All language subtitles for 1 Life on the Limit (2013).[eng]

Everybody thought I was dead.

I didn't have a bruise
on my body.

I didn't have anything at all.

I looked up,
and I saw a red flag.

That's lucky...
they've stopped the race.

Back then, we had
the restarts, and...

also we had spare cars,

so your mind goes,
"Get in the spare car."

- And new ear plugs!
- Yes, okay.

And new gl... and new gloves!

And so, you can't start

until you've seen
Professor Watkins.

"Where's Sid? Anybody
know where Sid is?"

I ran towards him like crazy.

I got there, and he said,
"I can see you're okay.

I've just watched you run
300 meters. What's the date?"

I said, "It's the 10th
of March. ”

He said, "Then you're
fine. Get in the car. ”

There is no doubt about it.

A few years before, I would
have been a dead man.

We want to see
something exceptional,

breathtaking, that we
think we can't do.

We want to see
gladiators, warriors.

And let's face it, we do
like to see a bit of a show.

But we don't
want to see deaths.

Miracle of miracles!

This is well nigh unbelievable!

Martin Brundle
gets out of the car,

and he's seemingly all right.

It is incredible
how this changed,

and suddenly it
became unacceptable

to die in the name of sport.

Grand Prix is like
the Olympics of motor sports,

with the cars in
all national colors,

blue for the French,
green for the British,

red for Italy,
and white for the Germans,

until Mercedes stopped using
paint on those silver arrows.

Michael Schumacher wins

and becomes the most successful
Grand Prix driver of all time!

The silver cars that
are the pride of Hitler Germany.

Alfa Romeo wins, driven
by the fabulous Nouvalari.

What a feeling for Fernando Alonso!

He wins the Italian
Grand Prix at Monza.

As the French announce
their search for the fastest man

in a new world championship
series to be entitled Formula 1,

with the inaugural race
to be held at Silverstone.

Enzo Ferrari for one
is not impressed

with the new wave
of British motor racers.

Il Commendatore has labeled
the new independent designers

"garagistes", the men
who cannot build engines.

Fangio is beaten
in Buenos Aires

by former teammate and fastest
rival, Stirling Moss,

in a Cooper funny car, no less.

What courage by these men,

to push these cars
and themselves

to their very limits!
But that is Formula 1.

Formula 1 was born in a bygone time

when boys' heroes
reigned in the sky.

When you're young,
you wanted to be a Formula 1 driver.

You wanted to be an astronaut,

you wanted to be a fighter pilot.

After the Second World War,

the mindset of going off

and doing something
courageous in a vehicle,

this just naturally flowed
into what became Formula 1.

When you see
photographs and film of that era,

the seriousness of them
is awe inspiring.

I grew up in that world.

My dad was world champion '62,
and I was two.

They all had this
genuineness about them.

They all were the real article.

I certainly had respect
to those that went before me.

Some of them
were my contemporaries.

I met one time
probably, in my view,

the greatest
Grand Prix driver ever,

and that includes people like Michael
Schumacher and Ayrton Senna.

Fangio. Fangio.

Fangio. Fangio.

Fangio.

Juan Manuel Fangio.

The first big
name in Formula One

may have been
the best driver ever.

Fangio would win
five world titles,

a record that stood
for 40 years,

surpassed only
by Michael Schumacher.

Whenever you drive those cars

that Fangio had to race in,

it's very scary.

You have to hold
yourself on the steering wheel.

No safety belts.

The helmet was
just like a hat...

goggles... and you
had to be brave.

The most celebrated
driver in a dangerous time...

survived.

The year Fangio retired,
1958, the Formula changed.

The sport's governing body
announced from Paris

that Formula One would crown two
world champions each season.

One title for
the fastest driver,

and another for the manufacturer
of the fastest machine.

This was
the evolution, you know?

Each team has to take engines,

take chassis and technology
to the absolute limit.

In this new competition,

The British began to challenge the
Old World continental powers.

All the English
teams were considered to be

the garagistes by Ferrari
and the other racing teams.

One Englishman would
set the pace of progress,

in racing and the entire
automotive world.

We basically
go racing 'cause I like it.

I like the competitiveness
of it,

I like the comradeship of it.

And I also like the technical
fallout that comes from it.

Colin Chapman
was a great character,

if at times a bit cavalier.

Oh, I don't know about that.

Colin Chapman was an
engineer who learned to fly,

an entrepreneur who made lightweight
sports cars for the public,

as well as for Grand Prix
under the name Lotus.

In those days, Lotus was
an out-and-out racing car.

My father, he was
always pushing the envelope.

Good engineering means you've
designed something to its limit.

Colin was the maverick
of all time.

He was a genius.

He was the team owner
that you want to drive for.

By 1963, Chapman had designed

the fastest machine
in Formula One.

And he had the fastest man
behind the wheel of a Lotus.

Jim Clark
was the best racing driver

I ever raced against.

The whole exercise was to be
as good as you can get

on the limit.

And Jimmy drove in such a way

that he was never
over the limit.

He was never erratic.
He was never spectacular.

He was spectacularly fast, but
in an unspectacular fashion.

It was smooth and clean
and beautifully handled.

He would win more
Formula One championship races

than any driver before him,

finishing in second place
only once in his career.

He was a country boy.

He was a farmer from
the borders of Scotland,

quiet and almost innocent.

I'd like to get
back here much more often.

It's, uh, great relaxation
to get back here,

And very much
the opposite from racing.

Clark became
the face of Formula One,

with another champion,
Graham Hill,

playing his affable foil.

Everyone was quite close.

Jim Clark
had been to our house,

and I knew Colin Chapman sort of
the same way as I knew my dad.

They sounded the same, and
they had the same mustache.

Colin was an extreme extrovert,

great fun to be with,

but very different
in character to Jimmy, really.

Jimmy was quieter.
But they were like brothers.

Together, they
were racing on the limit

of man made speed
and ingenuity.

They won four world
championships between them,

and a record five
British Grand Prix.

But for all their success,

they failed to take
the checkered flag

at the most famous
motor race of all.

Fast cars and courageous
souls from all over the world

have been racing through
these streets since 1929.

Monaco is terrifying.

You cannot believe
it's possible

to hold a motor race
round Monaco.

In the first few laps,

you stick your head up to
see where it went, 'cause

it's just guardrails
that you can't hardly see.

You're millimeters
away from barriers.

You either do a
lap that you're so proud of,

you're always wondering if you
could ever go through that again,

or you end up in the wall.

The danger aspect to this

is one of the parts that
drives us racing drivers.

It's something we love.

One man mastered these streets

like no other driver
in history.

Monaco was a
special place for Senna.

He was the best in the world.

His concentration
on one lap was just uncanny.

Ayrton Senna won
Monaco a record six times,

one more victory than the man
with the derring-do mustache.

Graham Hill came
to Monaco in 1966

to defend his
third straight victory.

It's a tremendous race
and a great one to come and watch,

and if anybody's going to come and see
a Grand Prix, this is really the one.

It's such a nice place
to be anyway.

To come
to Monaco and talk to men

is a waste of time,
so excuse me.

That's when motor racing
was really dangerous,

and sex was safe.

Still today,
what defines Formula One

is the sense of prestige.

It's an event.
Kings want to be there.

For me, it's
a thrill to see an expert at work.

Upon meeting Graham
Hill, you like him.

