All language subtitles for Ford.v.Ferrari.2019.English

(drumroll)

(fanfare playing)

(music ends)

(engines revving)

(crowd cheering)

(commentator speaking French)

(overlapping announcements
in foreign language)

COMMENTATOR (in English):
This is live coverage

of the 195924 Hours of Le Mans.

We've reached the halfway point

and so far witnessed
Aston Martin number 5,

driven by Carroll Shelby,

making great gains in the last hour.

If he keeps this pace up,

he could have a chance at the...

(engine revving)

He's coming in.

He's coming in. Let's go, let's go.

- CREW MEMBER: Tires!
- EDDIE: Let's go, let's go.

I know you're tired, but come on,

let's make this fast.

Move, move, move!

(tires screech)

She's running a little hot,
but we're good.

CARROLL: Tires are still gripping.

CREW MEMBERS: Fire! The fuel! Fire!

- Shelby, it's you!
- EDDIE: Grab that blanket!

(indistinct shouting)

CARROLL: Get off me! Off!

EDDIE: You okay?

Fill the tank!

- Shelby, you just...
- Am I on fire?

Am I on goddamn fire?

- No, you're not on fire.
- Fill the damn tank!

- CREW MEMBER 1: Fill the tank.
- EDDIE: Fill the tank.

CREW MEMBER 2: Get it ready!

- CARROLL: Where am I, Eddie?
- Two laps up, my friend.

CREW MEMBER 4: Car's yours.

EDDIE: Go get 'em.

COMMENTATOR: Aston Martin number 5,

driven by Carroll Shelby,
has maintained his lead

as we're nearing
the final minutes of the race.

DR. GRANGER: Shelby.

COMMENTATOR: The checkered flag is out.

The crowd are on their feet.

- DR. GRANGER: Shelby.
- COMMENTATOR: takes the title!

An American wins Le Mans.

DR. GRANGER: Shelby.

- (exhales)
- Carroll Shelby.

What?

This is something
you can't ignore anymore.

Oh, I take the pills. The pills work.

(sighs) An elevated
heart rate, say 130 BPM,

sustained even for a short period,

you run a critical risk of cardiac arrest.

- Well, I'll race shorter format then.
- That's not gonna work.

Well, I could race NASCAR. Formula One.

The valve is shot, Shelby.

This is as serious as it gets.

In my opinion, you're lucky
to be sitting here today.

(scoffs) Well, I feel real lucky.

Luckiest guy on Earth.

CARROLL: There's a point at 7,000 RPM
where everything fades.

- (keys jingling)
- (car engine starts)

The machine becomes weightless.

Just disappears.

- (tires screeching)
- (horn blaring)

MAN: Hey!

MAN 2: Watch it, buddy!

CARROLL: And all that's left is a body
moving through space and time.

7,000 RPM.

That's where you meet it.

It asks you a question.

The only question that matters.

"Who are you?"

Now, it's Von Trips in the Ferrari,
coming into the corkscrew.

- He's braking late.
- WAYNE: Hey, I called you three times,

and you never answer the phone.

Oh! He sets a new lap record!

KEN: I answer the phone
every time it rings.

- WAYNE: No, sir, you do not.
- KEN: Yes, I do.

WAYNE: No, you don't.

A month ago, this car was fine.

Now, it won't even start.
And when it does,

it's, "Boom, boom, boom!"

When I pull out of the driveway,

- the dog has a heart attack.
- (Ken chuckles)

WAYNE: All I'm asking is for
you to make it like it was.

(grunting) Yeah, you've coked up
the inlet valves and the plugs.

Nothing wrong with the car,

just the way it's being driven.

WAYNE: The way it's being driven?

KEN: Too much fuel, not enough spark.
That's what's making her misfire.

You wanna run that by me in English?

All right, sir.

So... (exhales)

that there, that is a sport car.

You have to drive her like a sport car.

If you drive her like a school teacher,

she'll clog up. All right?

Try changing up at 5,000 RPM, not two.

