Ferrari (2023) Movie Script
["Febbre Della Giungla" playing]
[singing in Italian]
[song ends]
[birds chirping]
[kisses]
[sighs]
[car engine rumbles]
[engine revs]
[passengers chattering]
[announcer speaking
Italian on loudspeaker]
[telephone ringing]
[ringing continues]
Yes?
Please inform Signor Ferrari
that the Maserati driver Jean
Behra has just arrived from Milan.
Hmm. Thank you.
Thank you, most excellent
and gracious signora.
[telephone ringing]
Yes?
Laura. It's Chiti. Is he there?
He's taking a shower.
Give him a message,
please. Jean Behra is in town.
[line clicks]
How are you?
Signor Ferrari?
Signor Ferrari!
May I present myself?
I am Alfonso de Portago.
[tires squeal]
[opera member] Wow.
[people chattering in Italian]
[applause]
It's Ferrari.
Good morning, Enzo!
Your friends are back.
This time, I hope in tune.
More in tune than your
cars in Monaco last week.
Enzo! We have to talk.
That bad?
I will come by later.
[door opening]
[footsteps approaching]
[door opens, creaks]
[door closes]
[telephone ringing]
[Ferrari] Yes.
[Chiti] Behra is here.
The Orsi brothers
collected him at the station.
Did signora tell you?
The word is
he's going to
challenge our record.
Is the 801 ready?
After the Workers
Mass at 9:00. After that.
I'll call Castellotti.
Behra's here.
[line buzzing] Really?
So many phone calls, I thought
Frank Sinatra came to town.
Hotel Medici, Firenze.
What do I tell them?
"Excuse me, please,
my husband isn't here.
He's out whoring.
Grazie, buongiorno."
Signor Castellotti,
please. Enzo.
I don't give a fuck who
you screw or how many.
But the rule is that
you have to be here
before the maid arrives
with the morning coffee.
- That was the agreement, was it not?
- Laura, please.
Buongiorno, signora,
Commendatore.
[telephone ringing]
Pronto.
[Ferrari] Eugenio, my boy.
Commendatore.
Can you be at the Modena
Autodrome by 11:00?
Bring your lucky gloves.
What gloves?
The gloves that will beat Behra,
who's come to steal
from you our record.
I'll be there.
Good. [maid] Will
that be all, signora?
That'll be all.
Laura, the car broke.
[gasps]
What's going on in there?
Her gentleness, the signora, is
trying to shoot the Commendatore.
Buongiorno,
Peppino. I let him live.
That gun was given to
you for your protection.
And talk to Cuoghi.
You're going broke.
I knew it would come to this.
You gave her a
gun, she'll use it.
She carries the payroll for the
factory around in that handbag.
I'd rearm Germany before
I gave that woman a gun.
Peppino will take you and Laura
to the cemetery this morning.
And don't forget
the Workers Mass
unless you want to pay
higher wages next year.
Don't fight with Laura.
Mm.
Good morning. No one was
hurt, so don't make a fuss.
What?
What have I said?
[bell tolling]
Morning, Commendatore.
Good morning.
[customer] Did you
know who was in the car?
It was Jean Behra.
Don't panic, Matteo. If they take
the record, we shall take it back.
How did our football
team do yesterday?
You know damn well. We lost.
Oh, one long catalog
of disaster it's been.
How long since you took over?
What about Le Mans?
Jaguar one, two and
three. What's that?
Well, from my mistakes I learn, whereas the
mistakes you make you repeat, week after week.
When you play
Bologna, I hope you win.
Otherwise I have to
relocate the factory
so the drivers are not
dispirited by living in a city
whose football team dwells in
the perpetual twilight of failure.
The Modena Football
Club is the pride of Emilia.
[all scoff, laugh]
Cuoghi wants to meet.
That means bad news.
[sighs]
Now, your mother
missed on purpose.
One day she won't, and
then I'll be in here with you.
[exhales]
I'm hearing voices
in my sleep again.
My brother.
And my father.
No, I see their faces too.
But also now,
Campari and Borzacchini,
my two good friends
who died on the same day
24 years ago this week at Monza
on that evil afternoon.
Ghosts.
There was a time I
loved your mother...
beyond reason.
Well, she was a
different creature then.
But so was I.
And I see you too, you know.
Every moment I close my eyes.
[sobs]
Your face I want to see.
[sniffles]
Okay.
Okay. [sighs]
I go to deal with today.
[engine stops]
[car engine starts]
Did I tell you of my son
Alfredo, Enzo's older brother?
Many times, signora.
A tragedy.
I lost him in the Great War.
Yes, signora.
Let me tell you,
the wrong son died.
[chuckles softly]
[bell tolling]
[sobs softly]
[choir singing "Jesu,
Rex admirabilis"]
[bell ringing]
[bishop] If Jesus
had lived today
and not two thousand years ago,
he would have been born
in a small town like Modena.
He would have
been not a carpenter
but a craftsman in
metal like yourselves.
So a God,
who understood, as a carpenter,
the perfection of the adze,
appreciates, as an engineer,
the precision of your lathe.
The nature of metal.
How it can be forged, shaped
and hammered by
your skills into an engine,
holding inside a
fire to make power
to speed us through the world.
Which is why we give
thanks to him today.
[engine revving]
Are you okay?
[choir singing "Ave
Verum Corpus, K. 618"]
[bishop reciting in Latin]
[bell rings]
[engine roars]
[bishop continues in Latin]
[bell rings]
[stopwatches ticking]
[ticking echoes]
[choir continues singing]
[tires squeal]
[ticking continues]
[ticking continues]
[singing stops]
[bishop] May God be with you.
Now go in peace.
In nomine Patris,
Filii et Spiritus Sancti.
Amen. [congregation] Amen.
Very good. Okay. Great.
[engine revs]
Great.
Great, great.
Very, very good.
1:32.7.
I had 1:32.9.
[onlooker] Signor
Ferrari, a Maserati...
Only for the moment.
When do we take it back?
Right now.
[engine revving]
Okay!
[Ferrari] Glad you
could make it, Eugenio.
Okay, take it easy
till the tires warm up,
then put your foot down.
She'll do 1:30 if
given a chance.
Look after Cecilia, will you?
[engine revving]
[sporting director] Two laps,
and the tires will be warm.
[Chiti] That's good.
Cecilia Manzini?
I knew your mother.
One minute 34.
He's slow.
Signor Ferrari?
Alfonso de Portago.
We met on the Largo Garibaldi.
Yes, sir. I was seeking
to introduce myself.
Yeah, but the light,
it turned green.
You bought one of my cars last
year and won the Tour de France.
Yes.
Now I'm looking
for a works drive.
I don't need another
driver, Portago.
- [gear stick clunks]
- [engine revs]
[gear stick clunks]
[tires squeal]
[Cecilia gasping]
[sirens wailing]
[Ferrari] De Portago.
Call my office on Monday.
I woke you. No, I was up.
Did I wake the boy?
Let me.
[sniffs]
You haven't said a word.
What is there to say?
The newspapers, the
radio, they have it all.
They do?
Was he your friend,
the young Castellotti?
Or was it your fault?
The car's fault? His fault?
Will you miss him? Does
that bring the boy back?
Why do you push like
that? Why do you think?
I know it matters to you.
To me? Come on.
Twenty-four years ago this week,
I lost two friends.
Campari and Borzacchini.
At Monza, in the metal I made.
So I knew then it was,
"Enzo, build a wall."
Or?
Or, "Enzo, go do
something else."
[sniffs]
"Ferrari is an industrial Saturn
devouring his own children.
First Tornaco, now Castellotti."
If you continue killing
the nation's heroes,
we'll have to go to America
and live among foreigners.
I did not kill Castellotti.
The papers blame you.
It wasn't me.
If anyone, it was his mother.
It's true.
He was engaged
to Cecilia Manzini.
His mother wanted him to
marry a woman with more class.
As a result of the weight
she put on his shoulders,
he became distracted,
he lost his concentration,
he crashed and died.
He blames the mother!
What I'm saying is, when a
mother interferes in this business,
death usually follows.
Call the bank.
Cancel Castellotti's salary.
And call Chiti.
I need a report on
the car for the insurers.
Yes, signora.
There's Ferrari.
Why is the damn top down?
I didn't want to get it wet.
It belongs to King
Hussein. Get it inside.
And make sure the cockpit's
dry before you hand it over.
[test driver] Yes,
sir, Commendatore.
Stall the king and tell them
to get a move on in the shop.
Yes, Commendatore.
So?
You're going
broke. Laura's right.
How? How?
You spend more than
you make, that's how.
The production cars
pay for the racing.
I could run Portugal on
what you spend on racing.
How many production
cars did you make last year?
Uh, 140, 150.
Ninety-eight. 198.
No. Ninety-eight.
So what do I do?
Find a partner.
I have a partner. My wife.
She is very mean with money.
A real partner.
Like Agnelli at
Fiat or Henry Ford.
Someone who has
capital to pump in.
No. Impossible. With
money, they want control.
I must have total control.
The right partner would
help with the production cars,
while you do what
you like with the racing.
Increase production to
400 customer cars a year.
Attract finance.
Then you can negotiate.
How do we make... never mind how
do we sell... 400 customer cars a year?
Jaguar took the first
three places at Le Mans.
Now their sales books are full.
You win on Sunday,
you sell on Monday.
You already have kings
waiting in line. Mm, Jaguar.
Jaguar races only to sell cars.
I sell cars only to be racing.
We are completely
different organisms.
Survive, or you are no organism.
[telephone ringing] Hello.
I am Alfonso de Portago.
I have an appointment
with Signor Ferrari.
Take a seat, please.
Win the Mille Miglia, Enzo.
Attract outside finance.
Or you are out of business.
[secretary] Signor Ferrari,
this is Don Alfonso...
Yeah, I know who it is. Cuoghi!
The Marquis de Portago!
[door opens]
Hey, Ferrari!
Cuoghi!
One more thing.
How did Laura get her hands
on the freehold to the plant?
The Nazis were
about to arrest me.
I put it in her name
along with half the shares.
We built it together.
Get it back.
If you face up to
Agnelli or Ford,
you have to hold all the cards.
Well, it's easier
said than done.
[Hussein] Ferrari!
Ah.
Your Majesty!
One more thing.
If I'm in bad shape,
what of Maserati?
Worse. I give them six months.
They've gone to the
French for finance.
And they, too, will try to prove
themselves at the Mille Miglia.
Everyone's eye will be on
it. Only one team will win.
Make sure it's you.
- Your Highness!
- Which Highness?
That Highness. You,
get out to the track.
Your Majesty, come this way.
I hope you got my
measurements right.
Last time my feet could barely
touch the pedals. Of course.
[shutter clicks]
[shutter clicks]
He drives like Varzi.
[tires squeal]
[engine stops]
[De Portago grunts]
Well,
how did I do?
[Ferrari] You drive like Varzi.
Your duties will include
testing and road racing.
[De Portago] The Mille
Miglia? You'll drive a works 250.
Not the most powerful car,
but reliable and it goes
like hell round corners,
so I'll expect you
to be in the points.
Actresses.
I have admiration, but keep
them away from the paddock.
They distract photographers,
whose attention I want on my cars.
