NOVEMBER 10, 2010
Ayrton Senna, Portuguese GP 1985
Twenty-five years ago this
week, I had my first interview with Ayrton Senna. It was in the kitchen of a
modern detached house he and fellow countryman Mauricio Gugelmin were renting
in Esher, a wealthy southern suburb of London.
We were in the kitchen because,
judging by the empty rooms elsewhere in the brand new house, this was where the
drivers spent most of the little time they had when not either racing or
travelling back to Brazil. The strange location, seated round a pine picnic
table, merely added to the slightly surreal feeling as I talked to a man
clearly on his way to greatness.
This was 13 November 1985.
Senna had won his first Grand Prix that year with an epic drive in the rain at
Estoril, conditions that allowed his natural ability to flow and make up for
any deficit the beautiful black JPS Lotus-Renault may have had. It was only his
second year in F1 (and first with Lotus), but already the 25-year-old had made
his mark.
Not that you would have known
it during a chat lasting nearly an hour. Senna was slightly cautious at first
(we'd never spoken, apart from questions at press conferences). But, with the
help of Gugelmin and his wife Stella, who sat with us and helped devour a bowl
of peanuts, Ayrton soon became thoughtful, engaging, funny and relaxed. There
was none of the intensity that was quickly becoming his hallmark at race
tracks. But I was soon to discover it at first hand.
Ayrton Senna, Monaco GP 1985
A couple of months later, due
to a misunderstanding over something he thought I had written, I received a
massive bollocking in the paddock at Paul Ricard. Some months later, he
eventually discovered his error but, having made such a public display of his
displeasure, Senna never fully re-engaged with me as he had done during our
interview.
I was reminded of this - and
much more - when watching 'Senna' in a cinema in Sao Paulo last Thursday. The
documentary feature film is a powerful piece of work, telling the story of his
10 years in F1. You are left in no doubt that here is a charismatic, driven
man, arguably on a level not seen before or since. But apart from providing an
intensely revealing portrait, the film also tells a story of F1 itself; the
incredible highs and the desperate lows that affect everyone.
Considering the hundreds of
hours of film at their disposal (much of it courtesy of Bernie Ecclestone), the
film makers have used brilliant editing skills to stitch together clips that
allow a complex story to flow seamlessly in the limited time (100 minutes)
available.
The terrible thing is you
know what's coming the minute you see Ayrton switch to the unfamiliar blue and
white overalls of Rothmans Williams Renault. You fear that this is going to
become excessively emotional but, if fact, the Imola weekend is treated with
care and tact.
Indeed, for me, the
previously unseen shots from within the Williams garage are the most touching
of all, particularly when the camera catches Ayrton standing on his own,
watching a replay of Roland Ratzenberger's accident and then walking away,
clearly distressed, when the doctors are seen briefly pumping the Austrian
driver's heart.
Ayrton Senna, San Marino GP 1994
All of this adds to Senna's
deeply preoccupied look as he sits in his car on the grid. Not once do you see
him produce that familiar slightly lop-sided smile. It's obvious he does not
want to be there. And the more you watch, the more you want to blurt out:
'Please don't race! Please don't do it!' I knew Senna had not been happy that
weekend, but the film reveals so much more about this tortured man.
On the other hand, you could
argue that the entire film is perhaps too heavy. There is little or no
reference to Ayrton's wry sense of humour. It came across during our interview
in 1985 when he talked about paying back the Lotus mechanics for jacking his
Mercedes road car on blocks and playing the old trick of shoving his face in a
sticky bun when asked to check if the cream had turned sour.
"Bobby (Bob Dance) was
the worst," said Ayrton. "I got him in Brazil with a sweet that when
you suck it, your mouth goes blue. It was the last day of testing and they went
to the hotel for a shower and go to the airport. They were all in the same
room. Bobby went to the toilet for a pee and suddenly he shouted out: 'Shit! What's
happening? My pee is all blue!' So, I got him nice..."
I never got to experience
that side of Senna even though events had finally moved on since our disagreement
in 1986. Thanks to my work as a ghost writer for Damon Hill and his presence at
Williams, a proper rapprochement with Ayrton was increasingly close at hand. I
knew that when, for the first time, he smiled and nodded as we passed in the
paddock. That was on the morning of 1 May 1994.
Maurice Hamilton , a
freelance motor sport writer and broadcaster since 1977, is the author of more
than twenty books and contributes to websites and magazines worldwide.
His weekly column for
Grandprix.com was Highly Commended in the 2011 Newspress New Media Awards.
SOURCE
Grand Prix
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