Watching him made me become
more interested in racing

and what these men were doing.

In those days,
Hill's fiercest rivals

were also his closest friends.

The intimacy was incredible,

from the racing drivers
to the mechanics

to the wives
and the girlfriends.

The camaraderie was very deep.

We went on holidays together.

We lived together.
We traveled together.

You felt very
much part of this family

growing up together.

Motor racing
was just a part of it.

The drivers
formed a trade union,

the Grand Prix
Drivers ' Association.

The women soon followed suit
with the Doghouse Club.

Well, the doghouse club

is where I was kept growing up with
the wives and girlfriends of drivers.

What do they call them now?
Wags, I think.

Betty Brabham
stood up at one dinner,

and she said,
"Jack's in the doghouse."

And they all realized they were all
feeling very much the same way.

They were
always playing with engines

or something like that,

and not paying nearly
enough attention to us.

The fact that he's
going to work all night on his car,

and then it's going
to break down after two laps.

You have to love this man

to be a good wife
of a racing driver.

The wives did the lap scores,

and that would
decide the grids,

because there was no real
sort of official time keepers.

These kind of slightly
romantic memories

that everyone's got
of the whole thing.

We just were a clan to ourselves.

They traveled
by caravan, town to town,

country to country,
for six months straight.

Even the most celebrated
drivers raced

in the lesser
Formula Two series

in the off weekends

to keep this family circus
on the road.

I drove Formula
Two with Bruce McLaren

and Jochen Rindt and Jackie
Stewart and Jim Clark,

all sorts of top drivers
of that era.

I got the shock of my life because
they were putting the brakes on

at about the point going into the
corner that I was taking them off.

There is a
point where you don't think

you should take it beyond,
when you're on the edge,

and you're just pushing
your luck a little.

The problem is, when
you push it to the limit,

it's irresistible,
and as soon as you've done it,

you want to do it again.

The charismatic young
Italian, Lorenzo Bandini,

racing for Ferrari,

died after a fiery crash at'
the 1967 Monaco Grand Prix.

This was the beginning,

when the evolution
of the machines

began to overtake
the standards of the tracks.

The seeds had already been sown

for an uprising
within the drivers' ranks.

Just months
before Bandini's death,

the FIA changed
the formula for entrance.

They doubled
the size of the engine

and more than
doubled the power.

They were
just racing on the same tracks

as they had done
almost pre-war.

The racetracks hadn't changed.

The medical facilities
hadn't changed.

The marshaling hadn't changed.

And suddenly the cars were
going almost twice as fast.

That same year,
Colin Chapman convinced

the mighty Ford Motor Company

to invest
in a powerhouse engine

for his new,
even lighter design.

He signed Graham Hill
to drive for Team Lotus,

alongside
his old rival Jim Clark.

The number one man
in motor racing

started selling space
on his racing machines,

like billboards in motion.

Sponsors meant money.

Money meant making better cars.

He'd paint the car
any color you wanted,

as long as he could have more
resources to realize his ideas.

For the 23 drivers in the grid,

sponsorship meant exposure.

Soon, every boy's hero
was a racer.

My first real hero

was Jim Clark,
no question about it.

To me, he was the guy
I would like to have been.

One of Jim Clark's first drives

in the red-and-gold colors
of Gold Leaf Tobacco

was in Germany.

It was a Formula Two race.

It was 1968, at Hockenheim.

In April. Ana' I
was on the grid.

The whole world
stopped when that happened.

You don't understand
when you're young what's going on.

But I remember watching the
television when Jim Clark died.

As you have probably heard,

yesterday Jim Clark,
racing driver Jim Clark,

was killed in Germany.

I believe he was
a friend of yours.

Yes, he was a good
friend of mine, Peter,

and I think, you know,
I'm very sad about it,

and everyone involved
in motor sport

all around the world
will be very sad.

He was a very fine
driver, wasn't he?

Yep, I think
one of the greatest,

perhaps, uh, perhaps
the greatest yet.

It was a deflating
tire, that's what Colin thought.

He was really,
really devastated.

He was never quite
the same after that.

This is the
tragedy of motor racing,

is when you do gel close
to a driver

and there is an accident,
of course it...

it hurts you so much more.

He was, I would say,
my best friend,

best friend I've ever had.

There was no barrier,

and the car went in full
speed into the trees.

I'd always explained
to my wife that

as long as you were
reasonably careful,

it was all perfectly safe.

We suddenly
realized that if Jimmy died,

God, anybody could be killed.

In 1968, we had a driver die

every month on the same weekend

for four consecutive months.

And we were racing
on the fifth weekend

in circumstances that we should never
have been allowed to go out in.

You couldn't see
60 meters of visibility

because of the fog
and the heavy rain.

And the very first
question I asked

when I got out of the car
was, "Is everybody okay?"

If you spoke to
the FIA or the organizers

and you said, "This is
really very dangerous,"

they'd say, "Well, if you think
motor racing's dangerous,

"slow down a bit-Don't drive so fast.
It's entirely up to you-"

They were blind to the reality.

They didn't know those drivers.

They didn't know
the drivers' wives

and the drivers'
fathers and mothers.

I thought
to myself in those days,

if ever I get into a position
of any power in this world,

I will do something about it.

One month
after Clark's funeral,

Graham Hill climbed
back into his Lotus

and won the Spanish Grand Prix.

What my dad did with Lotus,

he re-galvanized the team

by not letting this tragedy be
totally destructive to everything.

In '68, Graham Hill went on,

and he still won
a world championship.

And you just
realized this was another world.

The drivers could just go on.

Some just don't
care about risk.

Down from the
Vialone, 185 miles an hour,

four cars virtually together,

and down to the
Parabolica they come.

Can Stewart hold the line
on this, the last lap?

Somebody's challenging...
it's Rindt going through!

Jochen Rindt takes the
lead in the Parabolica,

on the last corner
of the last lap.

And it's going to be a fringe
factor to win. It must be!

It's... it's over
the line together!

And it's almost a dead heat!
It's Jackie Stewart,

Rindt, Beltoise, and McLaren!

Nobody has ever seen the finish
of a motor race like that!

I won the race by about this
much, from Jochen Rindt.

And the crowd went
absolutely bananas.

They suddenly
were on top of us,

and the police were
trying to keep them back.

We ended up by locking
ourselves in a toilet!

And they were still outside banging
the doors, trying to get in.

There was no more enthusiastic
a crowd of spectators

than that of the Italians.

They really follow the motor
racing with a passion.

They're so spirited,
they're so enthusiastic.

From that point of view
at Monza,

it's certainly
the capital of the world.

It's one of their
beloved Ferraris in the lead,

and another of them
in second place.

The tifosi all around me
are erupting.

The Ferrari flags are flying.

The counting horses
are counting.

And Michael Schumacher
wins in Italy!

Since 1929,

Ferrari fans have come
to Monza.

The tifosi,

tens of thousands strong,

cheering,

praying,

crying,

for a German,

or a South African,

or an Englishman.

The Italian fans stormed over

and “fled me up
and carried me down

to the podium.
It was incredible.

In my early years, I struggled

to sort of understand
what it means, Ferrari.

Yeah, okay, it's a race car.

Yeah, right, it looks good,

but didn't understand
about the history.

Enzo Ferrari, il Commendatore,

created a dynasty.

In the first two decades
of Formula One,

his powerful engines had
delivered six championships.