Understand?
Okay.
[Ferrari] Peter.
[Collins chuckles]
Look after our new driver.
He's wet and hungry.
Hello, Fon.
How do you do? Pa. Papa, Papa!
What are you doing here?
Get the autograph.
Whose, Collins?
No, de Portago's.
All right.
[Collins] I could eat a horse.
Stop pretending you can count.
Good to see you. How
are you? How's your son?
Fon.
Mike Hawthorn,
future world champion.
The famous von Trips.
Olivier Gendebien, the best
sports car driver in the world.
Taruffi, the oldest.
Truly the best.
[Collins] Chiti, the best engineer,
but always, always anxious.
And Scaglietti.
Working on a project so secret
we are not allowed to discuss.
[De Portago] Arrivederci,
Maserati. [laughter]
[Hawthorn] So, de Portago, what
brings you to this neck of the woods
when everyone knows the future of chassis
technology with rear engines is in England?
Rear engines? [Hawthorn] Yes.
The ox must pull the cart.
What we need is more
power. You hear that, Chiti?
But they turn quick.
And have no straight-line speed.
And the English, they have a
new invention called brakes,
unlike my 250. [laughter]
[Ferrari] All right.
To de Portago.
[all] Cheers.
- [Ferrari] To de Portago's hair.
- [laughter]
Don't you think?
Fon!
Are you running
around like that?
Oh! [moans]
[laughs]
[continues laughing]
[Lina sighs]
[chuckles softly]
What's so funny?
Uh...
I wondered when you'd be back.
How can I stay
away? It's the plums.
[scoffs]
Where's Piero?
On his way home from school.
He asked me yesterday. What?
"Am I Piero Lardi
or Piero Ferrari?"
[door opens, closes]
[Piero] Papa!
Have you got it?
The autograph. No.
Oh. He hasn't, uh,
had a proper picture taken yet.
What autograph?
De Portago. From Spain.
He's going to drive for me.
Great.
Why do you like him so much?
He drives like Varzi.
I'm going to be
a driver. Like you.
No, not like me. I
only won a few races.
This is much better.
Why?
Okay.
Pretend you're
inside this engine.
In the intake manifold.
Right here. Really pretend.
You're tiny.
The size of a little ant.
Now look up.
It's silver.
What do you see?
A big tunnel.
Like a pipe, yes?
Now pretend water races through.
And when it hits this
side, what does it do?
Some will splash sideways.
But if I make the
curve more gentle,
more slippery,
what does it do?
It will go faster.
Fuel and air will move
faster just like the water.
And that is all an engine does.
Moves fuel in,
sparks them into
rapid expansion,
moves old gases
out, new fuel in.
And the faster it can do that,
the more power you make.
It looks better.
Does it?
I have a secret to tell you.
In all life,
when a thing works better,
usually it is more
beautiful to the eye.
[chuckles]
[Lina] Piero, go wash up.
Mmm.
Are you staying to eat?
I'll sit with you and Piero.
Will you come back after?
It depends. I'll try.
Mm, depends on what?
On how business with her goes.
[grunts, sighs]
I'm too easy.
What do you mean?
Too modern.
I should give you lots of shit
like a normal Italian woman.
I prefer you like you are.
Oh, I'm sure you do.
What I should
become is the mistress.
"Oh, Enzo! I feel so sad.
Buy me a fur coat and
a diamond necklace."
Piero!
Sit down.
Don't worry. I do not
plan to change who I am.
Thank you. Thank you?
For nothing.
It's not for you.
Do you know the hardest
part of my life with you?
There is none. There is.
What? Being away.
While with me... what
do the English say?
A piece of pie?
Cake, Enzo. And you're not.
[Ferrari] Thank you, Alda.
Those are from Cuoghi.
He says our days are numbered
unless we find a new partner.
One of the big
companies. Fiat or Ford.
No.
You've never had a
boss. You won't like it.
In order to attract this partner,
he says we have to expand.
He's talking about
building 400 cars a year.
How do we sell 400 cars a year?
We have to win the Mille Miglia,
then orders for sports cars will follow.
This man knows contract law. What
does he know about motor racing?
Hmm?
A thousand miles across bad
roads with sheep and dogs.
Anything can happen.
What else?
What else?
You should assign me control of your
stock in the company and the freehold,
uh, so I can deal.
Oh.
Because Henry Ford
won't deal with a woman.
No.
Because if it comes to a
deal, it'll be hard and fast.
I have to have all
the cards in my hand.
Well, half the cards
are in my hand. Laura.
What do you want me to say?
"Mr. Ford, we have a deal, but first I must
wait until I ask my wife for permission"?
Yes, you can say that.
You know what?
I'm gonna give you power
of attorney over my stock,
so you can deal.
For half a million dollars.
I don't have half a million!
You will if you make a deal.
Okay, I'll give you a check.
Post-dated.
Not post-dated.
I'll give you a check on condition
you promise not to cash it
until and unless the
deal goes through.
Is that reasonable?
Is that reasonable?
We need this.
One condition.
What?
I want my gun back.
What?
I want my gun back.
[Ferrari moans]
[Laura moaning]
[Ferrari panting]
[shouts]
[table thumping]
Did you sign de Portago? Yes.
I'll draw up a contract.
And I need money
for Cecilia Manzini.
How much money?
25,000.
What?
25,000?
She's broke.
Her mother told me.
Her mother?
Have you been
fucking her mother?
What?
Are you crazy?
I want $25,000 in cash.
Ah, you've been fucking
the mother and the daughter.
We have obligations
to that family. Both.
Oh, obligations. So
compassionate. Sympathetic.
Bullshit.
Fucking bullshit.
I am compassionate!
Five.
Ten.
Fifteen million lire.
Or 25,000 US dollars.
Please.
How do you want
me to enter this?
As a bequest to Signora Manzini.
To buy a property.
She'll have the use of it,
but we'll retain the freehold.
Ah, the same arrangement
as in, uh, Castelvetro.
Castelvetro?
We have a property
in Castelfranco.
[bank manager] Oh. Yes, yes.
I'm sorry. I got the towns
confused. [chuckles]
I also need a banker's
order for a new driver.
His name is de Portago.
How do you spell that?
D-E
P-O-R-T-A-G-O.
Thank you.
Thank you.
[sighs deeply]
Castelvetro.
As her gentleness,
the signora, commands.
Commendatore!
The press conference.
[telephone ringing]
[Ferrari chuckles]
He's dating Linda Christian, that
blonde who follows him around.
Who is? De Portago.
Tyrone Power left Rita
Hayworth for the blonde.
She left Tyrone
Power for de Portago.
What are you reading,
Commendatore?
"Rome Merry-Go-Round."
Here's who will be there.
And I will exclude Di Massimo
and Fusaro. They are the worst.
No, no, no.
I want them there.
So what do you think?
[sighs] Ah, there is no ashtray.
Are you a prima donna?
You ever tried flicking ash out of
a car at 200 kilometers an hour?
I'm offering you a brand-new car
which has the edge on Maserati.
Bullshit. The Maserati is
faster and it has an ashtray.
If I put in an ashtray, will
you drive it in the Mille Miglia?
[sighs]
Good.
And don't ask me
for a navigator. Wha...
You know every inch.
You've raced it 16 times.
I can see in your eyes
you're going to ask me,
and I'm not seduced
by you, silver fox.
Get all these cleaned
up before the photo call.
How'd she handle? Good.
This is not, "How
was lunch?" "Good."
I want to know brake wear.
I want steering, suspension,
gear ratios, final drive.
If it's going to run in the Mille
Miglia, it's got to be 100%.
Here, talk to him.
[assistant] Go. Get inside.
[journalists chattering]
Okay, Di Massimo.
Signor Ferrari.
- I'm not an assassin.
- It was a figure of speech.
Uh, Commendato... [Ferrari] Out!
[Di Massimo] Commendatore. Out.
Fusaro.
You said I was Saturn
devouring his young children.
I was merely quoting the
Vatican, Commendatore.
- You too. Out.
- [journalists grumbling]
And you, Moretti.
A "widow-maker."
For the record, Castellotti
was not married, okay?
Out.
When we win,
I can't see my cars for
shots of starlets' asses.
When we lose,
you're a lynch mob.
[journalists protesting]
It's enough to make
the pope weep.
Next.
Let me introduce my spring
team for the Mille Miglia.
[journalists clamoring]
Signor Ferrari! Ferrari!
[Ferrari] This is de Portago,
Castellotti's replacement.
But he drives like Varzi.
Hey, Fon, is it true
about Linda Christian?
She's your girlfriend?
Don't answer that question.
This is my old friend Taruffi.
Last time he was second.
This time he will be first.
Peter Collins. Future
world champion.
Taffy von Trips. A tiger.
And this is Olivier Gendebien,
the fastest driver of
road cars in the world.
[journalists clamoring]
[camera flashes firing]
[photographer 1]
Yes, all together.
[photographer 2] Smile.
A smile. Look at me, sir.
[all shouting] Linda! Linda!
[photographer 3]
Linda, look over here!
Linda, big smile! A
shot of you by the car!
Linda! Linda, with the car!
[clamoring continues]
Rancati, a word after.
A word after.
[photographer 4] Smile!
Hey, Linda!
Stop.
Stop.
Go back.
Go back.
Turn right.
[Ferrari] Giuseppe.
Rancati, there's something
I want you to do for me.
Write an article
suggesting that there are rumors
that I'm talking
to Henry Ford II
about the future of the factory.
At the end, say you
asked me, bluntly,
and that I
categorically denied it.
And are you?
Categorically denying it?
Ah, yes, of course.
Categorically, I deny it.
If I write this article,
will you give me an
exclusive on your private life?
Yes.
If you promise
not to publish it.
For the time being.
Until I authorize it.
Okay. It's a deal.
[engine stops]
[car door closes]
You're going tonight?
Yes. With my friends.
He's quiet.
I didn't get him de
Portago's autograph.
It's not about that.
What is it about?
In two weeks,
he'll be confirmed.
As whom?
Piero Lardi or Piero Ferrari?
We said when he was
ten, we would sort this out.
Then Dino's illness got
worse, and he's still Piero Lardi.
I'm out of excuses.
Postpone the confirmation.
His whole class
is being confirmed.
Say he lost his faith in God.
Enzo.
Who else knows about him?
Nobody.
Apart from the chief of police.
The doctor?
Well, yes, the doctor.
And Piero's teachers.
The teachers.
Tavoni, Sergio.
Of course, Tavoni.
And the bank manager?
The bank manager.
Enzo. Apart from them, no one.
Enzo, this is Italy. Yes?
All of Modena knows!
Except Laura.
And that must stay as it is.
Especially for now.
Oh, you're going to tell me, "Enzo,
don't be so bourgeois, so Italian."
Don't make me
sound like a beatnik.
You read French books.
What happened between
us in the war happened.
As with many.
And sometimes I wish it didn't.
How can you say that?
Because if I was a
woman like I am now,
not 12 years ago,
I would not have interfered
in another woman's marriage.
And now she's lost a child.
But the present is
what the present is.
And in our world here,
between me and you and Piero,
what is best for Piero?
Who speaks for him?
You're his father.
