Asif Kapadia makes archive footage feel urgent and frightening, even for those unmoved by racing. Senna is a gripping documentary, though its devotion to its subject makes it a less searching biography than it could be.
Asif Kapadia’s Senna builds its drama from the record of a racing career. It is an absorbing documentary, with one reservation worth stating early: its admiration for Ayrton Senna limits how closely it questions him. The racing, the rivalry with Alain Prost and the politics of Formula One give Kapadia plenty to work with. He makes the competitive stakes clear enough that ignorance of the sport is no obstacle to following it.
Writer Manish Pandey and editors Chris King and Gregers Sall arrange the archive footage with a sure sense of when to move on and when to let a moment settle. Audio interviews accompany the images, without cutting away to people sitting down to explain what we have just seen. The technique lets us watch the rivalry develop without continually reminding us that it belongs to the past. At 106 minutes, it has the pace of a well-told story rather than the dutiful coverage of a career checklist. The editors make each contest matter before asking us to follow its outcome.
Jake Polonsky has the cinematography credit, though the images that stay with us are the archival views from inside the cars. The road arrives too quickly for comfortable inspection, and the camera denies us the reassuring distance of a spectator. We were frightened by how little time those images seemed to leave for a decision. That sensation makes Senna’s skill legible without requiring an expert to translate it, while keeping the physical danger close. These stretches are the strongest reason to give the film a large screen and our full attention.
Prost is essential to the film’s grip, because his rivalry with Senna makes each man’s determination easier to understand. Their antagonism gives the racing a personal consequence beyond a result, and Kapadia is alert to the friction between driving and managing a sporting career. But the film leaves us with too little room to consider Prost’s side on equal terms. Pandey and Kapadia favour a clear story about a remarkable competitor, and the selection of material too often settles the question of whom we should support.
Antonio Pinto’s music helps carry the film between the excitement of racing and its more reflective passages. It is effective accompaniment, sensitive to changes of pace without competing with the footage for our attention. Yet the warmth of the score also suits a film that is already reluctant to scrutinise its hero. We learn too little about Senna’s private relationships or why he needs to race so badly. The omissions matter because the man is compelling enough to make us want more than the public record offers.
The sporting documentary has an easy route to excitement: find a contest, identify the people to cheer and build towards a result. Senna earns its tension through the handling of the footage, particularly the way the racing puts us alongside its subject. That achievement is substantial enough to survive the film’s partiality, and its accessibility never feels like an excuse to turn the sport into a lesson. Allow for its loyalty to Senna, and see it even if the sport has never interested you.