Drive like you mean it. Hard and tight.

She'll run clean.

Are you telling me I don't know
how to drive my own car?

No.

But if you ask me, this isn't your car.

Your car's more a Plymouth
or a Studebaker.

You and me have a problem, buddy?

I don't have a problem. I had an MG.

Mine ran just fine.

Screw you, you limey prick.

I want my money back.

Oh, behave. I'd give it to ya.

But you haven't paid
for last month's service yet.

This country, the customer's always right.

- (Ken scoffs)
- You ever hear of that?

- KEN: Yeah. Yeah.
- (car engine starts)

Utter nonsense.

Now remember, I advanced the timing,

- so a smidge twitchy in first.
- (tires screeching)

Get the revs up. Good lad. Revs up.

(horn honking)

Ta-Ra.

MOLLIE: Another satisfied customer?

Can I help you, miss?

Wasn't that an MGA 1500?

Ah, you know your cars.

Well, I like them.

I love the sound they make.

The way it goes right through you.

Right.

That vibration.

(exhales)

Mine's the wood-paneled

Country Squire... (clicks tongue)

across the street.

A real hot rod.

Oh, yeah?

- Is it fast?
- Very.

Wait a second. What type of girl are ya?

Type of girl who likes
the smell of wet gasoline.

- KEN: Oh.
- Burnt rubber.

Oh, what, are you some kind of a deviant,
are ya? (chuckles)

Well, only since I married you.

LEE: Hey, Gar, what's going on?

Something's up.

MAN 1: Hi, Lee.

MAN 2: Listen, he isn't as sure as you are
about the banks.

MAN 3: I'm not as sure about this...

MAN 4: How's this going out?

- Don, what's going on?
- I don't know.

- MAN 5: Mr. Ford, welcome to the room.
- MAN 6: Good afternoon, Mr. Ford.

MAN 6: Nice to see you, sir.

(chatter stops)

Shut it down, Mr. Beebe.

(machinery whirring)

LEO: John!

- (alarm buzzing)
- FOREMAN: All stop.

(machinery powering down)

Hear that?

That's the sound
of the Ford Motor Company...

out of business.

In 1899, my grandfather,
Henry, by God, Ford...

was walking home from Edison Illumination

after working a double shift.

He was ruminating.

That morning, he had himself an idea
that changed the world.

Sixty-five years
and 47 million automobiles later,

what shall be his legacy?

Getting it in the tail pipe
from a Chevy Impala.

(all chuckling)

Here's what I want you to do.

Walk home.

While you're walking,
I want you to ruminate.

Man comes to my office with an idea,

that man keeps his job.

Rest of you second-best losers...

stay home.

You don't belong at Ford.

- PHIL: Shelby!
- (knocking at door)

I see you. Up and at 'em, buddy.

(knocking on window)

- Hey!
- CARROLL: Go away.

PHIL: Come on. You can do it.

(Carroll coughing)

PHIL: Come on, baby.

- 8:30 a.m., time to roll.
- (continues knocking)

Let's go.

- Let's go. Let's go, go, go.
- Go away.

PHIL: It's 8:30 a.m., baby. Time to roll.

Come on.

BOB: Hey, Phil.

Hey, Bob.

Is Shelby here?

Uh, it's touch and go.

(door unlocking)

Shelby, you're up bright and early.

Well, early bird gets the worm, Pops.

♪ You know the best things
in life are free ♪

CARROLL: All right, who you worried about?

Well, you got Red Faris and Bill Rushton.

They're all in 327s.

Corvettes. What about Bondurant?

Bondurant? Well, he's still driving...

- Mr. Shelby, can I get an autograph?
- For Washburn.

Number 614.

- Thank you so much.
- All right, just relax. All right.

We're gonna eat those Vettes
for breakfast.

We're lighter, we're faster,

and that don't work, we're nastier.

COMMENTATOR (on PA): Hey, Dad,
before the race starts,

take your son over
to the Willow Springs...