How do we reconcile this?
I don't know.
But that makes it no less.
[faint singing in
Italian on television]
Aren't you coming?
No. Make an excuse for me.
The cash for Cecilia?
Brown envelope by the door.
[door closes]
What's this I hear about you
looking for outside investors?
Fangio eating up all your money?
No. With television, it's
going to become big business.
To do this, one has
to be capitalized.
The game is changing, Enzo.
And this outside capital will magically
bestow its favors upon Maserati.
[chuckling] Of course.
After we win the Mille Miglia.
[crowd quiets]
[applause]
[tenor singing "Parigi, o cara"]
[singing "Parigi, o cara"]
[both laughing]
[grunts] [laughing]
[soprano continues singing]
[Laura clapping]
I'm pregnant.
[commentator] Hawthorn
is third, Fangio and Collins...
[Ferrari] Where is
everybody? [cork pops]
[Scaglietti] I gave
them the day off.
[Ferrari] No wonder you're
so late with everything.
Enzo, it's Sunday.
My men work weekends
all through the year for you.
[groans]
Their children haven't seen
them since the day they were born.
That's very sad. Here's to you and
that pack of color-blind louts you employ.
De Portago is slowing down,
having overshot on the braking.
Mrs. Vanderbilt and
Cooper watch excitedly
as Lewis-Evans goes through in the
straight followed by Musso's Ferrari.
Vanwall leads the race,
averaging 120 miles per hour.
Musso makes his tires smoke
as he strains all his nerves
to try and close down the gap.
We got word of a collision between
the BRM and the Cooper-Climax.
Oh! There is a lot of
smoke, making it very...
[tires squeal]
[crowd cheering, whistling]
[mechanic] What is problema?
[speaking Italian]
[straining]
[mechanic] Oh, no. [grunts]
Is she operable? Ah, that's bad.
Bad, bad. Very bad.
With three laps to go, after Fangio,
Musso, it's Behra and de Portago.
He's trying all he
knows to close the gap.
De Portago! And he brakes first!
Call in de Portago.
Hurry up. Hurry up.
[Tavoni] Fon. Fon.
What? [Tavoni] Out.
What? Out! Peter's taking over.
Thank you, old bean.
Go, go, go!
What happened?
I could have taken him.
[Ferrari] You lack commitment.
Look at the Maserati team.
Fangio.
Behra.
Stirling Moss.
Hard-nosed pros.
Men with a brutal
determination to win.
With a cruel emptiness
in their stomachs.
Detachment.
Loyal to one
thing... not the team.
Loyal to their lust to win.
It rains.
The track is slippery with
oil, an evil-handling car.
Will they falter? No.
My spring team.
Courageous? Skillful? Yes.
Recently in school.
Aristocrats, straight
from Almanach de Gotha.
Gentlemen sportsmen. Very nice.
On the straight into the tight
corner at Nouveau Monde,
there's only one
line through it.
Behra pulls up next
to you, challenging.
You're even.
But two objects cannot occupy the same
point in space at the same moment in time.
Behra doesn't lift.
The corner races at you.
You have perhaps
a crisis of identity:
"Am I a sportsman
or a competitor?"
"How will the French think of
me if I run Behra into a tree?"
You lift, he passes.
He won, you lose!
Because at that same moment
Behra thought, "Fuck it, we both die."
Make no mistake, all of us
are racers... or have been.
We all are certain, "It
will never happen to me."
Then my friend is killed. I give
up racing forever on Monday.
I'm back racing by Sunday.
We all know it's
our deadly passion.
Our terrible joy.
But if you get into
one of my cars...
and no one is forcing
you to take that seat...
you get in to win.
Brake later.
Steal their line.
Make them make the mistake.
I would have taken him.
Behra.
I'm changing the lineup
for the Mille Miglia.
I want you and
Olivier to swap cars.
He'll drive the little coupe
and you'll take one of the 335's.
You're giving me one of the
most powerful cars in the race.
Well, put it another way: I'm
giving Olivier the more agile coupe.
Won't he mind?
Well, of course he will,
but he'll beat you anyway.
This is the power of attorney
which Signor Ferrari requested
that you put your name on.
And the check
for $500,000.
It has not been signed.
The signing of these affidavits was
conditional on the exchange of the check.
I'm sure it was an oversight.
Bullshit, Cosetti.
Go away, please.
Give me a pen.
[sighs]
[sighs]
Excellent.
I'll hold on to these until
I get my check signed.
And...
I want information about special
payments made by the factory last year.
To whom?
Lina Lardi.
Lina Lardi.
I want to know
how much they are.
I want to know for how
long they've been going on.
Yes.
[Laura] Enzo.
Lina Lardi.
What does that name mean to you?
The boy is yours?
Yes.
I need to think about this.
[slams telephone]
[line buzzing]
She found out.
The boy? That too.
So what do you think?
The driver in front
will piss his pants
when he sees it in his mirror.
And when it passes,
it has an ass on it like
a Canova sculpture.
So what do I do?
What do you want to do?
Leave her.
So, do it.
You see that pigeon up there?
I left its door open,
but it won't come out.
It's forgotten what freedom is.
Freedom for that
pigeon is pigeon pie.
Tell Laura that you
two should live apart,
you are going to live with Lina,
and that you are going
to recognize the boy.
Everybody thinks that
you should anyway.
I don't give a damn what
everybody thinks. What do you think?
There are a lot of people
on your payroll with families.
Ferrari needs
continuity to stay Ferrari.
[sighs]
We have history.
Stay there, pigeon,
or you're dead meat.
The whole of Emilia
knows, but not me?
I thought it would
break your heart.
You broke my heart
years ago, Enzo.
When did it start?
The war.
The factory had
been bombed twice.
Uh, it began during
the worst of it.
She worked at
Carrozzeria Orlandi.
You and Dino were in the hills that
year, and by Christmas she was pregnant.
So I bought Castelvetro
and she went to live there.
Is she different
from the others?
I was in love with her.
And I still am.
[scoffs]
I find myself
sharing my whole life
with a woman I have never met.
[chuckles softly]
It makes a mockery of you
in the years when
our son was ill.
When he was dying.
How can you say that?
That boy,
is he going to inherit
our factory, our name?
'Cause I don't want
him to. We have a son.
One son, two sons.
Five sons.
I miss Dino any less?
Every morning I see
him in the cemetery.
The hospital he died
in is funded in his name.
A school was built in his honor!
Honor? Who gives a shit?
You were supposed to save him!
You blame me for his death?
Yes!
Yes, because you
promised me he wouldn't die!
Everything.
I did everything.
Tables showing what
calories he could eat.
What went in, what came out.
I graphed the degrees of
albuminuria, the degrees of azotemia!
Diuresis!
I know more about nephritis
and dystrophy than cars!
Yes, I blame you! I blame
you 'cause you let him die.
The father deluded himself!
The great engineer!
"I will restore
my son to health."
Swiss doctors, Italian
doctors. Bullshit. I could not.
I did not!
'Cause you were so consoled at
Castelvetro, you lost your attention.
You had another boy growing
stronger while Dino was getting weaker!
What goes on in your
mind? He got sick.
Dystrophy. Kidneys!
It destroyed him!
It destroyed us.
What do you care? Huh?
You have another son!
You have another wife!
She's not my wife.
But he is my son.
Move out.
These are the papers. They give
you power to negotiate on my behalf.
And there is a problem
with your check.
You forgot to put
your name on it.
We are partners.
This is a gun
pointed at our head.
You cash it before I conclude
the deal, Ferrari is no more.
That's right.
[door opens]
[door closes]
[door opens]
[door closes]
[Ferrari] It's done.
She knows.
You'll come to Modena.
What?
Why not?
Modena is where I live.
It's not me. It's about Piero.
Does he sneak around?
As whom?
She knows he is our boy?
She knows he is my son.
But nothing has been resolved.
Yeah.
[Piero] Hey, Papa!
De Portago's autograph.
You go back to sleep.
Papa!
[chanting] Fer-ra-ri! Fer-ra-ri!
Fer-ra-ri! Fer-ra-ri!
Fer-ra-ri! Fer-ra-ri!
Fer-ra-ri! Fer-ra-ri!
[Piero continues chanting]
Fer-ra-ri! Fer-ra-ri! [engine fades]
[sighs]
[crowd chattering in Italian]
[engines revving,
roaring in distance]
[photographer shouts in Italian]
[engines revving]
[person] Signor Ferrari.
[photographer] Commendatore Ferrari!
[journalist] Mr. Ferrari!
[crowd clamoring]
- [person shouting] Ferrari!
- He's here.
Peter. How are you doing?
Okay, here we go. Come
here. Come this way.
This is Peter Collins.
[applause]
All right.
Let's go.
This is my new friend, de
Portago, our newest driver.
Okay.
Good luck, gentlemen.
Good afternoon, Commendatore.
Registration forms, licenses.
Good afternoon, gentlemen.
Good afternoon, Orsi.
Good afternoon, Ferrari.
I'm entering five cars.
Collins, Taruffi, de Portago,
von Trips, Gendebien.
[Ferrari] Are you
making them richer?
[mechanic 1] Yes,
for the humidity.
[Ferrari] No sleeping.
Especially you.
[mechanic 2 responds in Italian]
[huffed sighs]
Good evening, Commendatore.
And to you, my friend.
[commentator on television] of
the smallest of the racing cars.
Painted on each of the cars
is the time of its departure.
[Tavoni] No, judges
should be at Ravenna.
[Ferrari] Okay.
Make sure they show these at every
control. Otherwise they're disqualified.
[commentator] I'm honored to have
at my side the owner of Maserati,
Cavaliere Adolfo Orsi.
All right, I have a few
last-minute instructions.
Refueling.
Remind the mechanics the
gas is to go into the tanks,
not on the drivers.
Especially Taruffi. I prefer
he not go up in flames.
I'm writing to Linda.
What do I say?
[navigator] I don't know. Um...
[Collins] My darling Louise.
The same letter I
write before every race.
I have no worry for
myself in this race, as ever.
My only fear is that you will
need me and I won't be here.
In that unlikely eventuality,
know you have all my love always.
[crowd applauding, cheering]
[engine revving]
Remember what I told you.
Get behind Taruffi and Collins.
Okay? They know the way.
If you can hang on to them till you
reach Bologna, you're in with a chance.
One last thing.
Can you autograph this?
It's for a very, very
special young man.
What's his name?
Piero.
Piero!
P-I-E-R-O.
If Moss and Behra
attempt to pass,
wave them through.
Your job is to get
round in one piece.
See you in Bologna!
Good luck.
[engine revving]
[race official] Ready? Go.
[tires squeal]
- [Ferrari] Good morning, Peter.
- And it's going to be a good one.
This car can win.
Once you're over the mountains,
you've got the legs on the others.
Then it's either you or
de Portago, understand?
Are you forgetting
about Moss and Behra?
Watch out for stray dogs and
children. They're the real danger.
All right.
[Tavoni] Here you are. Ah, si.
You can win this one, Taruffi, if you don't
smoke yourself to death before it's over.
What's the weather
like on the Futa Pass?
Good. Maybe rain.
Listen to me. You
need this race.