Ferrari had also
lost six drivers.

By 1969, Ferrari,

like every other team
on the grid,

was chasing Chapman and Lotus
into a brave new world.

Suddenly,
we were running biplanes.

When the wings
came, it was a step change.

The aerodynamics
gives the tire more grip.

That enables the car to go
faster round the corner.

Obviously, the drag
from the wings

makes the car go slower
on the straight,

but peak cornering
speeds went up.

Obviously, as you
increase the cornering speed,

things become more dangerous.

This was the evolution
of the sport.

You cannot stop progress.

The first
team to take advantage

of aerodynamics was Lotus.

I remember
Colin Chapman arrived

at 4:00 in the morning, and
he'd suddenly had this dream...

huge wings.

In Spain, at the second
Grand Prix of the '69 season,

Chapman ordered his mechanics
to expand the wings

the morning of the race
for his defending champion,

Graham Hill,

and his new driver,

a German-born Formula Two
star named Jochen Rindt.

We could see from the pits

the wings appear
to start to buckle.

Graham's went first.

One of the boys ran back to
try and signal Jochen's car.

Rindt's wings collapsed
at the same turn in the track.

Hill escaped unhurt,

then fought to pull
his young teammate

out of the wreckage.

Rindt suffered a broken nose,
a fractured jaw,

and shattered confidence
in the man building his cars.

If Jim Clark had been like
a brother to Colin Chapman,

Jochen Rindt
was like a petulant son.

Jochen had a few
ups and downs with the old man.

Orphaned when
he was just 15 months old,

he assumed his family
inheritance at 18,

and started buying racing cars.

At 25, he married
a fashion model, Nina Lincoln,

the daughter of another racer.

Jochen was acerbic,

apt to react very
strongly to situations.

On one or two occasions,

Rindt wouldn't actually drive
one or two cars because he fell

that the design
of the car was unsafe.

Drivers, when they're young,

they will drive
whatever you give them.

Jochen Rindt
was completely different.

I can remember at one point

he put a dollar sign
on his helmet.

He was looking for someone to
buy him out of his contract.

Jochen, he had
this mysterious manager

called Ecclestone.

Rindt and Bernie
were always playing cards,

and he had
a sort of a live-wire,

sort of businessman
feel about him.

Bernie could
handle Colin Chapman.

Normally people
went up to Colin

and they were more or less
on their hands and knees.

He wanted Jochen to drive a car

that Jochen
didn't want to drive,

thought it wasn't safe.

They had a few arguments
over that.

AH these cars were super light

and probably not safe.

It was certainly
going to be quicker.

In 1970,

Chapman unveiled
a new-look Lotus

for his steely young driver

that would bring Formula One
into the modern age.

The wedge
shape, the side radiators...

it was all highly
advanced and amazingly...

fragile.

The car was being
developed at race meetings

in the back of trucks.

A lot of things
fell off, broke.

The whole safety
thing wasn't even an issue.

Let's not beat around the bush,

a designer's first requirement

is to make it fast.

Being quick comes first.

One month into the 1970 season,

Rindt set aside
his reservations

and sent Chapman's new Lotus

roaring into the history books.

Jochen Rindt
and I were the two fastest drivers,

that'd be fair to say.

I saw a lot of the back
side of his car in 1970.

They came to Monza

with almost twice
as many points

as the second place team,

owner/driver Jack Brabham.

At practice, we often decided
to take the wings off the car.

It was all to do
with straight-line speed.

At Monza, you gained
more down the straight.

75 percent of the
drivers take the wings off.

The wings were off my car,
and the car was absolutely,

for me, undrivable.

It's the first time I've been
really, really frightened

in a racing car.

Jochen felt the only way he
was going lo go really fast

was to get rid of the wings

and sort of hang
the consequences.

But the 72 had
never been raced without wings.

I ran
back to see Nina, his wife,

to tell her what was happening,

but I didn't know what the
situation was with Jochen,

but I certainly
didn't want to worry her.

Bernie and I ran down
to the Parabolica

to see what we'd find.

Jochen had gone by then.

It comes over you

that you're [he last
person they talked to.

You search your brain to see if there's
something that you've done wrong,

but Jochen, he said, "Leave the
wings off, " he said, "for sure."

That you would stop racing.

One of the first men

to openly question
the safety of his sport

was silenced at the age of 28.

Two months later,

his widow was awarded
the world championship,

the only posthumous title
ever won in Formula One.

The lesson
of Jochen Rindt was that

had he had even basic
proper medical attention,

he would have survived.

The Grand
Prix Drivers ' Association

had a really good
articulated vehicle

with everything on board.

The people did not put
him into that vehicle.

They took him
to the wrong hospital,

and the time he'd got to the
right hospital, he'd died.

Jochen Rindt was
the third Formula One star

to be killed that season.

Bruce McLaren
was killed at Goodwood.

Nineteen days later,

Piers Courage was killed
in the Dutch Grand Prix.

Those were tragic
times in so many ways,

because we'd lost
some icons of our sport.

He had an accident.

As far as the world knew,
that's what happened.

He had an accident
and got killed.

And nobody really
looked behind it,

why the accident happened

and could somebody have done
something to stop it happening.

It always took
some kind of a tragic event

for us to say, "You know what?
We can do better. "

We're getting smarter
and smarter about these cars.

We're able to make
them go faster.

Why can't we use the same
knowledge to make them safer?

There is a parallel
between Formula One racing

and space.

As a kid, I followed
all the moon missions.

Five... four... three...

two... one. Ignition sequence...

Liftoff! We have a liftoff!

It was the same time

they sent men in
rockets to the moon.

They are carrying fire
inside these machines.

They are driving
over the edge...

into new worlds,
getting beyond boundaries.

Also about life and death.

And that's Formula One, too.

You knew when
the season started,

one or two of your
heroes would be killed.

Koen Vergeer was among
the legion of boys worldwide

who became obsessed
with Formula One

during its most violent decade.

He was just 11 years old
when he saw his first race,

the Dutch Grand Prix
at Zandvoort.

We went there by train,

and you go into the
sand of the dunes.

And nothing is organized...
no signs at all, nothing.

You can be lost in the
dunes, if you want to.

And after a half an hour,
you find the track.

In the early
'70s, Formula One was

really a little bit
of a circus act.

You'd go to a Grand Prix.

Until the cars cars
came out to practice,

you wouldn't know
who was going to turn up.

Each team would negotiate

with the individual promoters
at these various circuits.

In fact, the
organizers paid the broadcasters

to show the Grand Prix.

The whole business was much
more informal in those days,

so even as a fan,
you could literally

go into the paddock, and
there were your heroes.

Jacky Ickx was my hero.
He had his mysterious name.

Jacky Ickx,
the baby-faced Belgian,

with Ferrari in 1970,

was the one driver
who could have caught

Jochen Rindt
for the championship.

In truth, Ickx came
perilously close to becoming

the fourth casualty
of the season.

Being burnt is one of the
most painful things you can have.

You can be broken, you can
have all sort of things,

But being burned,
it's really... it's terrible.

I never thought
it could happen to me.

It's not going to happen to me.

You always think
it's going to happen

to the other driver,
not to you.

It was never going
to happen to me.

A lot of
drivers have the philosophy

that it's always someone
else who has an accident,

it's never themselves.

But of course you're always
on the very thin line

between survival
and even disaster,

or certainly death.

