If this summer’s theatrical blockbusters are to be believed, mainstream, big-budget filmmaking is backsliding at an unprecedented rate. Having covered summer movie season for years now — and spending even longer gleefully hiding away from the heat at the movie theater for most of my life — I struggle to recall a summer blockbuster slate as dour as 2025’s. Maybe we’re still experiencing the ripple of the pandemic and 2023 WGA/SAG strikes, combined with the early results of Trumpism 2.0 and AI prevalence already shaping the industry. But these once surefire hits have never been so limp and antiseptic.
Those searching for shock, laughs and true, jaw-dropping awe at their local multiplex have been sent on a fool’s errand, hopping from theater to theater like the Mystery Inc. gang during a “Scooby-Doo” chase sequence. Behind Door Number One is a killer robot choking the last life out of her meme potential; behind Door Number Two is an A-List actor holding onto their glory days with a similarly tight grip; and behind Door Number Three is an animated feature that’s been eerily remade into a live-action movie nobody asked for. No matter which door you pick, your chances of seeing something not only enjoyable but legitimately memorable are slim to none. Though, you’d be forgiven if you haven’t realized this phenomenon approaching your door. Summer 2025’s blockbusters have been gussied up to seem as appealing and action-packed as ever. But look a little closer and you’ll notice a layer of thick, shiny lacquer, still wet after these films have been haphazardly jammed through the marketing machine.
If a movie about one of the most dangerous sports in existence can’t hazard a risk or two, what hope is there for an effective, truly adventurous Hollywood blockbuster from here on out?
No film better represents this scourge than “F1: The Movie,” which lives and dies by its ability to brand itself as a blockbuster. The massive success of “F1” among audiences comes as no surprise when this year’s social and political climate has conditioned us to ride a distraction until the wheels fall off. But “F1” is merely trying to convince viewers that what it’s peddling is comparable to any of the high-flying stunt work in “Mission: Impossible” or the dramatic tension of “28 Years Later,” both of which have their drawbacks, but at least look and feel like real films. “F1,” on the other hand, plays like a 156-minute piece of mimicry, as though director Joseph Kosinski and star Brad Pitt were aliens who studied our cinematic texts from summers of yore and beamed down their best recreation into projection rooms across the country. Their puppet show is a sterile, sexless, apolitical lab project, boasting about as much charisma as a piece of lint and played bafflingly safe, more conscious of its branding and sequel potential than making a memorable stamp on the viewer. If a movie about one of the most dangerous sports in existence can’t hazard a risk or two, what hope is there for an effective, truly adventurous Hollywood blockbuster from here on out?
That’s not to say that “F1: The Movie” is devoid of gambles. The film takes a meager, ultra-safe bet on Pitt, whose star has been back on the rise after the actor briefly bowed out of the limelight while dealing with his divorce from Angelina Jolie and her allegations of abuse that came with it. But casting Pitt isn’t much of a risk at all, given how much the film industry and “F1” itself have done to rehabilitate Pitt’s image. Press tours and public appearances can be controlled. Audiences can be focus-grouped and tested. To those who may not have heard about the allegations against Pitt, Sonny Hayes’ brief displays of physical anger, positioned as passion for his sport in the film, don’t look out of character at all. But with the knowledge that “F1” is a blockbuster vanity project that hinges on Pitt’s public perception, it’s easier to imagine all of the hand-wringing that might’ve gone on behind the scenes. How much anger is too much, and how much risk can a movie this big manage?
The answer to that question, as we already know, is little, if any. But that doesn’t make watching “F1” skirt every chance for jeopardy any less bewildering. Yes, I would’ve hoped for a few more mind-blowing crash sequences in a movie about cars that go really, really fast and bump into each other way more than I imagined. But Formula One racing is a multi-billion-dollar brand, and even if its proponents know all about the dangers of the sport, anything too violent or bloody is out of the question. When rookie racer Joshua Pearce (Damson Idris) hydroplanes and has his car flung, spiraling into the air and landing in a fiery crash in the middle of the race, one briefly assumes that Kosinski and screenwriter Ehren Kruger have made the bold move of killing off a primary character in the film’s second act. A death would be a true shock in a movie that desperately needs stakes, but the extent of Joshua’s injuries is, somehow, a badly burned hand. It all reeks of studio notes and investor meddling, and for Kosinski and Kruger, who at least had the stones to kill someone off in 2022’s “Top Gun: Maverick,” it indicates a broader move toward fearful, tame moviemaking. A leg up in contemporary mainstream filmmaking corresponds to a dip in excitement for the viewer.