How can you tell
your grandchildren
that you picked up every trophy in
Europe but you've never won at Brescia?
Make sure I get the backup.
No foul-ups. Especially
at the fuel stops.
[Ferrari] All right,
that's the spirit.
[engine revving]
[tires squeal]
Stirling, are we all set? Yes.
Take the lead right away
and stay in front. Sure.
Great.
[engine revving]
Jean,
you stay back
behind the Ferraris.
Wait.
Some will break,
eliminate themselves.
Then attack before Bologna.
Okay? Okay.
[cheering, applause muffles]
[cheering, applause
fade back in]
Good to see you.
For once he did not complain.
[engine revving]
Do you know the way ahead?
I'm not sure.
[Moss] Okay, let's
see what she can do.
Let him go, Fon.
[tires squeal]
No brakes. Bloody
pedal snapped off!
[engine starts]
[Moss] Let's get
this bugger home.
[commentator] The first car
into Ravenna this morning
was Peter Collins's Ferrari
and a Fiat 500 timed at
140 on the final section.
Magi, it's Ferrari.
[bartender speaking Italian]
[commentator
continues in Italian]
Moss is out.
On this, straight.
[crowd cheering]
What's next?
Commendatore?
Avvocato Agnelli's
on the phone. All right.
Uh, sit down, gentlemen.
Excuse me for one moment.
Avvocato.
I apologize for calling in the
middle of the race, Ferrari.
But I have this article by Rancati in
front of me that is, uh, so disturbing.
Avvocato, it's fiction.
I have absolutely no idea
where they get their stories.
This is important.
Ferrari cannot go to foreigners.
You are a national treasure.
A "jewel in the
crown of Italy." [scoffs]
Exactly.
Then why does the
jewel have to scrimp
to put its cars into every race?
If it's that bad, why
didn't you call me?
I did. You said no.
Impossible. When was this?
1917. Stop it.
You were a child.
I was 19. I needed a job.
A secretary came
back with a card.
One word written on it: "No."
That was a long time ago.
In business, each
day is a new day.
Well, the personality
of Fiat is timeless.
The offer you would make
me will be full of conditions.
That is not so. My bosses
will be bookkeepers in Turin.
We should talk this over.
If you're looking for
financial assistance,
talk to me, please.
Not Ford.
You're busy now.
Call me after the Mille Miglia.
I'll call you first
thing tomorrow.
Okay.
[crowd cheering, whistling]
[official speaking Italian] Yup?
[shouts in Italian]
[grunts]
When you get to Bologna,
change the rubber.
I will call ahead. Hi.
Hey.
Meet me in Brescia. I
can't. I have a camera test.
I am going to win.
I want you to be there.
[tires squealing]
- [thuds]
- [tires squealing]
[Taruffi] Took a shortcut?
[chuckling] Yeah. Come on.
[engine revs]
[paparazzo speaking Italian]
[chattering] [shutters clicking]
Hey.
[crowd clamoring]
[clerk in Italian] Your keys?
Oh, grazie. Grazie.
Buongiorno.
[footsteps approaching]
[chuckles]
How much time do you have?
First cars arrive
in about an hour.
About half past 2:00.
Mmm.
[sighs]
[chuckles]
[sighs]
[crowd cheering]
Everything okay? No,
the transmission is gone.
I don't know if it's the
gears or the rear axle,
but the bloody thing's
buggered either way.
Who's behind me?
Everyone. You're in the lead.
What about Moss? Out.
When? Before Padua.
[chuckling] Why
didn't you tell me?
It was Moss I was worried about.
Well,
I've fucked the bloody
transmission up now, haven't I?
Kid, you want Collins's banana?
Peter, you can
do it. Take it easy.
[engine starts]
Thank you very
much. Best of luck.
[Taruffi] Thank you.
Taruffi, I gave you
a brand-new car.
Look at it!
The rear axle is bent.
I only have the first,
third and the fourth gear.
What happened? I
went off. Futa Pass.
You're a passenger in a Ferrari.
You should have walked!
All right. Any more damage...
I don't think it can make it.
Any more damage,
Taruffi, and you pay for it.
Commendatore, now
that Maserati's out,
we are in danger of running
the cars into the ground.
Order the drivers to
hold their positions.
Yeah, why bother? They won't.
Any problems, Olivier?
You're the head of your class.
- I'm going to win this outright.
- All right, and you can.
Collins's back axle is gone. There's
a problem with Taffy's transmission.
That leaves Taruffi,
and he's lost a gear.
So it's me and de Portago.
You and de Portago.
Okay, let's go. Go.
[Chiti] But if we
continue at this pace...
[Tavoni] For the future of the
factory... My factory is built on racing.
They are racers.
I think I can make it.
[Ferrari] You
better, you geriatric.
If you don't finish in the first three,
your wife will never speak to you again.
Nor your children.
Okay, go for it!
How is Behra?
He's okay.
He kept coming.
He brakes, you pass.
You brake, he passes.
Or no one brakes.
- [De Portago] What's going on here?
- You need new rubber.
I don't have time.
Check the pressures.
Chiti, check the tires. Nelson,
did you check the front offside?
Yes. It's okay.
We're wasting time,
Ferrari. Come on!
[Ferrari] Chiti, check
the front offside.
- Come on, they're good.
- [Ferrari] Chiti!
[Chiti] They're worn.
Will it get us to Brescia?
Will it get us to Brescia?
Go, go! Hurry up!
[photographer 1] Eh, eh,
Laura! Signora! Laura, please?
Laura, please. Please.
Laura, please?
Please, Laura. Another
one, please. Laura!
[commentator] To bring
you the latest... [door closes]
from the Mille Miglia, I'm
sure you are as curious as I am
to see who finished
in glory today.
Let's hear from Signor Ferra...
Signor Ferrari, who's gonna win?
It could be any
of the first five.
[commentator] And what
about Gendebien's 250?
He demonstrates that even the smallest
Ferrari can compete at the highest level.
[commentator] May he
win? Of course he may win!
Who wants to come in
second? [crowd laughs]
You knew about her
and you never told me?
He is entitled to an heir.
I gave him one.
As it turns out, one
was not enough.
I gave him one! I gave him one!
Edoardo!
[child] Edoardo!
Edoardo, go back,
wash your hands.
[Edoardo] They're coming!
I think this guy is crazy
about these cars. [laughs]
He's only ever
thinking about cars.
[crowd chattering, cheering]
[applause]
[tires screeching]
[no audible dialogue]
[no audible dialogue]
[cheering fades in]
[Linda] Peter, hi!
Where is Fon?
I don't know.
He was behind me
until my car broke down.
He'll be here somewhere.
[crowd chattering]
[sirens wailing]
[person sobbing]
[police officer] Commendatore?
[baby crying]
[Chiti] Maresciallo, we
are here to collect the car.
De Portago?
They took him away.
[door opens]
[door closes]
[crowd chattering, laughing]
Hello? [Ferrari] Piero.
Yes. It's Enzo.
I wanted to congratulate you.
Mmm.
Well, what happened is
separate from your victory today.
It will go into
the history books.
- Commendatore...
- Good night, Piero.
And again, I salute you.
The police are on
their way from Rome.
They want the car.
[telephone ringing]
I don't know. No, I don't
know when. I'm sorry.
[telephone ringing] I
will tell him you called.
[secretary] The
Commendatore is not available.
I'm sorry, he is really tied up.
[telephone ringing]
[secretary] Signor Ferrari is not
available to answer your questions.
Commendatore.
This wheel hit a
curb stone, a brick.
Something solid to cut it.
It wasn't the tire.
Lina called me.
She wants me to bring you there.
What happened?
We all know death is nearby.
No, no, no, no.
No, children don't know.
Families don't know.
[telephone ringing]
I have to talk to those
vultures. Then drive me home?
Tavoni! Tommaso!
[Cuoghi] Enzo!
She cashed the check.
[journalists clamoring]
Why did you keep running
drivers on poor quality tires?
[journalist] Did you realize that
your negligence cost the lives
of nine people,
including five children?
How do you plan to respond
to all the accusations?
And how do you plan to
justify the number of casualties?
Castelvetro? No.
Largo Garibaldi.
Phone Lina for me.
Tell her I'll call
maybe tomorrow.
I have business.
[lock clicking]
[journalist] Do you realize that
your negligence has cost the lives...
Look, if Italy is
looking for a scapegoat,
then here I am!
[journalists clamoring]
No lights?
[sighs] I have a headache.
The phone's been
ringing all night.
I took it off the hook.
[sighs]
You're in real
trouble, you know.
To do with the tires.
The press is competing for
who can vilify you the most.
Nothing wrong with the tires.
He hit something.
Did you take any calls?
[scoffs]
Ugolini from The Gazette.
What did you tell him? I
told him to fuck himself.
Then that man from Autosport.
I told him to fuck himself.
Then Agnelli.
Agnelli? I told him...
to call back.
Anyone else?
Cuoghi.
I told him to fuck himself,
then I took the phone
off the hook. Great.
Mama, what are you doing?
I'm all packed.
When do we leave?
We're not going
anywhere. Go back to sleep.
[sighs]
This is God's way
of punishing us.
Us?
You think he slaughtered
nine people at Guidizzolo
to get even with you and me?
I got a message from the bank.
You cashed the check. Mm.
They're calling
insolvency experts.
We're done.
The bank is getting
hysterical over nothing.
Nothing? You bankrupted us.
Enzo, stop it.
What good are
you doing yourself?
Mm, "I'm a scapegoat,
I'm a martyr."
Who are you? Who have
you become? St. Sebastian?
You stand there and let
them shoot arrows in your ass?
Go beat the hell out of them.
The writers. Those cheap hacks.
Threaten them. Extort them.
And those still on their feet,
the most sanctimonious
and hypocritical,
those, you give them
brown envelopes.
And then they also will discover
that, "Perhaps the Sage of
Maranello has been maligned unfairly.
Perhaps moderation
should reassert itself
in the distinguished
Italian press."
And for that, you need the cash.
[sighs]
You thought I'd pack a
suitcase and go, right?
It crossed my mind.
It crossed my mind too.
You're financing this?
No, lending it.
And the conditions are?
No conditions.
Oh.
No conditions.
There was a part of you in Dino.
Your warmth. Your wit.
Your joy.
He had that.
I had that from you
in our early years.
But after a time,
I only got what was left when you
came home from the fights in the factory.
The ambition,
the drive, the plots.
The paranoia.
Even our fucking.
As if that could save Dino.
What I loved in you
I also found in him.
All that's gone.
There is no condition.
You have the money.
[sniffs]
But it is my wish...
for my grief for our son,
for the years building this...
you do not acknowledge the boy
with the name Ferrari while I am alive.
How'd you get here?
[Piero] I came with Giuseppe.
Giuseppe?
Your mother sent him because
she wants me to come home.
You haven't been
here before, have you?
No.
Do you know something?
Hmm?
Your mother and you
are going to come
live with me in Modena.
Papa.
Is the TV reception better?
[laughs]
Much better. [exhales]
You can see the
tower from my window.
Did you get de
Portago's autograph?
I did. [gasps]
Come.
I'll introduce you
to your brother Dino.
I wish you could have known him.
He would have taken
you with him everywhere.
