
For the last 20 or so years, on the rarer-than-a-total-eclipse-of-a-blue-moon occasions that a motorsports-centric movie lands in theaters, viewing audiences have been subjected to at least a handful of the following tropes in any given flick: Laughably bad CGI. Laughably improbable crashes. Laughably obvious continuity goofs. Laughably appalling “acting.” Laughably clueless writing. And, most prolific of all, laughably formulaic and schmaltzy romance plots and subplots. In short, the Razzies selection committee is left with sore midriffs and a glut of nominees, while real racing fans are left searching for paper bags to place over their heads upon exiting the theater. Not good.
Thankfully, Senna – the documentary about three-time Formula 1 world champion Ayrton Senna – has none of these concerns, as it is a nonfiction film constructed entirely from archival footage and interviews from the proverbial “people who were there.” But this is hardly a “paint-by-numbers” documentary; there’s far more depth to it than that.