CARROLL: Hey, Phil. Hey,
take it easy on us today, bud.

KEN: You all right?

Paragraph 15.4,
section 2b of the SCCA standard

dictates all AF class cars must have

minimum trunk space
of 20 inches by 12 inches

by six inches.

Your trunk doesn't close.

- Ergo car fails standard.
- Wait, wait, wait. What?

Ergo car is disqualified
from said Class A competition.

No, no, no. Look, look, look.
Can I ask you a question, all right?

When you were a little boy, did you think,

"When I grow up, I want to go
to the fabled Willow Springs Raceway,

"and I want to enforce
paragraph 15.4, section 2b

of the SCCA regulations
on luggage capacity"?

- All right, that's it.
- KEN: Did you?

I'm ruling you and your team
disqualified from this race.

CARROLL: Ah, well,
if it isn't Lance Reventlow.

- LANCE: Ah, Shelby.
- How you doing, Lance?

- LANCE: Pops.
- Hey, Lance.

Allow me to introduce Dieter Voss.
Runs Brumos Porsche out of Jacksonville.

Oh, I know all about Mr. Voss.

You're having a hell of a
season with that Abarth, sir.

Seeing results for your Cobra, too.

- Thank you.
- Your guy Miles is impressive.

- Oh, you following Miles?
- Oh, yes.

Well, he was a USAC
road racing champ in '61.

He won the Pikes Peak Hill Climb.

He was SCCA C-class champion
three years in a row

in his piece-of-shit MG he built himself.

We heard he's, uh, difficult.

What, Ken? No, no. Ken's a puppy dog.

Hey, Lance, tell the man.
You've raced against Ken.

Oh, I've driven more
behind him than against him.

Well, Brumos is looking for a driver
for our number two car at Sebring.

- Is that right?
- KEN: How is that even possible?

Think your guy Miles can make the grade?

- Oh, well, Ken...
- KEN: Is he, mate? Hey!

Jim! Is he putting his bloody carryall

- in your trunk?
- JIM: What?

BILL: Discretionary infraction.

Gentlemen, excuse me a moment.

To be honest, Ken was born for Sebring.

Nothing in there about my trunk
and your lovely little portmanteau.

You're holding
the '62 edition of the SCCA.

And you can stick this bloody sticker
where the sun don't shine.

Hey. Hey, Bill. What seems
to be the problem, Bill?

The problem is that
Bill here is an arsehole.

- No, he doesn't mean that.
- Oh, yes, he does. Yes, he does.

- No, he really does think...
- He's just fooling with ya, Bill.

- That Bill is an arsehole.
- He's just foolin'.

- I'm just doing my job here.
- Hang on. Bill, Bill, Bill.

In my experience, there is...
Listen to me.

Something like this, there's
always a middle ground.

All right? Now, Ken's outta line.

BILL: And I'm just doing my job.

CARROLL: I understand you are.

You know how he gets on a race day.

You know that. All right?

But you're not gonna DQ us over a trunk.

(grunting)

- MAN 1: What?
- MAN 2: You see that guy?

Got his tail up.

(continues grunting)

Happy, Bill?

CARROLL: Bill, I'll handle it.
I'll talk to him.

I'll talk to him. You just go
and have a great day.

COMMENTATOR (on PA):
Hey, folks, feeling hungry?

Head on over to the snack bar...

Shit.

- Bulldog.
- KEN: Huh?

You know who that was
I was just talking to?

Bill.

- Before that.
- No.

It was Dieter Voss.

KEN: Who's that?

He runs Porsche, Ken.

It's a little German car company.
Maybe you heard of it.

All right.

He wanted you to drive at Sebring.

But he'd heard you were difficult.

(sighs)

I thought we felt the same way
about, uh, Germans.

Do you like losing, Ken?

Excuse me?

Oh, you heard me.

I don't lose.

Without sponsors, you get no car, Ken.

And last I checked, the professionals

- all have a car.
- Shel!

You cannot win the SCCA without one.