[singing ballad in Italian]
[song ends]
[singing in Italian]
[song ends]
[birds chirping]
[kisses]
[sighs]
[car engine rumbles]
[engine revs]
[passengers chattering]
[announcer speaking
Italian on loudspeaker]
[telephone ringing]
[ringing continues]
Yes?
Please inform Signor Ferrari
that the Maserati driver Jean
Behra has just arrived from Milan.
Hmm. Thank you.
Thank you, most excellent
and gracious signora.
[telephone ringing]
Yes?
Laura. It's Chiti. Is he there?
He's taking a shower.
Give him a message,
please. Jean Behra is in town.
[line clicks]
How are you?
Signor Ferrari?
Signor Ferrari!
May I present myself?
I am Alfonso de Portago.
[tires squeal]
[opera member] Wow.
[people chattering in Italian]
[applause]
It's Ferrari.
Good morning, Enzo!
Your friends are back.
This time, I hope in tune.
More in tune than your
cars in Monaco last week.
Enzo! We have to talk.
That bad?
I will come by later.
[door opening]
[footsteps approaching]
[door opens, creaks]
[door closes]
[telephone ringing]
[Ferrari] Yes.
[Chiti] Behra is here.
The Orsi brothers
collected him at the station.
Did signora tell you?
The word is
he's going to
challenge our record.
Is the 801 ready?
After the Workers
Mass at 9:00. After that.
I'll call Castellotti.
Behra's here.
[line buzzing] Really?
So many phone calls, I thought
Frank Sinatra came to town.
Hotel Medici, Firenze.
What do I tell them?
"Excuse me, please,
my husband isn't here.
He's out whoring.
Grazie, buongiorno."
Signor Castellotti,
please. Enzo.
I don't give a fuck who
you screw or how many.
But the rule is that
you have to be here
before the maid arrives
with the morning coffee.
- That was the agreement, was it not?
- Laura, please.
Buongiorno, signora,
Commendatore.
[telephone ringing]
Pronto.
[Ferrari] Eugenio, my boy.
Commendatore.
Can you be at the Modena
Autodrome by 11:00?
Bring your lucky gloves.
What gloves?
The gloves that will beat Behra,
who's come to steal
from you our record.
I'll be there.
Good. [maid] Will
that be all, signora?
That'll be all.
Laura, the car broke.
[gasps]
What's going on in there?
Her gentleness, the signora, is
trying to shoot the Commendatore.
Buongiorno,
Peppino. I let him live.
That gun was given to
you for your protection.
And talk to Cuoghi.
You're going broke.
I knew it would come to this.
You gave her a
gun, she'll use it.
She carries the payroll for the
factory around in that handbag.
I'd rearm Germany before
I gave that woman a gun.
Peppino will take you and Laura
to the cemetery this morning.
And don't forget
the Workers Mass
unless you want to pay
higher wages next year.
Don't fight with Laura.
Mm.
Good morning. No one was
hurt, so don't make a fuss.
What?
What have I said?
[bell tolling]
Morning, Commendatore.
Good morning.
[customer] Did you
know who was in the car?
It was Jean Behra.
Don't panic, Matteo. If they take
the record, we shall take it back.
How did our football
team do yesterday?
You know damn well. We lost.
Oh, one long catalog
of disaster it's been.
How long since you took over?
What about Le Mans?
Jaguar one, two and
three. What's that?
Well, from my mistakes I learn, whereas the
mistakes you make you repeat, week after week.
When you play
Bologna, I hope you win.
Otherwise I have to
relocate the factory
so the drivers are not
dispirited by living in a city
whose football team dwells in
the perpetual twilight of failure.
The Modena Football
Club is the pride of Emilia.
[all scoff, laugh]
Cuoghi wants to meet.
That means bad news.
[sighs]
Now, your mother
missed on purpose.
One day she won't, and
then I'll be in here with you.
[exhales]
I'm hearing voices
in my sleep again.
My brother.
And my father.
No, I see their faces too.
But also now,
Campari and Borzacchini,
my two good friends
who died on the same day
24 years ago this week at Monza
on that evil afternoon.
Ghosts.
There was a time I
loved your mother...
beyond reason.
Well, she was a
different creature then.
But so was I.
And I see you too, you know.
Every moment I close my eyes.
[sobs]
Your face I want to see.
[sniffles]
Okay.
Okay. [sighs]
I go to deal with today.
[engine stops]
[car engine starts]
Did I tell you of my son
Alfredo, Enzo's older brother?
Many times, signora.
A tragedy.
I lost him in the Great War.
Yes, signora.
Let me tell you,
the wrong son died.
[chuckles softly]
[bell tolling]
[sobs softly]
[choir singing "Jesu,
Rex admirabilis"]
[bell ringing]
[bishop] If Jesus
had lived today
and not two thousand years ago,
he would have been born
in a small town like Modena.
He would have
been not a carpenter
but a craftsman in
metal like yourselves.
So a God,
who understood, as a carpenter,
the perfection of the adze,
appreciates, as an engineer,
the precision of your lathe.
The nature of metal.
How it can be forged, shaped
and hammered by
your skills into an engine,
holding inside a
fire to make power
to speed us through the world.
Which is why we give
thanks to him today.
[engine revving]
Are you okay?
[choir singing "Ave
Verum Corpus, K. 618"]
[bishop reciting in Latin]
[bell rings]
[engine roars]
[bishop continues in Latin]
[bell rings]
[stopwatches ticking]
[ticking echoes]
[choir continues singing]
[tires squeal]
[ticking continues]
[ticking continues]
[singing stops]
[bishop] May God be with you.
Now go in peace.
In nomine Patris,
Filii et Spiritus Sancti.
Amen. [congregation] Amen.
Very good. Okay. Great.
[engine revs]
Great.
Great, great.
Very, very good.
1:32.7.
I had 1:32.9.
[onlooker] Signor
Ferrari, a Maserati...
Only for the moment.
When do we take it back?
Right now.
[engine revving]
Okay!
[Ferrari] Glad you
could make it, Eugenio.
Okay, take it easy
till the tires warm up,
then put your foot down.
She'll do 1:30 if
given a chance.
Look after Cecilia, will you?
[engine revving]
[sporting director] Two laps,
and the tires will be warm.
[Chiti] That's good.
Cecilia Manzini?
I knew your mother.
One minute 34.
He's slow.
Signor Ferrari?
Alfonso de Portago.
We met on the Largo Garibaldi.
Yes, sir. I was seeking
to introduce myself.
Yeah, but the light,
it turned green.
You bought one of my cars last
year and won the Tour de France.
Yes.
Now I'm looking
for a works drive.
I don't need another
driver, Portago.
- [gear stick clunks]
- [engine revs]
[gear stick clunks]
[tires squeal]
[Cecilia gasping]
[sirens wailing]
[Ferrari] De Portago.
Call my office on Monday.
I woke you. No, I was up.
Did I wake the boy?
Let me.
[sniffs]
You haven't said a word.
What is there to say?
The newspapers, the
radio, they have it all.
They do?
Was he your friend,
the young Castellotti?
Or was it your fault?
The car's fault? His fault?
Will you miss him? Does
that bring the boy back?
Why do you push like
that? Why do you think?
I know it matters to you.
To me? Come on.
Twenty-four years ago this week,
I lost two friends.
Campari and Borzacchini.
At Monza, in the metal I made.
So I knew then it was,
"Enzo, build a wall."
Or?
Or, "Enzo, go do
something else."
[sniffs]
"Ferrari is an industrial Saturn
devouring his own children.
First Tornaco, now Castellotti."
If you continue killing
the nation's heroes,
we'll have to go to America
and live among foreigners.
I did not kill Castellotti.
The papers blame you.
It wasn't me.
If anyone, it was his mother.
It's true.
He was engaged
to Cecilia Manzini.
His mother wanted him to
marry a woman with more class.
As a result of the weight
she put on his shoulders,
he became distracted,
he lost his concentration,
he crashed and died.
He blames the mother!
What I'm saying is, when a
mother interferes in this business,
death usually follows.
Call the bank.
Cancel Castellotti's salary.
And call Chiti.
I need a report on
the car for the insurers.
Yes, signora.
There's Ferrari.
Why is the damn top down?
I didn't want to get it wet.
It belongs to King
Hussein. Get it inside.
And make sure the cockpit's
dry before you hand it over.
[test driver] Yes,
sir, Commendatore.
Stall the king and tell them
to get a move on in the shop.
Yes, Commendatore.
So?
You're going
broke. Laura's right.
How? How?
You spend more than
you make, that's how.
The production cars
pay for the racing.
I could run Portugal on
what you spend on racing.
How many production
cars did you make last year?
Uh, 140, 150.
Ninety-eight. 198.
No. Ninety-eight.
So what do I do?
Find a partner.
I have a partner. My wife.
She is very mean with money.
A real partner.
Like Agnelli at
Fiat or Henry Ford.
Someone who has
capital to pump in.
No. Impossible. With
money, they want control.
I must have total control.
The right partner would
help with the production cars,
while you do what
you like with the racing.
Increase production to
400 customer cars a year.
Attract finance.
Then you can negotiate.
How do we make... never mind how
do we sell... 400 customer cars a year?
Jaguar took the first
three places at Le Mans.
Now their sales books are full.
You win on Sunday,
you sell on Monday.
You already have kings
waiting in line. Mm, Jaguar.
Jaguar races only to sell cars.
I sell cars only to be racing.
We are completely
different organisms.
Survive, or you are no organism.
[telephone ringing] Hello.
I am Alfonso de Portago.
I have an appointment
with Signor Ferrari.
Take a seat, please.
Win the Mille Miglia, Enzo.
Attract outside finance.
Or you are out of business.
[secretary] Signor Ferrari,
this is Don Alfonso...
Yeah, I know who it is. Cuoghi!
The Marquis de Portago!
[door opens]
Hey, Ferrari!
Cuoghi!
One more thing.
How did Laura get her hands
on the freehold to the plant?
The Nazis were
about to arrest me.
I put it in her name
along with half the shares.
We built it together.
Get it back.
If you face up to
Agnelli or Ford,
you have to hold all the cards.
Well, it's easier
said than done.
[Hussein] Ferrari!
Ah.
Your Majesty!
One more thing.
If I'm in bad shape,
what of Maserati?
Worse. I give them six months.
They've gone to the
French for finance.
And they, too, will try to prove
themselves at the Mille Miglia.
Everyone's eye will be on
it. Only one team will win.
Make sure it's you.
- Your Highness!
- Which Highness?
That Highness. You,
get out to the track.
Your Majesty, come this way.
I hope you got my
measurements right.
Last time my feet could barely
touch the pedals. Of course.
[shutter clicks]
[shutter clicks]
He drives like Varzi.
[tires squeal]
[engine stops]
[De Portago grunts]
Well,
how did I do?
[Ferrari] You drive like Varzi.
Your duties will include
testing and road racing.
[De Portago] The Mille
Miglia? You'll drive a works 250.
Not the most powerful car,
but reliable and it goes
like hell round corners,
so I'll expect you
to be in the points.
Actresses.
I have admiration, but keep
them away from the paddock.
They distract photographers,
whose attention I want on my cars.
Understand?