Jackie Stewart
had a huge accident at Spa.

He was trapped
in his car upside down,

and he was soaked in fuel.

The great fear
was fire in those days.

Those cars were all
effectively a mobile bomb

because in an accident,

the fuel went everywhere
and caught fire.

When Jacky had his
accident, no one was wearing seatbelts.

That's because they preferred
if they hit anything

to be thrown free from the car.

It's proof of how amateur we were...

organizers, teams, and drivers.

Both Jackies had
been caught out and escaped,

only to become absolute
rivals in the revolution.

Ickx won at Zandvoort in '71,

while the other Jackie
won his second world title.

We were in total opposition.

Pure competition.

The flying Scot became chair

of the Grand Prix
Drivers' Association,

and as world champion,

the de facto leader
in the uprising.

You're all wearing seatbelts

because in these cars,

an unfastened seatbelt is no good.

While Baby Face
refused to join the union.

Jacky was not a believer
in the safety movement.

Jacky just didn't
want to be part of the GDPA

because it didn't quite
suit the image of Jacky Ickx.

I was not part of
it because that's the way I am.

What he
didn't like was threats.

You know, "We will not race
tomorrow unless you do this."

You know, union tactics.

The FIA in
those days was very weak,

and anyway the FIA consisted
of the organizers,

so there was
no proper organization.

For me, it was a
very simple, black-and-white case.

You know, we had to get
the race tracks themselves

to recognize they
needed to do more,

had to put more fencing
up or more barriers up.

It was all costing money,

and they had never had to spend the
money on the race track before.

Stewart became
the new face of Formula One,

as steel armco barriers
were installed

at places like Zandvoort
and Silverstone.

Max Mosley became a constructor

and team owner
with March Engineering.

Bernie Ecclestone joined him
in the paddock as an owner,

after buying
Jack Brabham's old team.

And on the wings
of aerodynamics,

a new stable
of young guns arrived

to fill the empty
drivers' seats.

We were very aware then

that the drivers had massive
respect for each other

because they knew,

a bit like fighter
pilots in World War ll,

that they might not come back.

There was Jody Scheckter
of South Africa,

the quiet Austrian, Niki Lauda,

John Watson
of Northern Ireland.

Other British hopefuls,
James Hunt,

David Purley,

and Roger Williamson.

The super Swede,
Ronnie Peterson,

the American playboy
Peter Revson,

whose family created
Revlon Cosmetics,

and the Renaissance Man
from France, Francois Cevert,

handpicked by Stewart
for team owner Ken Tyrrell.

He was
like a young fighting cock.

He was enormously good looking,

had an incredible
pair of eyes, and, uh,

did a lot of damage
with the young ladies.

Francois
absolutely idolized Jackie.

He was almost up

to Jackie's standard
at that time.

We had probably one
of the strongest teams

that would have been
in motor racing.

Everything I knew
about the sport,

I was passing on to him.

- What do you think about
Emerson as a pilot? - Who?

- Emerson Fittipaldi.
- Who?

You know, the guy who won
the world championship.

Oh, yes! Ha ha!

Colin Chapman had
his fourth world champion

in eight years,

a brilliant young Brazilian
named Emerson Fittipaldi.

We were, like, 21 drivers

establishing Grand Prix racing.

Your odds
are 7-to-1 to survive.

Colin told me, "Emerson, I don't
want to get too close to you,

"and you know
the risk you have.

"At any time, I can lose you."

Cevert's going to
be your danger, I reckon.

You beat him, I reckon
you'll win the race.

That was Colin Chapman.

My first Grand
Prix was in Silverstone,

the British Grand Prix.

Graham Hill walked into
the room, it was like...

almost like a god walking in.

But if you can't
compete with them

and get into that car,
and go out

and literally "put
your cock on the block,"

then you shouldn't be in it.

The cars now
coming up onto the grid,

and they'll only be
held there for seconds

before the flag falls
and the start of the race.

At the beginning,

you were just trying
to prove to yourself

and to other people that
you were fast enough.

The flag's up.

Jackie Stewart going
through on the inside,

behind Ronnie Peterson.

Jackie Stewart made
a blinding start.

It's still Peterson,
just holding Stewart out

as they go through copse
for the first time.

What a driver
is there for is to take it

to the limit and keep it
at that limit,

and that's in every part
of every corner.

It's keeping it
right on that limit.

And then Francois Cevert.

Jody Scheckter's lost it.

Jody Scheckter has been hit,

a multiple shot
at the end of the first lap.

Jody Scheckter,
with the McLaren.

They're stopping the race.

Here comes Jackie Ste
wart, terribly fast,

and Ronnie Peterson
coming up, terribly fast.

It's a lot of
adrenaline's gone into you,

and you're nearly just laughing
all the way to the pits

until you tell the guys what the
bloody hell happened, you know?

Eleven cars retired,
but no one was killed.

Very lucky.

Silverstone, which
was one of the biggest,

if not the biggest accident
in Formula One,

brought it home to me... to
win, you've got to finish.

Two minutes to go...

The next race was the Dutch
Grand Prix at Zandvoort.

We were up on a hill
because my father could film

very good from there,

and then you could walk
down to a fence.

Behind the fence was the armco.

As a kid 11 years old,
I want to be in that

vortex of sound and color.

The sound
goes through your bones

into your stomach somewhere,

and I remember the first
lime I saw the cars coming.

I thought, this is my world!

Eight laps into the race,

there was a single-car collision with
the newly installed armco barriers.

I saw a car
flying through the air,

and I looked straight
into the cockpit.

But it was in a flash,

and the car shattered
on the asphalt.

1973, when I had March,

it was Roger Williamson.
One of our cars.

He was a close friend.

David Purley
stopped his car, got off,

and he was trying
to lift the car.

And there was all...

lots of people just watching.

Nobody came to give him a
hand, and he was desperate.

We passed it every lap.

Yellow flags were being
flown to slow us down,

but the race was never stopped.

In those days,
they didn't stop races.

Jackie was probably
the greatest ambassador

the sport has ever had,

and he was a great
pioneer of safety,

but if he had to drive,

he would jump
in the car and drive.

When the visor goes down,

you escape from the grief,

the dramas, the troubles,
the pain and suffering.

And it was only
when you came back,

you know, the visor
went back up,

that reality,
you became aware of,

again.

Williamson's dead.
There's no lap of honor.

Quiet presentation.

It's clear that, in racing,

we are all the same.

In life, we need
just some extra luck.

For me, at 11 years old,

it was terrifying,

but also fascinating,
what was happening there.

I think they thought
we were gladiators,

and if you went
into the Coliseum,

you knew there
was lions in there,

and that chances are
you wouldn't get out.

I really began to cry,

but at the same time,
I thought,

how can you cry about someone
you knew nothing about?

He was an
ordinary working-class lad

who'd just done it
by his own talent.

Those things have a big,
big effect on you.

The year Roger Williamson died,

the FIA established mandatory
on-track rescue equipment

and fire regulations.

By then, the Doghouse Club
was raising money each year

for the families
of fallen drivers.

Because there were
things that could be done,

maybe it was immoral, but on the
other hand, I couldn't say,

because there were people
who wanted to do it.

The only requirements

to replace the fallen
on the grid

were guts and money.

Lord Alexander Fermor-Hesketh,

the third baron of Hesketh!