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Perhaps one could argue that this kind of frightfully subdued blockbuster is a result of audiences being confused about what they want. After all, it does seem like everyone has a gripe about something these days. But “F1” is not merely safe, it’s been defanged and neutered — it doesn’t even bark! Kosinski has managed to concoct the cinematic equivalent of Viagra: It might get your heart racing for a minute or two, but its effects are posturing and short-lived. How ironic, then, that “F1” is so completely sexless. You’re telling me that, for all of the talk about the adrenaline that courses through a racer’s body on the track, that rush doesn’t translate to the bedroom? Pitt and Kerry Condon’s character, Kate, are given a brief kissing scene that cuts to the next morning, implying a night of passionate lovemaking, none of which the audience is ever witness to. The total lack of excitement from all ends begs the question: Who is “F1: The Movie” even for? Racing heads? Blockbuster aficionados? Kids whose parents can’t lock down a babysitter? The film spends so long trying to cater to every market that it reaches none of them successfully.
Maybe “F1” is the kind of blockbuster that Hollywood can get away with right now, but it doesn’t have to be the one that we settle for.
That’s where all of the brief flashes of spectacle come in, but more importantly, it’s where all of the shots of shiny, sparkling, commercial products come with them. “F1,” which is distributed by Apple Original Films in America, is a cross-promotional synergy machine. What kind of headphones do racers use that can get a little wet in an ice bath and still provide top-tier audio quality? AirPods Max. What kind of phones do racers trust to do all of their super-important social media promotion? Well, the iPhone, of course. Even Sonny, who begins the film without a smartphone (because, remember, he’s very cool and unplugged, totally unaware of the conversation, just like Pitt), gives in and is seen tapping his thumbs on a touchscreen eventually.
But it’s not just the furtive product placement that makes “F1” so sinister; it’s the movie’s covert apoliticism. It’s not surprising that a movie glorifying Formula One wouldn’t get into the well-documented controversies that have plagued the sport. But to go the other direction entirely and craft a plot where a white, veteran racer like Sonny — who is given the shot at fame, fortune and grandeur not because of his talent, but because of his luck — clashes with a young, Black rookie, ignoring any deeper implications of their squabble entirely, is pure nonsense. “F1: The Movie” carefully bypasses every opportunity to bring real depth to Sonny and Joshua’s initial rivalry and budding friendship, choosing instead to make the story colorblind when the chance for a legitimate conversation about inequality to a mass audience is just waiting to be taken advantage of. Never mind the fact that it would be another chance for Formula One to condemn the racism that Lewis Hamilton, widely considered to be the best F1 racer in the world, has had to endure during his tenure. Though that would all require Kruger to write characters who have anything other than racing on their minds, or live in a world that operates with any semblance of the one that the rest of us live in. And that’s a task that “F1: The Movie” is consistently reluctant to tackle with any substance.
While some viewers might find these points of contention assuaged by a few gnarly camera tricks and some all-too-brief racing sequences, asking an audience to spend any time with “F1: The Movie” past their first viewing is a request more daunting than getting behind the wheel of a Formula One car. The more time one spends with “F1,” the easier it is to find the cracks in its flimsy veneer. Maybe “F1” is the kind of blockbuster that Hollywood can get away with right now, but it doesn’t have to be the one that we settle for. Just because entertainment is mindless, or an escape from whatever reality is outside the movie theater, doesn’t mean that it also has to be unintelligent, or treat its audience like they don’t deserve better. The paying public deserves to be amused and charmed by people who have their interests in mind first, not the priorities of sports corporations, distributors, financial backers and studios. If a movie can’t be made without sacrificing its heart — or, for that matter, ever having one in the first place — it’s not worth making at all, no matter what season it’s intended for release.