Okay.
[Ferrari] Peter.
[Collins chuckles]
Look after our new driver.
He's wet and hungry.
Hello, Fon.
How do you do? Pa. Papa, Papa!
What are you doing here?
Get the autograph.
Whose, Collins?
No, de Portago's.
All right.
[Collins] I could eat a horse.
Stop pretending you can count.
Good to see you. How
are you? How's your son?
Fon.
Mike Hawthorn,
future world champion.
The famous von Trips.
Olivier Gendebien, the best
sports car driver in the world.
Taruffi, the oldest.
Truly the best.
[Collins] Chiti, the best engineer,
but always, always anxious.
And Scaglietti.
Working on a project so secret
we are not allowed to discuss.
[De Portago] Arrivederci,
Maserati. [laughter]
[Hawthorn] So, de Portago, what
brings you to this neck of the woods
when everyone knows the future of chassis
technology with rear engines is in England?
Rear engines? [Hawthorn] Yes.
The ox must pull the cart.
What we need is more
power. You hear that, Chiti?
But they turn quick.
And have no straight-line speed.
And the English, they have a
new invention called brakes,
unlike my 250. [laughter]
[Ferrari] All right.
To de Portago.
[all] Cheers.
- [Ferrari] To de Portago's hair.
- [laughter]
Don't you think?
Fon!
Are you running
around like that?
Oh! [moans]
[laughs]
[continues laughing]
[Lina sighs]
[chuckles softly]
What's so funny?
Uh...
I wondered when you'd be back.
How can I stay
away? It's the plums.
[scoffs]
Where's Piero?
On his way home from school.
He asked me yesterday. What?
"Am I Piero Lardi
or Piero Ferrari?"
[door opens, closes]
[Piero] Papa!
Have you got it?
The autograph. No.
Oh. He hasn't, uh,
had a proper picture taken yet.
What autograph?
De Portago. From Spain.
He's going to drive for me.
Great.
Why do you like him so much?
He drives like Varzi.
I'm going to be
a driver. Like you.
No, not like me. I
only won a few races.
This is much better.
Why?
Okay.
Pretend you're
inside this engine.
In the intake manifold.
Right here. Really pretend.
You're tiny.
The size of a little ant.
Now look up.
It's silver.
What do you see?
A big tunnel.
Like a pipe, yes?
Now pretend water races through.
And when it hits this
side, what does it do?
Some will splash sideways.
But if I make the
curve more gentle,
more slippery,
what does it do?
It will go faster.
Fuel and air will move
faster just like the water.
And that is all an engine does.
Moves fuel in,
sparks them into
rapid expansion,
moves old gases
out, new fuel in.
And the faster it can do that,
the more power you make.
It looks better.
Does it?
I have a secret to tell you.
In all life,
when a thing works better,
usually it is more
beautiful to the eye.
[chuckles]
[Lina] Piero, go wash up.
Mmm.
Are you staying to eat?
I'll sit with you and Piero.
Will you come back after?
It depends. I'll try.
Mm, depends on what?
On how business with her goes.
[grunts, sighs]
I'm too easy.
What do you mean?
Too modern.
I should give you lots of shit
like a normal Italian woman.
I prefer you like you are.
Oh, I'm sure you do.
What I should
become is the mistress.
"Oh, Enzo! I feel so sad.
Buy me a fur coat and
a diamond necklace."
Piero!
Sit down.
Don't worry. I do not
plan to change who I am.
Thank you. Thank you?
For nothing.
It's not for you.
Do you know the hardest
part of my life with you?
There is none. There is.
What? Being away.
While with me... what
do the English say?
A piece of pie?
Cake, Enzo. And you're not.
[Ferrari] Thank you, Alda.
Those are from Cuoghi.
He says our days are numbered
unless we find a new partner.
One of the big
companies. Fiat or Ford.
No.
You've never had a
boss. You won't like it.
In order to attract this partner,
he says we have to expand.
He's talking about
building 400 cars a year.
How do we sell 400 cars a year?
We have to win the Mille Miglia,
then orders for sports cars will follow.
This man knows contract law. What
does he know about motor racing?
Hmm?
A thousand miles across bad
roads with sheep and dogs.
Anything can happen.
What else?
What else?
You should assign me control of your
stock in the company and the freehold,
uh, so I can deal.
Oh.
Because Henry Ford
won't deal with a woman.
No.
Because if it comes to a
deal, it'll be hard and fast.
I have to have all
the cards in my hand.
Well, half the cards
are in my hand. Laura.
What do you want me to say?
"Mr. Ford, we have a deal, but first I must
wait until I ask my wife for permission"?
Yes, you can say that.
You know what?
I'm gonna give you power
of attorney over my stock,
so you can deal.
For half a million dollars.
I don't have half a million!
You will if you make a deal.
Okay, I'll give you a check.
Post-dated.
Not post-dated.
I'll give you a check on condition
you promise not to cash it
until and unless the
deal goes through.
Is that reasonable?
Is that reasonable?
We need this.
One condition.
What?
I want my gun back.
What?
I want my gun back.
[Ferrari moans]
[Laura moaning]
[Ferrari panting]
[shouts]
[table thumping]
Did you sign de Portago? Yes.
I'll draw up a contract.
And I need money
for Cecilia Manzini.
How much money?
25,000.
What?
25,000?
She's broke.
Her mother told me.
Her mother?
Have you been
fucking her mother?
What?
Are you crazy?
I want $25,000 in cash.
Ah, you've been fucking
the mother and the daughter.
We have obligations
to that family. Both.
Oh, obligations. So
compassionate. Sympathetic.
Bullshit.
Fucking bullshit.
I am compassionate!
Five.
Ten.
Fifteen million lire.
Or 25,000 US dollars.
Please.
How do you want
me to enter this?
As a bequest to Signora Manzini.
To buy a property.
She'll have the use of it,
but we'll retain the freehold.
Ah, the same arrangement
as in, uh, Castelvetro.
Castelvetro?
We have a property
in Castelfranco.
[bank manager] Oh. Yes, yes.
I'm sorry. I got the towns
confused. [chuckles]
I also need a banker's
order for a new driver.
His name is de Portago.
How do you spell that?
D-E
P-O-R-T-A-G-O.
Thank you.
Thank you.
[sighs deeply]
Castelvetro.
As her gentleness,
the signora, commands.
Commendatore!
The press conference.
[telephone ringing]
[Ferrari chuckles]
He's dating Linda Christian, that
blonde who follows him around.
Who is? De Portago.
Tyrone Power left Rita
Hayworth for the blonde.
She left Tyrone
Power for de Portago.
What are you reading,
Commendatore?
"Rome Merry-Go-Round."
Here's who will be there.
And I will exclude Di Massimo
and Fusaro. They are the worst.
No, no, no.
I want them there.
So what do you think?
[sighs] Ah, there is no ashtray.
Are you a prima donna?
You ever tried flicking ash out of
a car at 200 kilometers an hour?
I'm offering you a brand-new car
which has the edge on Maserati.
Bullshit. The Maserati is
faster and it has an ashtray.
If I put in an ashtray, will
you drive it in the Mille Miglia?
[sighs]
Good.
And don't ask me
for a navigator. Wha...
You know every inch.
You've raced it 16 times.
I can see in your eyes
you're going to ask me,
and I'm not seduced
by you, silver fox.
Get all these cleaned
up before the photo call.
How'd she handle? Good.
This is not, "How
was lunch?" "Good."
I want to know brake wear.
I want steering, suspension,
gear ratios, final drive.
If it's going to run in the Mille
Miglia, it's got to be 100%.
Here, talk to him.
[assistant] Go. Get inside.
[journalists chattering]
Okay, Di Massimo.
Signor Ferrari.
- I'm not an assassin.
- It was a figure of speech.
Uh, Commendato... [Ferrari] Out!
[Di Massimo] Commendatore. Out.
Fusaro.
You said I was Saturn
devouring his young children.
I was merely quoting the
Vatican, Commendatore.
- You too. Out.
- [journalists grumbling]
And you, Moretti.
A "widow-maker."
For the record, Castellotti
was not married, okay?
Out.
When we win,
I can't see my cars for
shots of starlets' asses.
When we lose,
you're a lynch mob.
[journalists protesting]
It's enough to make
the pope weep.
Next.
Let me introduce my spring
team for the Mille Miglia.
[journalists clamoring]
Signor Ferrari! Ferrari!
[Ferrari] This is de Portago,
Castellotti's replacement.
But he drives like Varzi.
Hey, Fon, is it true
about Linda Christian?
She's your girlfriend?
Don't answer that question.
This is my old friend Taruffi.
Last time he was second.
This time he will be first.
Peter Collins. Future
world champion.
Taffy von Trips. A tiger.
And this is Olivier Gendebien,
the fastest driver of
road cars in the world.
[journalists clamoring]
[camera flashes firing]
[photographer 1]
Yes, all together.
[photographer 2] Smile.
A smile. Look at me, sir.
[all shouting] Linda! Linda!
[photographer 3]
Linda, look over here!
Linda, big smile! A
shot of you by the car!
Linda! Linda, with the car!
[clamoring continues]
Rancati, a word after.
A word after.
[photographer 4] Smile!
Hey, Linda!
Stop.
Stop.
Go back.
Go back.
Turn right.
[Ferrari] Giuseppe.
Rancati, there's something
I want you to do for me.
Write an article
suggesting that there are rumors
that I'm talking
to Henry Ford II
about the future of the factory.
At the end, say you
asked me, bluntly,
and that I
categorically denied it.
And are you?
Categorically denying it?
Ah, yes, of course.
Categorically, I deny it.
If I write this article,
will you give me an
exclusive on your private life?
Yes.
If you promise
not to publish it.
For the time being.
Until I authorize it.
Okay. It's a deal.
[engine stops]
[car door closes]
You're going tonight?
Yes. With my friends.
He's quiet.
I didn't get him de
Portago's autograph.
It's not about that.
What is it about?
In two weeks,
he'll be confirmed.
As whom?
Piero Lardi or Piero Ferrari?
We said when he was
ten, we would sort this out.
Then Dino's illness got
worse, and he's still Piero Lardi.
I'm out of excuses.
Postpone the confirmation.
His whole class
is being confirmed.
Say he lost his faith in God.
Enzo.
Who else knows about him?
Nobody.
Apart from the chief of police.
The doctor?
Well, yes, the doctor.
And Piero's teachers.
The teachers.
Tavoni, Sergio.
Of course, Tavoni.
And the bank manager?
The bank manager.
Enzo. Apart from them, no one.
Enzo, this is Italy. Yes?
All of Modena knows!
Except Laura.
And that must stay as it is.
Especially for now.
Oh, you're going to tell me, "Enzo,
don't be so bourgeois, so Italian."
Don't make me
sound like a beatnik.
You read French books.
What happened between
us in the war happened.
As with many.
And sometimes I wish it didn't.
How can you say that?
Because if I was a
woman like I am now,
not 12 years ago,
I would not have interfered
in another woman's marriage.
And now she's lost a child.
But the present is
what the present is.
And in our world here,
between me and you and Piero,
what is best for Piero?
Who speaks for him?
You're his father.
How do we reconcile this?
I don't know.