Lord Hesketh was 22 years old
when he formed Hesketh Racing.

I got into
racing entirely accidentally.

I'd just met the prettiest
hooker I'd ever,

ever met in my life,

and I saw this
postcard counter,

and it had this
charming teddy bear.

I drew onto the teddy bear

a crash helmet
and a Union Jack.

I think if has an atmosphere

of the old-type
Grand Prix teams,

and, uh, I think that
anything truly British

deserves supporting.

We were there to have some fun.
That was about it'.

They were
slightly upper class, weren't they?

Lord Hesketh and so on.

The more serious
journalists thought

that' one didn't come in and do
Formula One racing like this,

and drinking champagne
and having fun. Not on.

We don't want any pictures,
we don't want any pictures!

Ha ha ha ha!

We've got a driver in F2.

He hasn't got
a very good reputation,

but he is very, very fast.

His nickname is
"Huntman Shunt,"

'cause he tends to crash cars.

It was not dissimilar

from a man owning
a very expensive horse,

and his jockey happened
to be James Hunt.

You want to... you just
want to get a level?

So if I say "shuts and fuck"
and all that sort of stuff.

Oh, dear. Well, cancel it',
then-Can we rub that' out'?

He drank a lot
and smoked a lot of funny things.

He had his fun.
He had girls to die for.

He was the
kind of thing you'd read

in your comic when
you were a kid growing up

and dreaming of being
a Grand Prix driver.

James was the epitome of
everything a kid would want to be.

James was
so attractive as a person.

He not only attracted girls, but
he also attracted a lot of...

a lot of, uh, men.

I mean, I don't mean like that,

But he just had that
ability to charm people,

and freedom within himself,

that some people found
a little unnerving.

When you go
around with these racers,

you start to know
almost everybody here.

It's like a big family for you,

and you get
your big interest with.

It was a lot of fun.

It was a transition in the
world of young people...

the sideburns,
the bell bottom trousers,

the hippie time.

Four hours west
of Woodstock, New York,

Formula One hosted
an outdoor party

every year for two decades.

Everybody
used to stay at a place

called The Seneca Lodge,
which was a Hunting lodge.

With all the American
whoopin' and hollerin',

it was a great scene!

The Glen had a reputation

as a place for champions.

Jochen Rindt won
his first Grand Prix here,

as did Emerson Fittipaldi.

Francois Cevert won in 1971,

and was runner-up in '72,
to his mentor.

In 1973, the Tyrrell team
came to the Glen

with Jackie Stewart
having already wrapped up

his third world championship.

By 1973, I
had decided that my last race

would be Watkins Glen,
my hundredth Grand Prix.

Jackie's retirement
was still hush-hush at that time.

Only three people knew.

Francois didn't know,
or even Helen.

I didn't want to tell my wife,

because I didn't want her saying,
"if it's this dangerous,

"why don't you stop now,
and then we'll be happy?"

Oh, it's a fantastic
feeling, even the other one,

because, uh,
the roof thing I've got

is so smooth and delightful,

it's even a nice
impression for the driver.

You know, it's...
Vrroooom! Very...!

Cevert was sort of thinking

he was ready to be a number
one driver in his own right.

He set out to prove it
in qualifying that year,

at the Glen.

Cevert. Bloody hell.

I was the
first one on the scene,

and I jumped out the car
to try and help him.

I remember then
trying to get his belts,

and then just turned around

and I knew it was all over.

It was the most horrible sight.

I wouldn't want
anybody to see that, ever.

Nothing broke in the car.

It was just going too quick.

He hit one barrier, then he
went across the circuit,

hit the other one, and
that turned the car over.

Maybe the barrier would have
been a little bit higher,

then he would have been okay,
but we will never know.

Because of the
incident on the circuit,

practice for today for Formula
One cars is now concluded.

Went back to the pits.

I didn't say anything
to Colin, to my wife.

I just walked
into the parking place,

where there was nobody.

And I want to pray
with God and say,

"What I'm doing here? Help me."

Gentlemen,
remain standing, please,

for the playing of the
national anthem of France,

in memory of Francois Cevert.

I chose
not to race the next day

out of respect to Francois.

Nothing to do with
my own personal concerns.

It was an unfortunate
way to end a career,

but in the other way,

maybe it was part of why I
never wanted to race again.

I think it was the
right thing, not to race.

Very sad.

I was
just so angry that the sport

could do it in this way,

and continue to do it
in this way,

and not sufficiently
change itself,

to put its own house in order.

There's about 15 minutes or so

before the race, so I was
hanging around the pits,

and Bernie said, "Well, what are you doing?
What are you doing?"

I said, "Well, Francois's dead. ”

He said, "Well, so what?

"He died doing something which,

"up until that fraction
of a second,

"was giving him the greatest
joy, pleasure, fulfillment.

"You're a racing driver.
Get out and do your job-"

Every man in
the world is looking to make

from his passion his business.

That's what I have done.
I cannot be more happy.

Everything I do
about my auto racing,

I enjoy it. Anything.

Because it is my passion.

When the
guys flying the Mustangs

came back in from five
or six hours over Germany,

and they probably lost
15% of the formation,

they went to the bar.

And they went to the bar
with a very good reason.

Sometimes you have
to get up in the morning,

look in the mirror, and say, "Are
you prepared to put it on the line?

"Are you prepared to actually
lose your life today?"

Because if you're not,
you have no right being there.

I said to myself,

"I need lo forget everything
that happened before,

"because I love this sport."

It is like a drug.
Once you get in it,

it's even more difficult
to get out of it.

In 1974, Emerson Fittipaldi

began to fill the void
left by Jackie Stewart,

both as the fastest man
and the voice of reason.

While steel armco
now ringed most circuits,

two more drivers
had been killed

after collisions
with the barriers...

the American Peter Revson,

and a young Austrian driver
in only his second start,

Helmuth Koinigg.

The marshall
appeared with his helmet.

His head was still in it
because he'd gone

under the barrier and it
just took his head off.

It was like it was a nightmare.

I remember Barcelona.

Friday morning, after practice,

I saw the armco barriers
held with just bolts,

no nuts, and wire.

And I touch one.
I kick, and fall.

Fittipaldi, now with McLaren,

refused to even practice.

The organizers
of the Spanish Grand Prix

threatened to impound
all the cars in the grid

if the defending champion
did not drive.

I thought,
this is a world sport.

I cannot believe that a world
sport is run like this.

So the drivers had a meeting

in the Texaco motor home.

We had to
fight with the organizers.

I mean really fight.

The track was sort
of in the hills above Barcelona,

and Friday afternoon,
there was silence.

Then there was just one
car, just one engine.

Somebody said,
"It's got to be Ickx."

While Jackie
Stewart had stepped aside,

the other Jacky
was still on the title hunt.

Baby Face Ickx had taken
Fittipaldi's place at Lotus.

With the racing, frankly,

you have to be individualistic,

in a way, and also selfish.

The Pavlovian Reaction

to the sound
that they could hear,

that was it. Then they all
got in there and drove.

It was a
very, very tense atmosphere,

extraordinarily
tense atmosphere.

The actual team mechanics were
balling these barriers together.

On race day,
Fittipaldi held true to his word.

I did one lap and come in,

as defending world champion.

I went back to Geneva,

and when I landed,
Swiss TV waiting for me.

I didn't know what happened
in the Grand Prix.