If you're not winning, you are losing.

Don't make me lamp this at your head.

Did you bring your son
all the way out here

to watch you get disqualified

or just act like a jackass?

(glass shatters)

(people exclaiming and laughing)

MAN: Damn!

Well, that answers that.

(sighs) Peter...

(car approaching)

MOLLIE: May I help you, gentlemen?

MAN: Uh, yes, is Ken Miles here?

- No.
- We need to speak to Mr. Miles.

I'm his wife.

COMMENTATOR (on PA): Welcome to the 1963
Willow Springs 100.

Twelve cars will be competing
in this 40-lap race.

Hey, Ken, what happened to your shield?

New design.

COMMENTATOR: Well, it looks
like we're about to begin.

The cars have completed their warm-up lap.

The green flag is out...

and they're approaching the starting line.

Here we go.

- (engine sputters)
- Oh, bloody hell.

COMMENTATOR: Ken Miles has fallen behind.

Learn to drive, you pillock!

So, Shelby, do you miss it?

Hey, Sam.

Guy wins the 24-hour Le Mans,
suddenly retires,

starts selling cars.

It just don't make sense.

Well, unless the rumors
are true, of course.

Oh, what rumors would those be, Sam?

That Carroll Shelby quit driving
'cause he lost his nerve.

(engines revving)

I'm gonna out-brake you
on the next turn, Bob.

(tires screeching)

Ha-ha! Nice try, Bob.

(crowd cheering)

(tires screeching)

COMMENTATOR: Nice move from Ken Miles.

Twenty-two laps remaining,
with Phil Hill and Dan Gurney in the lead.

(breathing heavily)

- (thud)
- (tires screeching)

COMMENTATOR: It's been an incredible day
here at Willow Springs,

and we've seen some exciting driving.

With just one lap remaining
in this 40-lap race,

we're coming to the final stretch.

Dan Gurney has been leading
the pack for most of the...

- (tires screech)
- Whoa!

(crowd exclaims)

Number 18, Red Faris,
is off the track.

That leaves Dan Gurney for the lead
followed by journeyman Ken Miles.

Now for you, Dan.

COMMENTATOR: And they're
coming around the last turn.

Gurney is still in the lead
with Ken Miles hot on his heels.

Miles is looking for an opening.

Not yet.

Come on.

COMMENTATOR: Can Gurney hold
him off in the final straight?

Not yet.

COMMENTATOR: Gurney is blocking him out.

Now.

COMMENTATOR: Miles goes for the shoulder.

Nice move, Ken.

COMMENTATOR: They're wheel to wheel.

Come on.

COMMENTATOR: It's Corvette versus Cobra
for the finish.

- Yeah! Ha-ha!
- (crowd cheering)

Yeah!

COMMENTATOR: An incredible
finish for Ken Miles.

- Didn't see that one coming.
- (Ken whooping)

He's difficult but good.

COMMENTATOR: Let's give everyone a hand
for one heck of a race.

KEN: That calls for a nice cup of tea.

PETER: I'll put the kettle on.

Hop in.

(singing):
♪ I'm ♪

BOTH:
♪ H-A-P-P-Y ♪

♪ I'm H-A-P-P-Y ♪

♪ I know I am,
I'm sure I am I'm H-A-P-P-Y ♪

Pops, frame this.

(Ken whistling)

(dog barking in distance)

(whispering) Hey.

We did it.

What's wrong?

The IRS came.

They've padlocked the garage.

(sighs)

KEN: All right, Petey.

A couple of years ago...

you said we'd a nest egg.

Correct.

A couple of years ago.

Correct.

So just to be clear, we are buggered.

Absolutely.

As in totally?

As in, not a bean,
or a pot in which to piss.

Spares, stock, all gone.

Tools. My tools are locked up in there.

I'll figure something out.

LEE: In 1945...

our soldiers came home.

What was the first thing that they did?

(projector clicking)

- They had sex.
- (all laugh)

Seventeen years later,

those babies, they've grown.