But that makes it no less.
[faint singing in
Italian on television]
Aren't you coming?
No. Make an excuse for me.
The cash for Cecilia?
Brown envelope by the door.
[door closes]
What's this I hear about you
looking for outside investors?
Fangio eating up all your money?
No. With television, it's
going to become big business.
To do this, one has
to be capitalized.
The game is changing, Enzo.
And this outside capital will magically
bestow its favors upon Maserati.
[chuckling] Of course.
After we win the Mille Miglia.
[crowd quiets]
[applause]
[tenor singing "Parigi, o cara"]
[singing "Parigi, o cara"]
[both laughing]
[grunts] [laughing]
[soprano continues singing]
[Laura clapping]
I'm pregnant.
[commentator] Hawthorn
is third, Fangio and Collins...
[Ferrari] Where is
everybody? [cork pops]
[Scaglietti] I gave
them the day off.
[Ferrari] No wonder you're
so late with everything.
Enzo, it's Sunday.
My men work weekends
all through the year for you.
[groans]
Their children haven't seen
them since the day they were born.
That's very sad. Here's to you and
that pack of color-blind louts you employ.
De Portago is slowing down,
having overshot on the braking.
Mrs. Vanderbilt and
Cooper watch excitedly
as Lewis-Evans goes through in the
straight followed by Musso's Ferrari.
Vanwall leads the race,
averaging 120 miles per hour.
Musso makes his tires smoke
as he strains all his nerves
to try and close down the gap.
We got word of a collision between
the BRM and the Cooper-Climax.
Oh! There is a lot of
smoke, making it very...
[tires squeal]
[crowd cheering, whistling]
[mechanic] What is problema?
[speaking Italian]
[straining]
[mechanic] Oh, no. [grunts]
Is she operable? Ah, that's bad.
Bad, bad. Very bad.
With three laps to go, after Fangio,
Musso, it's Behra and de Portago.
He's trying all he
knows to close the gap.
De Portago! And he brakes first!
Call in de Portago.
Hurry up. Hurry up.
[Tavoni] Fon. Fon.
What? [Tavoni] Out.
What? Out! Peter's taking over.
Thank you, old bean.
Go, go, go!
What happened?
I could have taken him.
[Ferrari] You lack commitment.
Look at the Maserati team.
Fangio.
Behra.
Stirling Moss.
Hard-nosed pros.
Men with a brutal
determination to win.
With a cruel emptiness
in their stomachs.
Detachment.
Loyal to one
thing... not the team.
Loyal to their lust to win.
It rains.
The track is slippery with
oil, an evil-handling car.
Will they falter? No.
My spring team.
Courageous? Skillful? Yes.
Recently in school.
Aristocrats, straight
from Almanach de Gotha.
Gentlemen sportsmen. Very nice.
On the straight into the tight
corner at Nouveau Monde,
there's only one
line through it.
Behra pulls up next
to you, challenging.
You're even.
But two objects cannot occupy the same
point in space at the same moment in time.
Behra doesn't lift.
The corner races at you.
You have perhaps
a crisis of identity:
"Am I a sportsman
or a competitor?"
"How will the French think of
me if I run Behra into a tree?"
You lift, he passes.
He won, you lose!
Because at that same moment
Behra thought, "Fuck it, we both die."
Make no mistake, all of us
are racers... or have been.
We all are certain, "It
will never happen to me."
Then my friend is killed. I give
up racing forever on Monday.
I'm back racing by Sunday.
We all know it's
our deadly passion.
Our terrible joy.
But if you get into
one of my cars...
and no one is forcing
you to take that seat...
you get in to win.
Brake later.
Steal their line.
Make them make the mistake.
I would have taken him.
Behra.
I'm changing the lineup
for the Mille Miglia.
I want you and
Olivier to swap cars.
He'll drive the little coupe
and you'll take one of the 335's.
You're giving me one of the
most powerful cars in the race.
Well, put it another way: I'm
giving Olivier the more agile coupe.
Won't he mind?
Well, of course he will,
but he'll beat you anyway.
This is the power of attorney
which Signor Ferrari requested
that you put your name on.
And the check
for $500,000.
It has not been signed.
The signing of these affidavits was
conditional on the exchange of the check.
I'm sure it was an oversight.
Bullshit, Cosetti.
Go away, please.
Give me a pen.
[sighs]
[sighs]
Excellent.
I'll hold on to these until
I get my check signed.
And...
I want information about special
payments made by the factory last year.
To whom?
Lina Lardi.
Lina Lardi.
I want to know
how much they are.
I want to know for how
long they've been going on.
Yes.
[Laura] Enzo.
Lina Lardi.
What does that name mean to you?
The boy is yours?
Yes.
I need to think about this.
[slams telephone]
[line buzzing]
She found out.
The boy? That too.
So what do you think?
The driver in front
will piss his pants
when he sees it in his mirror.
And when it passes,
it has an ass on it like
a Canova sculpture.
So what do I do?
What do you want to do?
Leave her.
So, do it.
You see that pigeon up there?
I left its door open,
but it won't come out.
It's forgotten what freedom is.
Freedom for that
pigeon is pigeon pie.
Tell Laura that you
two should live apart,
you are going to live with Lina,
and that you are going
to recognize the boy.
Everybody thinks that
you should anyway.
I don't give a damn what
everybody thinks. What do you think?
There are a lot of people
on your payroll with families.
Ferrari needs
continuity to stay Ferrari.
[sighs]
We have history.
Stay there, pigeon,
or you're dead meat.
The whole of Emilia
knows, but not me?
I thought it would
break your heart.
You broke my heart
years ago, Enzo.
When did it start?
The war.
The factory had
been bombed twice.
Uh, it began during
the worst of it.
She worked at
Carrozzeria Orlandi.
You and Dino were in the hills that
year, and by Christmas she was pregnant.
So I bought Castelvetro
and she went to live there.
Is she different
from the others?
I was in love with her.
And I still am.
[scoffs]
I find myself
sharing my whole life
with a woman I have never met.
[chuckles softly]
It makes a mockery of you
in the years when
our son was ill.
When he was dying.
How can you say that?
That boy,
is he going to inherit
our factory, our name?
'Cause I don't want
him to. We have a son.
One son, two sons.
Five sons.
I miss Dino any less?
Every morning I see
him in the cemetery.
The hospital he died
in is funded in his name.
A school was built in his honor!
Honor? Who gives a shit?
You were supposed to save him!
You blame me for his death?
Yes!
Yes, because you
promised me he wouldn't die!
Everything.
I did everything.
Tables showing what
calories he could eat.
What went in, what came out.
I graphed the degrees of
albuminuria, the degrees of azotemia!
Diuresis!
I know more about nephritis
and dystrophy than cars!
Yes, I blame you! I blame
you 'cause you let him die.
The father deluded himself!
The great engineer!
"I will restore
my son to health."
Swiss doctors, Italian
doctors. Bullshit. I could not.
I did not!
'Cause you were so consoled at
Castelvetro, you lost your attention.
You had another boy growing
stronger while Dino was getting weaker!
What goes on in your
mind? He got sick.
Dystrophy. Kidneys!
It destroyed him!
It destroyed us.
What do you care? Huh?
You have another son!
You have another wife!
She's not my wife.
But he is my son.
Move out.
These are the papers. They give
you power to negotiate on my behalf.
And there is a problem
with your check.
You forgot to put
your name on it.
We are partners.
This is a gun
pointed at our head.
You cash it before I conclude
the deal, Ferrari is no more.
That's right.
[door opens]
[door closes]
[door opens]
[door closes]
[Ferrari] It's done.
She knows.
You'll come to Modena.
What?
Why not?
Modena is where I live.
It's not me. It's about Piero.
Does he sneak around?
As whom?
She knows he is our boy?
She knows he is my son.
But nothing has been resolved.
Yeah.
[Piero] Hey, Papa!
De Portago's autograph.
You go back to sleep.
Papa!
[chanting] Fer-ra-ri! Fer-ra-ri!
Fer-ra-ri! Fer-ra-ri!
Fer-ra-ri! Fer-ra-ri!
Fer-ra-ri! Fer-ra-ri!
[Piero continues chanting]
Fer-ra-ri! Fer-ra-ri! [engine fades]
[sighs]
[crowd chattering in Italian]
[engines revving,
roaring in distance]
[photographer shouts in Italian]
[engines revving]
[person] Signor Ferrari.
[photographer] Commendatore Ferrari!
[journalist] Mr. Ferrari!
[crowd clamoring]
- [person shouting] Ferrari!
- He's here.
Peter. How are you doing?
Okay, here we go. Come
here. Come this way.
This is Peter Collins.
[applause]
All right.
Let's go.
This is my new friend, de
Portago, our newest driver.
Okay.
Good luck, gentlemen.
Good afternoon, Commendatore.
Registration forms, licenses.
Good afternoon, gentlemen.
Good afternoon, Orsi.
Good afternoon, Ferrari.
I'm entering five cars.
Collins, Taruffi, de Portago,
von Trips, Gendebien.
[Ferrari] Are you
making them richer?
[mechanic 1] Yes,
for the humidity.
[Ferrari] No sleeping.
Especially you.
[mechanic 2 responds in Italian]
[huffed sighs]
Good evening, Commendatore.
And to you, my friend.
[commentator on television] of
the smallest of the racing cars.
Painted on each of the cars
is the time of its departure.
[Tavoni] No, judges
should be at Ravenna.
[Ferrari] Okay.
Make sure they show these at every
control. Otherwise they're disqualified.
[commentator] I'm honored to have
at my side the owner of Maserati,
Cavaliere Adolfo Orsi.
All right, I have a few
last-minute instructions.
Refueling.
Remind the mechanics the
gas is to go into the tanks,
not on the drivers.
Especially Taruffi. I prefer
he not go up in flames.
I'm writing to Linda.
What do I say?
[navigator] I don't know. Um...
[Collins] My darling Louise.
The same letter I
write before every race.
I have no worry for
myself in this race, as ever.
My only fear is that you will
need me and I won't be here.
In that unlikely eventuality,
know you have all my love always.
[crowd applauding, cheering]
[engine revving]
Remember what I told you.
Get behind Taruffi and Collins.
Okay? They know the way.
If you can hang on to them till you
reach Bologna, you're in with a chance.
One last thing.
Can you autograph this?
It's for a very, very
special young man.
What's his name?
Piero.
Piero!
P-I-E-R-O.
If Moss and Behra
attempt to pass,
wave them through.
Your job is to get
round in one piece.
See you in Bologna!
Good luck.
[engine revving]
[race official] Ready? Go.
[tires squeal]
- [Ferrari] Good morning, Peter.
- And it's going to be a good one.
This car can win.
Once you're over the mountains,
you've got the legs on the others.
Then it's either you or
de Portago, understand?
Are you forgetting
about Moss and Behra?
Watch out for stray dogs and
children. They're the real danger.
All right.
[Tavoni] Here you are. Ah, si.
You can win this one, Taruffi, if you don't
smoke yourself to death before it's over.
What's the weather
like on the Futa Pass?
Good. Maybe rain.
Listen to me. You
need this race.
How can you tell
your grandchildren
that you picked up every trophy in
Europe but you've never won at Brescia?