The rear wing

of Rolf Stommelen's
Embassy Hill Lola

broke off, sending the
car into the barriers.

We're about
25 laps into the race,

and I can remember saying
to the guys with me,

"Jesus, that's Rolf.
He's in the crowd."

Stommelen survived,

but four people were killed.

Once drivers start
worrying seriously about safety,

you know that their
fastest days are over.

If you took all
the Formula One drivers,

even the current crop
of racing drivers,

and said, "Here are two cars.
That one is very safe.

"That one's
extremely dangerous.

"If you crash in it, you'll
probably get killed.

"But the dangerous one
is two seconds a lap quicker."

There would be no discussion
about which one they'd drive.

They'd all get
in the dangerous one.

That's why it's [he
people running the sport

have to take responsibility.

Just weeks after
the failed strike in Spain,

the most unlikely rivalry
would spark

along the Dutch coast
at Zandvoort.

A battle between two drivers

would help turn the tide
in the revolution.

Practice Friday, fantastic.

Saturday, blue sky.

Wake up Sunday morning,

and suddenly it's pissing rain.

Absolute pouring rain.

Everyone else
had their spanners out,

wings are going up.

I look at the car, I
say, "Look, we know

"absolutely fuck-all about
how you set a car up,

"so we'd better leave it
just the way it is.“

James does four laps,

and he's in front
of both Ferraris.

When James Hunt approached,

all the crowds
went to the fence.

"Yeah, there he is again!
There he is again!"

You'd suddenly
see white car, red car,

...Niki Lauda in the Ferrari...

Getting closer, getting closer.

"Yes! Keep him
behind, keep him behind! "

And then we won.

James Hunt held off Niki Lauda

in his powerful Ferrari,

and gave Team Hesketh
their first win

after three years of trying.

That's just brilliant.

You know, the David and
Goliath... fantastic story.

The playboy garagistes
had prevailed

over the most storied
team in Formula One.

Party basically
started in the back of the truck.

It's fair to say that eventually
I went into blackout.

It was special, 'cause
the only guy who ever,

ever took me seriously
was the Commendatore.

But then he was the
only guy who counted.

Mr. Ferrari was the most
decorated man

in motor racing.

He'd famously said,

"Aerodynamics were for people
who could not build engines. ”

But he also hadn't won
a title since 1964,

until Lauda.

You know, in Italy, there are

a lot of emotions
around the racing team.

If you win, it's quite easy.

If you lose,
it's quite difficult.

Niki was a clever guy.
He was a good operator.

Probably the ideal
Ferrari driver.

Niki's very technical, cool.

James, even being English,
he was very emotional.

He'd come in my motor
home before every race.

"Emerson, can I use
your toilet?"

I'd say, "James, come on!"

With one epic
win under his belt,

Hunt left the teddy bear behind

for a chance at the title.

He signed with the '74 world
champion constructor, McLaren.

Those days, you got five years,

with the death rate
and everything else.

He had a new future.

The McLaren
outfit was very structured.

Everybody wore uniforms,

but James just
wore whatever he wanted.

While Lauda
took the role of champion,

leading the charge for safety
in the drivers' union,

Hunt became the new face
of Formula One.

I don't know
whether the drivers today

go out and have a party
till 3:00 in the morning

and jump into the car.
Who else could do that?

I don't think you
can get to that level being,

you know,
just who you want to be.

You have to be,
to a certain extent, what...

what a racing driver's supposed to be.
You know, quick.

Hunt took pole
position in qualifying

for the first two races
in 1976,

while Lauda
took the checkered flags.

I think they
respected each other,

but there was a need.

Niki really wanted
to be a cool guy,

and he wasn't quite a cool guy,

and he used to wind James up
whenever he had the opportunity.

What about this fellow
James Hunt this weekend?

Well, James Hunt won
his Grand Prix in Holland,

so I think he's a very,
very strong competitor now.

Niki would psych
the other drivers out

just by talking
to them. I mean.

Hunt's first win came in Spain,

but it was taken down
when the wing

on his car was judged too wide.

I don't know how wide
it is anyway, you know?

I didn't even know
there was a rule about it.

I just drive the damn thing.

At Monaco, Lauda took the lead

at the first turn,
and never looked back.

It was his fourth win
in six starts.

He didn't
seem spectacularly fast,

but he won races,
and you could rely

that he's not going
to do anything stupid.

Hunt stormed back in
France, and after a disputed start,

took the checkered flag before
a home crowd in Britain.

The victory flag's cinched,

and James Hunt crosses the line
to win the British Grand Prix!

James, they've changed the
regulations concerning the wings,

and yet you're still
extremely fast.

How do you do it? Big balls.

Forget it.
Can't you print that?

We can't print... But it's true!

The difference
between drivers is maybe

the quantity of desire
you have to win races,

because the talents are equal.

That includes
whatever the weather is

when you're at the race course.

Monza, Spa, Monaco,

they were quite famous tracks.

But one was reckoned as a
symbol of pure driving.

It's the highest
possible challenge.

In the shadow of Germany's Eifel mountains

lies a monstrous race track,
22 kilometers around.

168 corners.

At the time, 17 jumps.

So you were flying 17 times
at the Nürburgring.

If a car went
off the road, you never saw it.

It just disappeared into
the trees or the bushes,

or down a ravine.

Hitler built it
in the Depression.

It is the most challenging,
the most rewarding,

the most dangerous,

the greatest racetrack
in the world.

To win at the Nürburgring,

that means that's
the race of your life.

In 1976, the defending champion

and points leader Niki Lauda

called on his union
to boycott the Nürburgring,

citing unsafe track conditions.

They couldn't marshal it.

It would take an army of
firefighters to do any good.

Hunt' cast' his vote to race.

Lauda was defeated
by the slimmest of margins.

One.

I came round the turn

and he was sideways in the middle of the track.
His car was on fire.

There's Brett Lunger

getting out of the Surtees

and into the flames.

The Ferrari had different
belts and different systems.

Art Merzario
had driven a Ferrari.

He was able to get in,
undo the belts.

I was on top of the car,

and I grabbed Niki's shoulders

and pulled him out of the car.

Lauda is finally dragged clear

from the burning inferno.

The race of course is stopped.

I remember him saying to me,

"What's my face like?
What's my face like?"

In fact, he didn't know
he'd ingested

a lot of toxic fumes

from the burning resin
and fiberglass

of the bodywork of the car.

People were already talking
about him in the past tense.

We were both certain that
when we turned the radio on,

we'd hear the morning
news saying he was dead.

I couldn't see anything.
I was just listening.

Must have been in the hospital.

My wife came into the
room where I was lying,

and, uh, she started
crying, so...

which didn't certainly help me.

I told her afterwards,

"Listen, why did you cry
when... when you come in?

"Because I felt bad."

She said, "Unfortunately,

"I only recognized you
on your feet."

Because I was burned so bad,
in my head and everywhere,

that she had a shock.

And that was the real
issue at the time,

so I thought, "Shit, I must
fight now to stay alive."

Five weeks later,

I was back in the car in Monza.

Niki walked down the pit lane

to where my team was,

and he said,
"Brett, thank you."

And then walked away.

I knew the risk
I was getting myself into.

The easy way back is to
drive as quick as possible.

Don't wait.

As long as you wait,
is more worried you get.

He finished fourth
and, you know,

kept his world
championship hopes alive.

