour.
But for all its immersion in the roar, grease and danger of Formula One, the fact-based "Rush"—about the sport's great rivalry of the 1970s—is also more predictable than a pit stop, something well-suited to Mr. Howard. He's made perfectly palatable pictures, but never a truly great one, partly because he has such a weakness for the commercial and a consequent gift for the obvious. Nothing is ever suggested if it can be said out loud. Very little is beyond further simplification. And the two real-life personalities at the center of his story are so archetypal they may as well be a fuel-injected tortoise and hare.
The British champion James Hunt (Chris Hemsworth), dangerously handsome, dangerous behind the wheel, is in racing for the glory, the fun and the not-always-well-chosen women. Hunt's chief rival is Niki Lauda (Daniel Brühl), a Teutonic perfectionist with a matter-of-fact awareness of his own superiority, no compunction about explaining it to anyone who questions him, and a certain satisfied joy in describing a competitor's failings to his face. He exists beyond arrogance, but in close proximity to loathsome.
Focused on the 1976 racing season, "Rush" travels from the great European tracks to South Africa and Japan, as the Hunt-Lauda rivalry—no other drivers seem to exist—seesaws back and forth, with personal speed-bumps occasionally intruding on the aerodynamics: At one point, Hunt's estranged wife, the ravishing Suzy (Olivia Wilde), takes up with the actor Richard Burton, to the delighted agitation of the tabloids and Hunt's vague displeasure. Lauda's setbacks are far more serious. Without giving too much away, his recovery involves scenes far more disturbing than anything that happens on the track.
The great American car movies have usually involved crime ("Bullitt," "The Seven-Ups"), speed as an allegory ("Two-Lane Blacktop") and the occasional one-off masterpiece ("Smokey and the Bandit"). The closest thing to "Rush," other than "Days of Thunder" and "Le Mans" is "Senna," the 2010 documentary about a later Formula One rivalry, which had the real footage "Rush" often simulates. But what happens away from the racing often makes for the better "Rush" moments: A sequence in which Lauda meets his wife-to-be, Marlene (Alexandra Maria Lara), and—at the behest of a couple of backseat Italians—speeds them all through the provincial countryside, is simply wonderful, a moment deeper felt than almost anything else in the movie.
Like many directors who've made biographical films, Mr. Howard can't resist showing, in his movie's closing moments, photos of the real subjects, something that always feels like a betrayal of the actors. Nevertheless, the shots do show how close Messrs. Brühl and Hemsworth come, or don't, to replicating the originals. Mr. Brühl is equipped with a prosthetic overbite that not only enables him to chew more scenery, but displays why Hunt always called his rival a "rat." The real Mr. Hunt, who died in 1993, was not nearly as handsome as Mr. Hemsworth. But who is? With that long, blond mane, he suggests a young Brad Pitt, and at times seems to be channeling both Peter O'Toole and Errol Flynn. His face is his fortune and maybe the movie's, too: As was the case with "Thor," the advertisement for "Rush" is simply a closeup of Mr. Hemsworth. No smoke, no lightning, no race cars. And certainly no Niki Lauda.
Despite being a schematic exercise in storytelling, "Rush" does take one calculated gamble: Neither of the protagonists is close to likable. Both are arrogant, reckless, unfeeling and übercompetitive—qualities that no doubt make for world-class drivers, but not for naturally sympathetic movie heroes. It's a smart twist on the usual, though, a calibration in a film about a sport in which everything is oversized except the margins of error. Working from a very clever script by Peter Morgan ("The Queen"), Mr. Howard doesn't pick sides. He lets two distinctly abrasive characters rub up against his viewers, chafing them into gear.
- By
- JOHN ANDERSON
Ron Howard's "Rush" arrives just as Formula One is trying to find a parking space in the psyche of sports-minded America, which has preferred up till now to watch its race cars go around in circles. Which is one thing "Rush" doesn't do: It's a classic story of competitors on a headlong collision course, a 450-horsepower movie traveling at 220 miles per hour.
But for all its immersion in the roar, grease and danger of Formula One, the fact-based "Rush"—about the sport's great rivalry of the 1970s—is also more predictable than a pit stop, something well-suited to Mr. Howard. He's made perfectly palatable pictures, but never a truly great one, partly because he has such a weakness for the commercial and a consequent gift for the obvious. Nothing is ever suggested if it can be said out loud. Very little is beyond further simplification. And the two real-life personalities at the center of his story are so archetypal they may as well be a fuel-injected tortoise and hare.
The British champion James Hunt (Chris Hemsworth), dangerously handsome, dangerous behind the wheel, is in racing for the glory, the fun and the not-always-well-chosen women. Hunt's chief rival is Niki Lauda (Daniel Brühl), a Teutonic perfectionist with a matter-of-fact awareness of his own superiority, no compunction about explaining it to anyone who questions him, and a certain satisfied joy in describing a competitor's failings to his face. He exists beyond arrogance, but in close proximity to loathsome.
Focused on the 1976 racing season, "Rush" travels from the great European tracks to South Africa and Japan, as the Hunt-Lauda rivalry—no other drivers seem to exist—seesaws back and forth, with personal speed-bumps occasionally intruding on the aerodynamics: At one point, Hunt's estranged wife, the ravishing Suzy (Olivia Wilde), takes up with the actor Richard Burton, to the delighted agitation of the tabloids and Hunt's vague displeasure. Lauda's setbacks are far more serious. Without giving too much away, his recovery involves scenes far more disturbing than anything that happens on the track.
The great American car movies have usually involved crime ("Bullitt," "The Seven-Ups"), speed as an allegory ("Two-Lane Blacktop") and the occasional one-off masterpiece ("Smokey and the Bandit"). The closest thing to "Rush," other than "Days of Thunder" and "Le Mans" is "Senna," the 2010 documentary about a later Formula One rivalry, which had the real footage "Rush" often simulates. But what happens away from the racing often makes for the better "Rush" moments: A sequence in which Lauda meets his wife-to-be, Marlene (Alexandra Maria Lara), and—at the behest of a couple of backseat Italians—speeds them all through the provincial countryside, is simply wonderful, a moment deeper felt than almost anything else in the movie.
Like many directors who've made biographical films, Mr. Howard can't resist showing, in his movie's closing moments, photos of the real subjects, something that always feels like a betrayal of the actors. Nevertheless, the shots do show how close Messrs. Brühl and Hemsworth come, or don't, to replicating the originals. Mr. Brühl is equipped with a prosthetic overbite that not only enables him to chew more scenery, but displays why Hunt always called his rival a "rat." The real Mr. Hunt, who died in 1993, was not nearly as handsome as Mr. Hemsworth. But who is? With that long, blond mane, he suggests a young Brad Pitt, and at times seems to be channeling both Peter O'Toole and Errol Flynn. His face is his fortune and maybe the movie's, too: As was the case with "Thor," the advertisement for "Rush" is simply a closeup of Mr. Hemsworth. No smoke, no lightning, no race cars. And certainly no Niki Lauda.
Despite being a schematic exercise in storytelling, "Rush" does take one calculated gamble: Neither of the protagonists is close to likable. Both are arrogant, reckless, unfeeling and übercompetitive—qualities that no doubt make for world-class drivers, but not for naturally sympathetic movie heroes. It's a smart twist on the usual, though, a calibration in a film about a sport in which everything is oversized except the margins of error. Working from a very clever script by Peter Morgan ("The Queen"), Mr. Howard doesn't pick sides. He lets two distinctly abrasive characters rub up against his viewers, chafing them into gear.