Make sure I get the backup.
No foul-ups. Especially
at the fuel stops.
[Ferrari] All right,
that's the spirit.
[engine revving]
[tires squeal]
Stirling, are we all set? Yes.
Take the lead right away
and stay in front. Sure.
Great.
[engine revving]
Jean,
you stay back
behind the Ferraris.
Wait.
Some will break,
eliminate themselves.
Then attack before Bologna.
Okay? Okay.
[cheering, applause muffles]
[cheering, applause
fade back in]
Good to see you.
For once he did not complain.
[engine revving]
Do you know the way ahead?
I'm not sure.
[Moss] Okay, let's
see what she can do.
Let him go, Fon.
[tires squeal]
No brakes. Bloody
pedal snapped off!
[engine starts]
[Moss] Let's get
this bugger home.
[commentator] The first car
into Ravenna this morning
was Peter Collins's Ferrari
and a Fiat 500 timed at
140 on the final section.
Magi, it's Ferrari.
[bartender speaking Italian]
[commentator
continues in Italian]
Moss is out.
On this, straight.
[crowd cheering]
What's next?
Commendatore?
Avvocato Agnelli's
on the phone. All right.
Uh, sit down, gentlemen.
Excuse me for one moment.
Avvocato.
I apologize for calling in the
middle of the race, Ferrari.
But I have this article by Rancati in
front of me that is, uh, so disturbing.
Avvocato, it's fiction.
I have absolutely no idea
where they get their stories.
This is important.
Ferrari cannot go to foreigners.
You are a national treasure.
A "jewel in the
crown of Italy." [scoffs]
Exactly.
Then why does the
jewel have to scrimp
to put its cars into every race?
If it's that bad, why
didn't you call me?
I did. You said no.
Impossible. When was this?
1917. Stop it.
You were a child.
I was 19. I needed a job.
A secretary came
back with a card.
One word written on it: "No."
That was a long time ago.
In business, each
day is a new day.
Well, the personality
of Fiat is timeless.
The offer you would make
me will be full of conditions.
That is not so. My bosses
will be bookkeepers in Turin.
We should talk this over.
If you're looking for
financial assistance,
talk to me, please.
Not Ford.
You're busy now.
Call me after the Mille Miglia.
I'll call you first
thing tomorrow.
Okay.
[crowd cheering, whistling]
[official speaking Italian] Yup?
[shouts in Italian]
[grunts]
When you get to Bologna,
change the rubber.
I will call ahead. Hi.
Hey.
Meet me in Brescia. I
can't. I have a camera test.
I am going to win.
I want you to be there.
[tires squealing]
- [thuds]
- [tires squealing]
[Taruffi] Took a shortcut?
[chuckling] Yeah. Come on.
[engine revs]
[paparazzo speaking Italian]
[chattering] [shutters clicking]
Hey.
[crowd clamoring]
[clerk in Italian] Your keys?
Oh, grazie. Grazie.
Buongiorno.
[footsteps approaching]
[chuckles]
How much time do you have?
First cars arrive
in about an hour.
About half past 2:00.
Mmm.
[sighs]
[chuckles]
[sighs]
[crowd cheering]
Everything okay? No,
the transmission is gone.
I don't know if it's the
gears or the rear axle,
but the bloody thing's
buggered either way.
Who's behind me?
Everyone. You're in the lead.
What about Moss? Out.
When? Before Padua.
[chuckling] Why
didn't you tell me?
It was Moss I was worried about.
Well,
I've fucked the bloody
transmission up now, haven't I?
Kid, you want Collins's banana?
Peter, you can
do it. Take it easy.
[engine starts]
Thank you very
much. Best of luck.
[Taruffi] Thank you.
Taruffi, I gave you
a brand-new car.
Look at it!
The rear axle is bent.
I only have the first,
third and the fourth gear.
What happened? I
went off. Futa Pass.
You're a passenger in a Ferrari.
You should have walked!
All right. Any more damage...
I don't think it can make it.
Any more damage,
Taruffi, and you pay for it.
Commendatore, now
that Maserati's out,
we are in danger of running
the cars into the ground.
Order the drivers to
hold their positions.
Yeah, why bother? They won't.
Any problems, Olivier?
You're the head of your class.
- I'm going to win this outright.
- All right, and you can.
Collins's back axle is gone. There's
a problem with Taffy's transmission.
That leaves Taruffi,
and he's lost a gear.
So it's me and de Portago.
You and de Portago.
Okay, let's go. Go.
[Chiti] But if we
continue at this pace...
[Tavoni] For the future of the
factory... My factory is built on racing.
They are racers.
I think I can make it.
[Ferrari] You
better, you geriatric.
If you don't finish in the first three,
your wife will never speak to you again.
Nor your children.
Okay, go for it!
How is Behra?
He's okay.
He kept coming.
He brakes, you pass.
You brake, he passes.
Or no one brakes.
- [De Portago] What's going on here?
- You need new rubber.
I don't have time.
Check the pressures.
Chiti, check the tires. Nelson,
did you check the front offside?
Yes. It's okay.
We're wasting time,
Ferrari. Come on!
[Ferrari] Chiti, check
the front offside.
- Come on, they're good.
- [Ferrari] Chiti!
[Chiti] They're worn.
Will it get us to Brescia?
Will it get us to Brescia?
Go, go! Hurry up!
[photographer 1] Eh, eh,
Laura! Signora! Laura, please?
Laura, please. Please.
Laura, please?
Please, Laura. Another
one, please. Laura!
[commentator] To bring
you the latest... [door closes]
from the Mille Miglia, I'm
sure you are as curious as I am
to see who finished
in glory today.
Let's hear from Signor Ferra...
Signor Ferrari, who's gonna win?
It could be any
of the first five.
[commentator] And what
about Gendebien's 250?
He demonstrates that even the smallest
Ferrari can compete at the highest level.
[commentator] May he
win? Of course he may win!
Who wants to come in
second? [crowd laughs]
You knew about her
and you never told me?
He is entitled to an heir.
I gave him one.
As it turns out, one
was not enough.
I gave him one! I gave him one!
Edoardo!
[child] Edoardo!
Edoardo, go back,
wash your hands.
[Edoardo] They're coming!
I think this guy is crazy
about these cars. [laughs]
He's only ever
thinking about cars.
[crowd chattering, cheering]
[applause]
[tires screeching]
[no audible dialogue]
[no audible dialogue]
[cheering fades in]
[Linda] Peter, hi!
Where is Fon?
I don't know.
He was behind me
until my car broke down.
He'll be here somewhere.
[crowd chattering]
[sirens wailing]
[person sobbing]
[police officer] Commendatore?
[baby crying]
[Chiti] Maresciallo, we
are here to collect the car.
De Portago?
They took him away.
[door opens]
[door closes]
[crowd chattering, laughing]
Hello? [Ferrari] Piero.
Yes. It's Enzo.
I wanted to congratulate you.
Mmm.
Well, what happened is
separate from your victory today.
It will go into
the history books.
- Commendatore...
- Good night, Piero.
And again, I salute you.
The police are on
their way from Rome.
They want the car.
[telephone ringing]
I don't know. No, I don't
know when. I'm sorry.
[telephone ringing] I
will tell him you called.
[secretary] The
Commendatore is not available.
I'm sorry, he is really tied up.
[telephone ringing]
[secretary] Signor Ferrari is not
available to answer your questions.
Commendatore.
This wheel hit a
curb stone, a brick.
Something solid to cut it.
It wasn't the tire.
Lina called me.
She wants me to bring you there.
What happened?
We all know death is nearby.
No, no, no, no.
No, children don't know.
Families don't know.
[telephone ringing]
I have to talk to those
vultures. Then drive me home?
Tavoni! Tommaso!
[Cuoghi] Enzo!
She cashed the check.
[journalists clamoring]
Why did you keep running
drivers on poor quality tires?
[journalist] Did you realize that
your negligence cost the lives
of nine people,
including five children?
How do you plan to respond
to all the accusations?
And how do you plan to
justify the number of casualties?
Castelvetro? No.
Largo Garibaldi.
Phone Lina for me.
Tell her I'll call
maybe tomorrow.
I have business.
[lock clicking]
[journalist] Do you realize that
your negligence has cost the lives...
Look, if Italy is
looking for a scapegoat,
then here I am!
[journalists clamoring]
No lights?
[sighs] I have a headache.
The phone's been
ringing all night.
I took it off the hook.
[sighs]
You're in real
trouble, you know.
To do with the tires.
The press is competing for
who can vilify you the most.
Nothing wrong with the tires.
He hit something.
Did you take any calls?
[scoffs]
Ugolini from The Gazette.
What did you tell him? I
told him to fuck himself.
Then that man from Autosport.
I told him to fuck himself.
Then Agnelli.
Agnelli? I told him...
to call back.
Anyone else?
Cuoghi.
I told him to fuck himself,
then I took the phone
off the hook. Great.
Mama, what are you doing?
I'm all packed.
When do we leave?
We're not going
anywhere. Go back to sleep.
[sighs]
This is God's way
of punishing us.
Us?
You think he slaughtered
nine people at Guidizzolo
to get even with you and me?
I got a message from the bank.
You cashed the check. Mm.
They're calling
insolvency experts.
We're done.
The bank is getting
hysterical over nothing.
Nothing? You bankrupted us.
Enzo, stop it.
What good are
you doing yourself?
Mm, "I'm a scapegoat,
I'm a martyr."
Who are you? Who have
you become? St. Sebastian?
You stand there and let
them shoot arrows in your ass?
Go beat the hell out of them.
The writers. Those cheap hacks.
Threaten them. Extort them.
And those still on their feet,
the most sanctimonious
and hypocritical,
those, you give them
brown envelopes.
And then they also will discover
that, "Perhaps the Sage of
Maranello has been maligned unfairly.
Perhaps moderation
should reassert itself
in the distinguished
Italian press."
And for that, you need the cash.
[sighs]
You thought I'd pack a
suitcase and go, right?
It crossed my mind.
It crossed my mind too.
You're financing this?
No, lending it.
And the conditions are?
No conditions.
Oh.
No conditions.
There was a part of you in Dino.
Your warmth. Your wit.
Your joy.
He had that.
I had that from you
in our early years.
But after a time,
I only got what was left when you
came home from the fights in the factory.
The ambition,
the drive, the plots.
The paranoia.
Even our fucking.
As if that could save Dino.
What I loved in you
I also found in him.
All that's gone.
There is no condition.
You have the money.
[sniffs]
But it is my wish...
for my grief for our son,
for the years building this...
you do not acknowledge the boy
with the name Ferrari while I am alive.
How'd you get here?
[Piero] I came with Giuseppe.
Giuseppe?
Your mother sent him because
she wants me to come home.
You haven't been
here before, have you?
No.
Do you know something?
Hmm?
Your mother and you
are going to come
live with me in Modena.
Papa.
Is the TV reception better?
[laughs]
Much better. [exhales]
You can see the
tower from my window.
Did you get de
Portago's autograph?
I did. [gasps]
Come.
I'll introduce you
to your brother Dino.
I wish you could have known him.
He would have taken
you with him everywhere.
[singing ballad in Italian]
[song ends]