It’s 2:19 pm, and over the last 120 minutes or so I’ve been working very hard on a review of F1 — an honest, well-written, fully thought-out one that I was fairly proud of. But about ten minutes ago WordPress jettisoned my most recent draft, and now it’s all totally gone. I’m too shattered and furious to start all over again. My soul is in pieces, shards. But here’s what I had three hours ago:
This may sound strange, but after seeing F1 last night in Manhattan and mostly getting off on it as far as it went but (I may as well be honest at the outset) concurrently not exactly swooning with delight, I’m going to see it again tonight because I want to give it another chance. Because what I absorberd last night was highly efficient formula and throttle, formula and throttle and then, just for variation’s sake, a little more formula and throttle.
F1 is obviously rousing and impactful and effective as far as it goes, but it’s a high-torque machine. An obviously powerful, resourceful, hard-charging machine but a machine nonetheless. It has some pockets of personality here and there, but very little in the way of oddball flavor or idiosyncrasies to speak of (okay, except for Brad Pitt’s deck of cards and that great “it’s not about the money” refrain).
But it’s pure raging formula, and it doesn’t generate all that much in the way of Zen spirit or natural oxygen — it doesn’t live and breathe, and as such lacks a certain organic humanity. It’s so aggressively mechanized and chiseled to a fine edge that it starts to wear you down, and much of it comes close to violating the Walter Murch rule about too many set-ups and edits per minute. It excites and throttles, for sure, but at times it feels as if it’s beating you up more than thrilling you.
Honestly? I felt whalloped by F1 overall and in certain portions genuinely excited, but not altogether delighted.
I re-watched John Frankenheimer‘s Grand Prix (’66) about five or six months ago, and I honestly felt more engaged by that living-room viewing than by watching F1 last night at the Kips Bay on Second Avenue. That’s not to say I didn’t have a fairly good time with it. I just didn’t love it.
I haven’t lost a longish draft of an HE piece in a long, long time. Knowing the WordPress potential for a total wipe-out, I always highlight and save the copy before pushing “save draft” or “publish” tab. For some dumbass reason I didn’t do that this time. I’m so enraged I can barely think.