And they've got jobs.

They've got licenses.

But they do not wanna drive
the same dull '50s cars

their parents drove.

You see, kids today, they want glamour.

They want sex appeal.

They want to go fast.

Gentlemen...

it's time for the Ford Motor Company
to go racing.

We're already in racing, lacocca.

LEE: NASCAR?

It's... it's regional, sir.

If you go to the movies,
you open up a magazine,

you don't see good ol' boys
and Winston-Salem.

You see, uh...

Sophia Loren...

(man wolf whistles)

LEE: Monica Vitti.

MAN: Hello!

James Bond does not drive a Ford, sir.

That's because he's a degenerate.

(all chuckling)

FORD: See?

God, I'd like to be a degenerate.

Um, just give me one second here, sir.

- (projector whirring)
- Is this part of it?

Is this going anywhere, lacocca?

LEE: Just a second, sir.

FORD: All right, all right,
that's enough.

Sir, if you just bear with me...

FORD: Turn it off. Lights.

(Lee clears throat)

Lee, in the last three years,
you and your marketing team...

have presided over the worst
sales slump in US history.

Why exactly should Mr. Ford listen to you?

Because we've been thinking wrong.

Ferrari.

Now, they have won four
out of the last five Le Mans.

We need to think like Ferrari.

Ferrari makes fewer cars
in a year than we make in a day.

(chuckles) We spend more on toilet paper

than they do on their entire output.

You want us to think like them?

Enzo Ferrari will go down in history

as the greatest
car manufacturer of all time.

Why?

Is it because he built the most cars?

No.

It's because of what his cars mean.

Victory.

Ferrari wins at Le Mans.

People, they, they want
some of that victory.

What if the Ford badge meant victory?

And meant it where it counts,

with the first group
of 17-year-olds in history

with money in their pockets?

LEO: This would take years.

Decades to test and develop...

a race team capable of taking out Ferrari.

Ferrari's bankrupt.

Enzo has spent every lira
he's got chasing perfection,

and you know something?

He got there.

But now he's broke.

(loud clattering)

(dog barking)

You don't have to give up racing
to get a bloody day job, Ken.

I think I do.

Now, I've had my fun.

It's time to put food on the table...

and grow up.

The garage didn't pay the bills.

Now it's locked up.

Racing doesn't pay them either,

and I keep winning.

Yeah, because you're good.

But I can't play the game.

I'm not what they call a people person.

- MOLLIE: You don't say.
- KEN: And I'm 45 years old.

Do you really think I'm gonna change?

I'm never gonna get the good rise.

I started too late.

Because you fought in the bloody war.

(sighs) If you stop,
you'll be bloody insufferable.

Let's quit going round
the Wrekin. It's over.

Let's look on the bright side.

Now I can get fat and old,
trim the roses, and eat pork pies.

- (camera shutter clicks)
- Uh, scusa.

Please, no photos.

Prego.

- Relax, will you?
- You gotta understand.

This is like the Mafia showing up
to buy the Statue of Liberty.

DON: Kind of the opposite, actually.

The press gets wind of this,
the shit will hit the Fangio.

Lee lacocca, Ford Motor.

Franco Gozzi, Ferrari.

(speaking Italian)

(in English) Journalists?

No, no, Mr. lacocca, no.

It's our cameras.

Just for history.

(camera shutter clicks)

Four-liter Colombo engine.

(machinery whirring)

One man assembles the entire engine
by himself.

Another man assembles the transmission.

Everything hand-built.

Bellissimo.

(speaking Italian)

(in English)
Racing Department.

Lee. That's him.

LEE: This merger between our companies
will form two entities.

(woman translating to Italian)

LEE (in English): Ford-Ferrari,
90 percent owned by Ford,

who controls all production.

(translating to Italian)

Secondly, Ferrari-Ford, the race team,

90 percent owned by Ferrari.

(translating to Italian)

In order to secure this,
Ford will pay the sum...

