...I'll take that as a 'no'. In the apparent absence of a pre-existing thread on Senna, here are my collected thoughts (as already posted on Facebook), with a view to kicking off a discussion on here:
SENNA. Wow. I may only have seen about four new films in 2011, but this was easily the best. As Mark Kermode says, you don't need to know anything about Formula 1 (and I only know a very little) in order to get something from it.
What's amazing is that so much candid, semi-private footage survives, capturing Senna (and Prost) in moments of conflict and angst, enabling the director to piece it together like a work of narrative fiction. It's so much the story of the rivalry between the Frenchman and the Brazilian that a more honest title would have been Prost-Senna.
Not knowing beforehand which year, or on which track, he died is actually helpful, because the horrible anticipation is ramped up with each race and with each piece of ominous foreshadowing.
You wonder how the hell the other guys who were there that day - Schumacher, Hill, Barrichello etc - ever managed to step inside a racing car again. Barrichello had crashed himself (and got away with a broken arm and nose), and they'd all witnessed the death of Roland Ratzenberger only the previous day.
Incidentally, it's weird being reminded of how much Alain Prost, along with Michel Platini, was a formative influence upon my idea of what a typical Frenchman looks like.
Even more incidentally, it's weird being reminded of the existence of Selina Scott who, for a few years in the Eighties, was considered some sort of national sweetheart, the Princess Di of television.
And even more incidentally than those two, I kept finding it weird that he carried on as long as he did. My mind had consigned him to the late Eighties, but he was still going while, you know, cool Nineties music was happening. And I probably saw the sports bulletins at the time ("Ayrton Senna has won this, Alain Prost has one that") and shrugged "Fuck this, I'm off to see Daisy Chainsaw at the Camden Palace."
I loved the bit where, live on TV, he whispers in the ear of a presenter he is clearly about to shag. Imagine that happening on British television. Lewis Hamilton whispering to Holly Willoughby during some sort of kiddies' Christmas special that he's going to fuck her in the green room straight after.
I tell you who I found really creepy: Frank Williams. I know he's overcome disability and he's an inspiration to us all blah blah, but he makes my blood run cold, like some sort of callous Bond villain.
The bits with (FISA President) Jean-Marie Balestre made me cringe. He's one of those guys who thinks they can speak English but can't. When he sat all the drivers down (most of them not native English-speakers themselves) and gave them a talk, they clearly didn't have a fucking clue what he was saying, but sat there out of politeness till he'd finished. And wow, he was a piece of work. He certainly had, er,
'interesting' politics...
I liked how the end credits told you about the Ayrton Senna Foundation then added "Alain Prost is a trustee", just so we don't come away from the film thinking Alain Prost is a total cunt who must DIE. (Which is a serious danger, considering the somewhat slanted approach the actual film takes.)
But yes, my film of the year: a documentary about a dead racing driver who, up until now, had just been rhyming slang for a tenner. I never saw that coming.*
*Don't. Just don't...