In a film whose entire premise is essentially built around the same generational divide being held up for the world to see in the form of the two-word “retort,” “OK Boomer,” Ford v. Ferrari (known as Le Mans ’66 in most European markets) illuminates the entire reason Ford Motor Company got in the race car game. In essence, to appeal to the youth market who looked upon the “steady” and “reliable” Ford as a beacon of anti-cool in an era when brands like Maserati, Bugatti and Ferrari were held up on the silver screen as symbols of sex appeal. It is the latter car company and its eponymous Enzo Ferrari that went up against Henry Ford II in the race that would change the way Ford was viewed not only in the eyes of the coveted youth market it sought to impress, but in those of European car snobs as well. The brainchild behind this highly elaborate marketing scheme (requiring decades’ worth of work to be achieved in a very short time span) was Vice President Lee Iacocca (Jon Bernthal). Pitching it to Henry Ford II (Tracy Letts) as a last-ditch effort to reinvigorate the fledgling brand, Iacocca is given license (no driving pun intended) to poach the best of the best in the world of racing in order to get the job done as rapidly as it is on a Ford assembly line.
That means seeking out Carroll Shelby (Matt Damon)–the only American ever to have won at the 24 Hours of Le Mans in 1959, driving an Aston Martin. Although Shelby is skeptical, to say the least, about Ford’s ability to have any chance of winning, he offers–smelling the implied financial gain–as consolation that Iacocca has just bought the counsel of the only man who might be able to give Ford a viable shot. The man who can actually win the race (since Shelby’s heart condition has kept him away from being behind the wheel for years), however, is Ken Miles (Christian Bale), an irascible Brit with a tailored last name for his profession who both races cars, test drives them and, in short, knows the ins and outs of every vehicle better than his own body. Perhaps that’s why he also owns an auto body shop where he mocks the American customers who have no knowledge of how to drive a European car to its utmost potential (or even its medium-level one). In fact, this seems like half the fun (and payment) of the job to Ken. So yes, he is a decided “non-team player” in the eyes of normals, let alone major corporate executives. Even so, Carroll can think of no other human being better equipped for the herculean task of making Ford Le Mans-ready for competition against Ferrari, the man who goaded Ford II into forcing him to eat his own words after Iacocca returned from Italy in an attempt to buy the bankrupt società (“Ferrari went bankrupt achieving perfection,” Iacocca informs), only to tell his boss that, among other harsh words, Ferrari noted, “He is not Henry Ford.” This dig at someone with a classic case of Daddy’s Boy Syndrome (a terrible affliction that makes sons both inordinately attached to their fathers while also wanting to top their legacies) is precisely the thing to awaken the beast, so to speak. Thus, his unquenchable lust for vengeance against the wily ingegnere, who only dangled the prospect of being bought by Ford for the sake of getting Fiat to up its own purchase price (somewhat poetic considering that, at the outset of Ferrari’s romance with cars, he had tried and failed to apply for a job at Fiat in Torino).
With Ford II out to prove himself to his dead patriarch and Ferrari, the over involvement of numerous executives at every level of management in a corporation–like all corporations–that prides itself on the kind of homogeneity that a unique talent can never thrive within is in direct opposition to everything Ken Miles stands for. Still, he does it out of camaraderie, a grudging loyalty to Carroll. For in truth, Ford v. Ferrari isn’t just about the underdog coming out on top, but also a bromance for the age. A testament to what a friendship can accomplish when two people share the same passion and drive (again, no pun intended). Directed by James Mangold (known for Girl, Interrupted, Walk the Line and Logan) and written by Jez Butterworth, John-Henry Butterworth and Jason Keller, it’s difficult to picture the original two actors in mind for the roles, Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise. For while technically in the same age bracket as Damon and Bale, both seem too far-removed from relatability to the common man–the grit of a working class guy fighting against the nefarious “suits” for autonomy. The faceless money-mongers simply trying to, as Don Draper would say, “turn a dollar into a dollar and ten cents.” Plus, neither Pitt nor Cruise can do a very convincing British accent (barring, one supposes, Pitt’s “pikey” elocution in Snatch). Something that’s very refreshing to hear from native Bale, who so rarely gets to employ some version of his own lilt.
To encapsulate the complete lack of competency or creativity of the average corporate whore at the top, there is Josh Lucas in the role of Leo Beebe (a name almost as infuriating as the man himself comes across in the film). A man still so insignificant, still so much of a cog in the wheel, he can’t even seem to garner a Wikipedia page. Regardless, he was clout-laden enough to insist upon all three Ford cars in the Le Mans race crossing the finish line together despite Miles’ clear advantage and secured solo win. His determination to foil this individual’s victory is a more than symbolic gesture of how corporations seek to stamp out all trace of distinctiveness for the so-called sake of “teamwork” and “a united front.” Also known as sporting the cult mentality. Showing everyone that the Kool-Aid goes down easy here. And you should drink it, too. Alas, Miles momentarily succumbs to this pressure, only to be thrown away by Ford when they’re done with him–and Shelby, for that matter.
Yet the once great titan of the automotive industry would never recapture the glory of the Ford GT40 manufactured in part by Shelby American, with instrumental design input from Shelby and Miles. A car that won Le Mans for four consecutive years from 1966 to 1969, achieving Iacocca’s goal to make Ford sexy again when, in 1968, Steve McQueen drove a model of it in Bullitt. Leading to un certain European bank robber’s request to have one of his own as a getaway car. Hence, the generational gap was momentarily sealed, with both sides appreciating the value of Ford. Too bad the company had to dispense with any admiration for the unico stylings of how Ferrari made their cars–with craftsmanship and care–after the 60s, with the advent of the notorious Pinto (backed by Iacocca himself). Fortuitously introduced on September 11 in 1970. Yet for that brief blip in the 60s, thanks to a one-off of “allowing” (a.k.a. desperately needing) a lone wolf into the fold, Ford was at the top of its game.
