You hold a memory clear in your mind and then years later you meet someone who shared the experience with you, a family picnic, a wedding, whatever, but their remember it in such a way as to make you question your own memories, indeed your own capacity to remember. That’s what I felt watching the new documentary Senna (2011), which charts the meteoric rise and tragic death of Brazilian driving ace Ayrton Senna. People who already love Formula One and motorsports will need little convincing and will be amply rewarded with the behind the scenes footage and a commentary which is revealingly intimate.
Alongside the psychodrama of fratricidal competition between Prost and Senna, there is the sense of Brazil finding for the first time of figure of international standing. It helps as well that the period adds its own charm. Whether it’s Selina Scott delivering a waspish rebuttal to the flirtatious Prost or the fact that the personalities in racing far outshine the more intervening invasion of charisma free replicants like Nigel Mansell and Michael Schumacher, Senna delivers both as a tale of a time as well as one of achievement and ultimate loss.