That's the most courageous
thing I've ever seen.

Lauda! Lauda!

After all he's been through,

I would like to see him
right at the front,

fighting and, you
know, unblemished.

Back against the wall,

James Hunt went out and
he won these two races

through just sheer
determination and grit,

but there was something magical
about what Niki Lauda was doing.

He was a very tough competitor,

but most people
questioned his sanity.

That accident
gave him charisma.

They became...

I hate to think what sort
of buddies they became.

Like playboys together,
if you know what I mean.

Good afternoon, and welcome
to the Japanese Grand Prix.

This is the most exciting
finish lo a Grand Prix season

in over ten years.

It's down to a fight for the
championship between Hunt and Lauda,

with Lauda
just three points ahead.

What an incredible end
to the season!

They ended up going
to the Japanese Grand Prix,

and everybody wanted it,

and the broadcasters
of the world said,

"Ah, that's good!
Let's... let's...

"Oh! We don't have the rights!

"Oh! Now, how do we fix this?"

By 1976, Bernie
Ecclestone and Max Mosley

had become friends and partners

in the Formula One
Constructors' association,

the loose confederation
of garagistes,

independent car builders.

Bernie was
completely streetwise,

an absolutely
brilliant tactician.

Didn't take Bernie that long

to work out that the organizers

were making a lot of money,

and fundamentally the teams
were getting screwed.

Bernie came in.

He said, "I have bought
all of the world's

"TV rights for a million dollars. "

There were ten teams.

"You can all
have 10% for $100,000.

Nine idiots sat there...

"Think how much testing
I could do with $100,000."

I said, "No, thank you", and
everyone else said "No, thank you,"

and that's how Bernie
got control.

Pathetic, really, but then that's
how great fortunes are made!

While the Brabham owner

would eventually sell his team,

he has maintained control

of the sport's
commercial rights

ever since '76
and the showdown in Japan.

Bernie said
to the broadcasters,

"You can have the rights
going forward,

"but you've got to show
every Grand Prix."

As they
say, the rest is history.

In Fuji, it
was raining all day long,

that we could not drive.

At four in the afternoon,
the race director came

and said, "We have
to start the race now

because the television time."

But I said, "Look,
the rain is the same."

Those early
days, things were run

a little bit more
like a dictatorship

rather than a democracy.

It was me that said, "We're going
to start, no matter what.“

And the Japanese
Grand Prix is underway!

James Hunt's
got a superb start.

That's exactly
what he wants to do,

get in front of all those cars,

because when you're in [he front,
you don't have that spray.

When you're stuck behind in second,
third, fourth, or wherever,

you have this massive plume
of spray in your face.

It's impossible
to see anything.

James Hunt in the lead,
in the Marlboro McLaren.

This is the start he needs.

The visibility,

especially at the
beginning of the race,

was no more than 20%, at best.

Look at that mist!

How can they see anything
driving in these conditions?

180 miles an hour,

You're listening, and then you're
watching your side of the road,

and if the car
in front of you stops,

you're going to be in trouble.

There's Jody Scheckter,
going down on the inside.

Perhaps he thinks there's better
grip down there on the inside.

And there, Lauda,
in the pits already,

having a cockpit conference
with Forghieri,

the leader of the Ferrari team.

What's happened to Lauda?

Niki decided to stop.

And there is James
Hunt for the lead,

and Lauda seemingly
out of the race already.

He stopped. That was it.

In the entire 40-odd years
I've been involved,

that's the only time
I can remember

a driver actually stopping because
the conditions were so dangerous.

Just incredible.

He's spinning!

...out of the race completely,

and out of
the world championship!

It takes big balls

to make a decision like that.

Some people may think
it's cowardly.

Um, I think it's
probably the opposite.

He went against
all the things that

being a Grand Prix driver
at Ferrari are about.

In other words, you drive
for Ferrari, not yourself.

And if you've got to die
doing it, so be it.

Die, but at least die trying.

Ferrari were actually
embarrassed for him.

You know, "No, the car is,
the engine is finished,"

and all the rest of it.

Lauda actually got angry when
he heard them doing that

and told it straight.

He was the one who
resisted the myth of Ferrari.

And he said no, no.

Who said that before
to Enzo Ferrari?

To these days, I think I would
never forgive Niki Lauda.

That particular moment,

he thought it was
too dangerous for him,

and he forget the 50,
60 people from Ferrari

helping him to achieve.

The thousands of people
in the whole of Italy...

he forgot all of those
people in that time,

and their beloved Lauda,
he become selfish

and he said, "No, I
don't want to drive. "

I don't regret it.

But I already saw
what can happen.

And so we've got
about four laps to go,

and James Hunt is still second.

The championship
wasn't settled there and then

when he stepped out of the car

because James had to
finish third or higher.

James Hunt's in the
pits with one bald lire

and the other is flat.

But there is Mario
Andretti, in the lead.

Now, where does that leave
Hunt as he exits the pits?

Is Hunt still
in the top two Hunt?

James Hunt,
racing for his life.

I think Hunt
is currently fourth.

And there's Hunt,
going past Alan Jones.

That will put him
into third place,

and into the world
champion title!

Will his car hold together?

James Hunt...

and Mario Andretti
takes the flag,

and here comes Hunt!

James Hunt has done it!
Hunt is the champion!

When he got out of the car,

James didn't know if
he'd won the championship.

He thought
he'd finished fourth.

Hunt was world champion
in the end, by one point.

Dramatic Formula One folklore.
It'll be there forever.

When I met Niki, the
first thing he said to me was,

"I loved your father."

And, I mean, I think Dad
quit at the end of the season.

He wished he could have shared
the championship with Niki.

They both lived to win,

and he wanted
to share it with him.

But he couldn't, obviously.

There can be only one.

That was his shooting
star moment, I think,

and it was the seminal
changing point in Formula One.

The fairytale
ending belonged to Hunt,

but it was Lauda's decision
to quit

with the championship
on the line

that helped change
the sport forever.

If the fastest drivers
refuse to race

out of fear for their lives

with the entire world watching,

there is no Formula One.

We understood that
culling racing drivers

is not a good deal.

The public doesn't want
to see these heroes

dying on television,
dying in your living room.

This week's big event
is the British Grand Prix.

Really, safety
came about with money.

And that was all
to do with the television.

That was the real breakthrough.

That's not really true.

The money helped,

but the whole point about
safety is it depends

on the attitude of the
people running the sport.

The new men
taking the lead in the fight

were survivors
in their own right.

It was obvious that something
needed to be done.

A decade after Jim Clark's
death shocked the world,

Bernie Ecclestone quietly hired

the leading neurosurgeon
in London

as the official
race doctor for Formula One.

This was Bernie's idea,

to take on
this permanent doctor,

Professor Sid Watkins,
a renowned brain surgeon.

The first year with Bernie

was a very difficult year

because nobody wanted
Sid Watkins at the circuit.

They've got their own doctors,

and they don't like
some Englishman coming along

and saying, you know,
"We want to do this."

At the German
Grand Prix in 1978,

Dr. Watkins' fourth race,

the organizers banned
the track doctor

from race control
just moments before the start.

Bernie says, "Well, pack the cars.
We're leaving."

Race control replied,
"What am I going to do

"with 80,000 Germans
who are here?"

And Bernie said, "You can go and
tell them to fuck themselves."

