Publication Date: 06-29-2025

F1 (2025) review

Dir. Joseph Kosinski

By: Steve Pulaski

Rating: ★★★½

There are elements of F1 that should (and probably are) problematic. The film is a collaborative effort between the Fédération Internationale de l’Automobile (FIA), Formula One’s governing body, Warner Bros, and a barrage of other studios. With that in mind, this is as much an advertisement for F1 racing as it is for Qatar Airways, Geico, EA Sports, Shark/Ninja, AMG, OMP Racing, Experify, and the other companies who paid a combined $40 million to have their company logos ubiquitously placed all over this two-and-a-half-hour blockbuster.

It would be more appropriate to bloviate about the capitalistic forces that grease the wheels of F1 like motor oil in a vehicle’s engine if the film itself weren’t such a meticulously crafted thrill-ride. A bonafide summer blockbuster that adheres to its early promises of bringing you inside these delicate yet ferociously powerful racing machines, it’s a film that, even at its loudest, still harbors a tranquil quality. That’s probably due to the fact that, at 61-years-old, not much fazes Brad Pitt, and similar to Tom Cruise, he’s mastered the art of looking equally attractive and ageless on-screen, with the former doubling down on the easygoing stoicism he’s adopted in recent years.

Pitt plays Sonny Hayes, an over-the-hill racing veteran who came close to glory before flaming out before he could truly catch fire. Desperate to get his dreadful Apex Grand Prix (APXGP) team to find a modicum of success, owner Ruben Cerbantes (Javier Bardem) implores Sonny to give Formula One racing another shot. After all, due to gambling debts and other poor financial decisions, Sonny now lives in his van, does his laundry at a local laundromat, and showers wherever he can find running water. He’s not necessarily a man tethered to anything.

By hiring Sonny as a driver, Ruben isn’t demoting his up-and-coming racer, Joshua Pearce (Damson Idris), so much as he’s trying to teach him a lesson in humility. Joshua is a solid driver, but he’s cocky, and quick to pose for the camera after he places outside the top 20. Sonny’s “nothing to lose” attitude, effortlessly charismatic smile, and brand of quiet cockiness irks Pearce. Sonny’s passing flirtations to Kate (Kerry Condon), the team’s chief engineer don’t endear him to his young counterpart either. The two teammates become rivals as they prowl for the same goal, all while a powerful APXGP board member (Tobias Menzies) watches Ruben like a hawk, fighting temptation to oust their skipper as the also-ran franchise seems to sputter out of control.

In hindsight, there isn’t a lot going on in the writing department that makes F1 feel grandiose in any sense. Such is the case when a brand overtakes the narrative. Ron Howard’s Rush was victim to some overpraise when it first hit theaters 12 years ago, but it didn’t feel as predicated on familiarities. In many ways, the icy chemistry of Pitt and Idris, as well as their firm grasps on their characters, keeps the picture from veering off course. If there’s one positive to this lean screenplay, it’s the fact that Ehren Kruger lets the romantic developments occur in the background. Kerry Condon’s Kate isn’t swayed by Sonny’s charm, and in one of the film’s best scenes, Kruger lets Kate call the shots in a scene where she sets up a makeshift poker game between the three of them as a way for the grizzled vet and the green rook to settle their scores.

Beyond the friction at the center, Bardem also shines as Ruben, who reminded me a bit of someone like Shad Khan, owner of the NFL’s Jacksonville Jaguars. Khan is someone who doesn’t know what he doesn’t know, and his team suffers because of it. He has no problem delegating, but he often hires the wrong people, which inevitably leads to disaster. Like Khan, Ruben has a friendliness to him that makes him approachable, and probably why his pit crew can get away with some lackadaisical efforts, particularly the APXGP principal (Kim Bodnia), whose losing attitude contributes to the sorry nature of the entire team.

F1 was directed by Joseph Kosinski, whose name we should start knowing by heart and repeating when the topic of reliably consistent, exemplary blockbuster directors is proposed. Kosinski was of course the man who made Top Gun: Maverick one of the decade’s best by any metric, galvanizing a symphony of strong performances, authentic stuntwork, and pristine visual flare. Kosinski, along with cinematographer Claudio Miranda, plunge us into the F1 vehicles themselves, throttling us with an assortment of angles that capture the driver POV, the cramped interiors, and sweeping overhead shots that bring you closer than any broadcast could. If F1 could always be this thrilling, I’d probably sit down and watch more of it on television.

Hans Zimmer’s score naturally knows when to pulsate and when to simmer, but I was more distracted by the film’s soundtrack, which is a downright mess. F1 opens with Sonny participating in the second leg of the 24 Hours of Daytona race, set to Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love,” which doesn’t have the right energy level despite all of the premier aesthetic work occurring on screen. As the film goes on, a weird mix of B-grade pop (Ed Sheeran, Tate McRae), Latin hip-hop (Myke Towers), and Nigerian/British/South Korean tunes boom over the soundtrack. Sure, it complements the worldly nature of Formula One racing, but it doesn’t have to sound this generic while doing so. Give the Fast and the Furious movies all the flack you want; their soundtracks are almost always on point like a cactus, the eighth film’s in particular.

This is a petty complaint for a film that doesn’t deserve blowback. F1 is as handsome as you think, as reliably acted and strikingly photographed as you’d expect, and as frequently thrilling as you can hope for what is still a young summer moviegoing season.

Starring: Brad Pitt, Damson Idris, Javier Bardem, Kerry Condon, Tobias Menzies, Kim Bodina, Sarah Niles, Will Merrick, Joseph Balderrama, Abdul Salis, and Callie Cooke. Directed by: Joseph Kosinski.