As you will discover in the new Ferrari movie, Enzo Ferrari’s cult of personality could easily rival that of Elon Musk’s. He was a magnetic presence, an engineer, and perhaps most famously of all, an ‘agitator of men’. By the late '50s, he had developed his own version of the ‘reality distortion field’ later attributed to Steve Jobs. No wonder film director Michael Mann has spent much of the past two decades attempting to get his portrait of the man made, and the year his film lasers in on – 1957 – is a tumultuous one for the Italian motor racing magnate.
Without giving away any spoilers, Ferrari is grieving for his recently deceased son Dino, his personal life is in turmoil, and business is tough. Mann captures the mood perfectly, whether it’s the cut of Enzo’s suits, the stiff formality of his Modenese townhouse, or the rituals he followed religiously. But really, who are we kidding? We are primarily here for cars. Ferraris, of course, but lots of other eye-candy in starring and supporting roles.
It’s telling that before we see any glamorous racing machinery it’s Enzo in a Peugeot 403 that sets the tone and scene of Mann’s film. Indeed, he doesn’t even start the car’s engine for fear of waking his lover or their son as he leaves the house. When he does get going, he drives the humble French saloon with gusto and skill. But although he enjoyed driving, Enzo Ferrari preferred to be driven. From 1947 until 1969 this was entrusted to Peppino Verdelli, an old friend who was granted one day per year off, Easter Sunday (on which occasion Enzo jokingly grumbled, “he’s never here when you need him”). He was replaced by Dino Tagliazucchi, who drove Il Commendatore until his death in 1988. Though Enzo used a Ferrari 250 GTE, he was often seen in more ordinary cars. The Peugeot link was due to his friendship with Battista ‘Pinin’ Farina, whose company designed them. When Fiat acquired a 50 per cent stake in the company in 1969, Enzo switched to their cars. But he was also often seen in a Mini, a car gifted to him by its designer, Alec Issigonis, who Enzo greatly admired.
Under pressure from arch-rival Maserati, Ferrari was locked into a furious development battle in the run-up to the 1957 Mille Miglia. The 335 S – bodied by Ferrari’s old friend and confidant, Sergio Scaglietti – was the company’s answer to the more powerful Maserati 450S. An evolution of the 315 S, the 335’s stunning design was entirely secondary to its 4.0-litre, 387bhp V12, capable of powering this lissom missile to a top speed of almost 190mph. Imagine that on the sweeps and kinks of the infamous Italian road race. Lionel Messi reportedly outbid Cristiano Ronaldo in a 2016 auction for a 335 S, one of just four ever made and a Ferrari that was raced in period by some of the celebrated names in motorsport. It sold for €36m, setting a new record at the time and making it the most expensive car ever sold at an auction (a record later eclipsed by another Ferrari).
In the film, Enzo Ferrari is rather dismissive of the various 250s entered in the Mille Miglia. Although he assigns the Spanish nobleman and rising star Alfonso de Portago the fastest car the Scuderia has, the 335 S, he tweaks his ego by suggesting that the less powerful 250 GT cars will likely still beat him because their drivers are more experienced. The rest, sadly, is history. Needless to say, the 250 GT Berlinetta – more widely known as the Tour de France because it was so competitive in that other momentous road race – is one of the all-time greats. Just 72 were made across four series between 1956 and ’59, and there were so many iterations and alterations along the way that collectors feud over which is best. This is a story of louvred sail panels, and uncovered versus covered headlights. But the epochal 3.0-litre V12 was a constant.
Also Modena-based, Maserati battled an embittered and vengeful Ferrari in both Formula One and sports car racing in the '50s. They’d been experimenting with a V8 since 1954, and brought it back into play when a rich American enthusiast called Tony Parrovano ordered one for an Indycar chassis he’d bought. During testing it was fast but a major handful even in hands as skilful as those of Juan Manuel Fangio and Stirling Moss, two of the greatest ever drivers. A 450S won in the Sebring 12 hours in 1957, but Jean Behra wrecked his car before the Mille Miglia had even started, and Moss crashed out when his brake pedal sheared off. The automotive villain of the Ferrari movie, a 450S coupe raced at Le Mans in ’57, derided by Moss as the ‘second worst car I ever drove’. Enzo would have enjoyed this blunt assessment.
Mercedes’ SL – sport leicht or super leicht depending on who you believe – debuted in the 1952 Mille Miglia, finishing second and fourth. German teams often frustrated the locals… Mercedes did even better in Mexico’s notorious 1,900-mile Carrera Panamericana, scoring a 1-2-3 finish in the 1953 event, despite serious altercations with the local wildlife. Mercedes’ US importer, the mercurial Max Hoffman, saw potential in a slightly more civilised, road-going version, and the 300 SL duly debuted at the 1954 New York motor show. Its chief designer was Rudolf Uhlenhaut, and it was the unusual nature of the SL’s tubular frame chassis that resulted in its most celebrated feature: the gullwing doors.
Fifties Italian cars are among the most romantic of all, with Alfa Romeo right up there when it comes to pre-Dolce Vita cool. This must make the Pininfarina-designed Giulietta Spider perhaps the most desirable small convertible of, yep, all time. We’re calling it. In the Ferrari movie, though, the spurned, scowling Laura Ferrari (played by Penélope Cruz) is ferried around in a Giulietta Berlina saloon, an altogether more modest-looking machine.