And they said, "The
doctor can come back in."

It was always
said that Sid Watkins

was the only man to whom Bernie
Ecclestone always deferred.

Four races later,
Dr. Watkins learned firsthand

the hardest lesson
in Formula One.

We watched it on TV.

James pulled Ronnie
out of the car.

I was prevented from
getting there by the police,

for about 20 minutes or so.

I mean, it was absolute mayhem.

The super
Swede, Ronnie Peterson,

had both of his legs
crushed in the pileup.

Eventually, Ronnie
went off in the helicopter,

and we resumed the start.

Colin Chapman
won his seventh and final

world championship
with Mario Andretti.

He also lost his fifth driver.

Peterson died the next day,
after suffering an embolism.

That was just
a sword through my heart.

He should not have died
from that.

If Dr. Watkins
was in charge at Monza,

Ronnie Peterson would probably
be sitting next to me.

Peterson was one
of the guys on my first race.

All the others disappeared.

They had stopped,
or they had died.

On that day,
when Ronnie Peterson died,

my childhood approach
to Formula One ended.

It was a turning point
for the sport, too.

From that race on,
Dr. Watkins began riding

in a safety car
behind every start,

for the most dangerous lap
of every race,

so he could be on hand
in the event of an accident.

My job was really to
look after the drivers,

and that's what I did.

He standardized
medical response

within Formula One,

mandating permanent medical
facilities at each circuit

and helicopters on hand
for every race and practice.

Sid Watkins was the man.

Formula One still lost
four men in four years.

An outstanding
driver lost his life

through what was,
in my opinion,

a pure motor racing accident.

But only two
drivers were killed

over the next 12 years.

Each death was met with
scrutiny by the men in charge,

And a haunting refrain by those

who knew too well
the price of glory.

It's terribly, terribly sad,

but it's always happened
and it always will.

It's just intrinsic
to Formula One.

Until one.

I was driving in the race,

and it was
a really strange time.

We had just lost Roland
Ratzenberger a day earlier.

And everybody starts
looking over their shoulder

and looking round at
what's going to happen next.

And I remember that
evening that we were talking about,

yep, it was Ratzenberger.

It was, like, his first race.

Not for one minute I thought
it could ever happen to Senna.

The three-time world champion

had become the new face
of Formula One,

the one driver who could finally
challenge the great Fangio.

You had this great vision

of a megastar in Ayrton Senna.

He was revered.

He was probably the most
popular world champion

because he had everything,

and he brought great
style to Formula One.

He brought it to another level.

He was one
of the most gentle people

that you could imagine.

He was getting older,

and he was starting to
campaign heavily for safety.

You've seen Rubens?

He's all right. He's all right.

He's shocked, of course,
but he's all right.

On Sunday morning,

just before the race,
I said to Ayrton,

"You know, you're
the fastest guy around.

"Why don't you quit?"

He said, "I can't quit.
I have to go on."

Maybe I should have been
much more severe with him.

But then, you know, you've got
responsibilities to all of those...

all of those boys.

And they were boys to me, see,

since I was so much
older than them.

I was 9 years old,

and my dad told me that'
Ayrton's crashed and he's died.

I think as a kid at that age,

it's always difficult to understand
what that actually means.

But I went round the back
of the car, I remember,

and I cried.

I couldn't let my dad
see me because, you know,

you don't let
a man see you cry,

But I remember that day, and
I really was affected by it.

Still today, I say he's
the greatest driver ever.

The biggest difference

between the death of Jim Clark
on the 7th of April, 1968,

and Ayrton Senna
on the 1st of May, 1994,

is that the world needed
to know the answer

as to why this had happened.

Why is this man dead?

Why is motor racing
so dangerous?

The death of Ayrton Senna
was relayed by television

into the living rooms of millions
of people around the world,

to people who didn't really
know about motor sport,

but knew of him.

Somebody had to be blamed.

The new president of the FIA

had been on the grid
the day Jim Clark died.

I think it's distressing
that so much of the press

doesn't appreciate the
realities of the situation.

Max Mosley had ascended

to the ultimate position
of power within the sport

just months
before Senna's death.

They were
absolutely concentrated on,

why did Senna have the crash?

Totally irrelevant.

It's a sport done at the limit
of human and mechanical ability.

When you do that, you're
going to have a crash.

The interesting question
isn't why he crashed,

it's why did he get killed?

Mosley called on Dr. Watkins

to lead
a scientific examination

into every aspect of the sport.

Max had a clear message,

saying that whatever is
happening to a car,

there should be no
reason to die in a car.

I remember going up in the air.

My first thought was,

"Please don't let me
go in the trees,"

because, you fly,
you die, into the trees.

Then it starts to roll.

It feels like being in a tumble
dryer, a washing machine.

When it stopped,

I could feel this liquid
running down into my overalls.

I could smell fuel,

and I thought I was going
to catch fire and burn.

This is what we
feared at this corner,

and that was very nasty indeed!

That's the first big
accident since Ayrton Senna,

and the whole world
was watching.

It was the first race

where they'd raised the
headrests, up beside the driver,

and that played a big role in
me not being injured at all.

Not only was he alive,
but he got back in the race.

And it struck me then
that we'd moved on,

that the whole aspect
of it had changed.

What happened was
the attitude changed,

and Senna gave the impetus

to really go into safety
on a scientific basis.

In an arms race for speed,

no expense has been spared
for survival.

Never had that fear.

Never been worried about death
or the danger of getting hurt.

270 kilometers
an hour through the corners.

Ah, it's unbelievable.

Sometimes if you
just look outside,

left and right,
you think, am I crazy?

It's almost like you
have control of the danger.

There's
probably as many accidents today

as there was then...

but the results of the accidents
are completely different.

Have you
seen the accident on TV?

Well, yeah, I... I have
seen it also live,

when I was there! But, uh...

The
modern-day driver will never know,

and I hope and pray
that they never find out

what it feels like to have the
consistency of death surrounding you.

The idea was
not to race and die,

the idea was to race and to
last as long as possible.

After all I have said
about Jackie Stewart,

I really did appreciate
what he started.

Emerson and I have been

talking about it
today, actually.

We're very grateful
to be alive,

to have actually won the
races we've won and driven.

I think we all
did something unbelievable,

at the absolute limit
of the job.

In our days, we knew if you made
a mistake or something broke,

you had a good chance
you wouldn't get out of it.

All these drivers,

they had a glamorous life,
and they were incredible.

I love my sport, and it was
awarding to be with my friends.

I'm knocking on wood every day

that I was one of the lucky ones
that really dodged the bullets.

In the end, we were able
to use all these developments

to literally revolutionize
the crash safety

of the ordinary car industry.

That's why it's
such a fantastic sport.

It pioneers the evolution
of the car, and going faster.

But safety's got to come first.

Three thousand people get killed
every day on the roads worldwide.

To make a one
per cent difference,

even one per cent,
is 30 people a day.

Really, that alone
justifies everything

that's come from Formula One.

But, you see, one's always
haunted by the past.

Max believes everyone
should live to a hundred.

I don't look back, actually.

I look forward.
Yesterday's yesterday.

Whoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!

We are world champions!
World champions!

Oh, no! Mark Webber's
gone right up there!

Oh! Mark Webber's gone
completely over the top there.

♪ All this
feels strange and untrue ♪

♪ And I won't waste a minute ♪

♪ Without you ♪