
F1 (2025)
Let’s be honest for a moment: I don’t follow Formula 1, and if you’d asked me to pick Daniel Ricciardo out of a lineup before Joseph Kosinski’s F1 went roaring across the IMAX, I’d have shrugged and asked for directions to pit lane. But I do go for any motorsport race I can, and I’m not immune to the thrall—the primal narcotic—of the engine’s scream and the crowd’s feverish pulse. The surprise here, sitting in a cavernous, digital theater, is that Kosinski’s film makes you almost forget about the physical sensation of the track. “Almost” is the key. The sound and the snarl are so close, so constantly engineered, you can sense the popcorn rattle, but never quite smell the gasoline.