(translating to Italian)

(speaking Italian)

(in English) Excuse me.

(speaking Italian)

(in English) He will need
some time to read this.

Ah. Please.

Ah. Yeah, of course.

(woman shouting in Italian)

I'm looking for the chairman of Fiat!

Agnelli!

I have photographs for you to see.

Grazie, grazie, grazie.

(phone ringing)

Pronto.

Yes, I am here.

Do you have something to say?

Enzo maintains full control.

I get the company for 18 million.

(waitress speaks in Italian)

(in English) All done, thank you.

(speaking Italian)

GARY (translating to English): "Gentlemen,
only one small question.

It concerns my race program."

(speaking Italian)

(translating to English)
"If I wish to race Le Mans,

"and you do not wish
for me to race Le Mans...

do we or do we not go?"

(Lee clears throat)

Look, in that highly unlikely scenario...

if we just can't agree...

then, yes. I mean, no.

You are correct.

You do not go.

(conversing in Italian)

(speaking Italian)

(translating in English)
"My integrity as a constructor,

"as a man, as an Italian,

is deeply insulted by your proposal."

(Ferrari speaking Italian)

GARY (translating to English):
"Go back to Michigan."

(speaking Italian)

(translating to English)
"Back to your big, ugly factory."

(speaking Italian)

(translating to English)
"Back to your big, ugly factory,

making its ugly, little cars."

(Enzo speaking Italian)

(translating to English)
"Tell your pigheaded boss that

all his, uh, smug executives
are worthless sons of whores."

(in English) Tell him he's not Henry Ford.

He's Henry Ford ll.

(speaking Italian)

I'm starving. Let's go eat.

He played us.

Old Man Enzo had no intention
of selling to us.

(pouring drink)

He used us to up his price...

embarrass our company
and insult your leadership.

It was a bad idea from the start.

What exactly did he say?

He said Ford makes ugly little cars,

and we make 'em...

in an ugly factory.

He said our executives are sons of whores.

About me?

He called you fat, sir.

And, uh...

pigheaded.

Go on.

He said you're not Henry Ford.

You're Henry Ford ll.

I want the best engineers.

The best drivers.

I don't care what it costs.

We're gonna build a race car.

(glass thuds)

And we're gonna bury
that goddamn greasy wop

100 feet deep
under the finish line at Le Mans.

And I will be there to watch it.

Here they come. Go, go, go, go.

- (firecrackers bursting)
- (girls screaming)

(both laughing)

Assholes.

You're really pathetic.

I'm so sorry, girls.

PHIL: Charlie!

Quit throwing crackers
at the girls all damn day.

God damn it.

Do I gotta deal with this?

It's already taken care of.

Sorry about that.
So, yeah, 289 cubic inch V8.

Far out.

Extensive rework of AC Ace's front end.

And a stronger rear diff
to handle the torque.

How's she handle a quarter mile?

Well, now, I'm not saying
you should go drag racing,

but a quarter mile's 13.6.

- (whistles)
- Yeah.

- Is that good?
- Oh, that's real good.

He sold that same car
three times this week.

- You take cash? Is cash okay?
- Cash is okay.

Yeah, mister, you just bought yourself
one hell of a sport car.

MAN: All right.

Tell you what, I'm gonna... Phil!

I'm gonna pass you off
to my colleague here.

He gonna take care of you.

- Phil, Wyatt.
- Hello, Wyatt.

I'm gonna steal him for one second.

You take the payment.

Whatever you do,
do not let him take that car.

That's Jeff Blitzer's car.

And Frank Collins' and Steve McQueen's.

Shit. I forgot about McQueen.

Morning.

Can I help you?

Carroll Shelby?

Maybe.

Lee lacocca, Ford Motor.

- What's with the wrench?
- (door closes)

That? Oh, long story.

We are just going from strength
to strength here, Lee.

Terrific sales,
we're killing it on the track.

Now, I know I owe Ford
for that last batch of engines...

Mr. Shelby, I can assure you
I'm not here for money

that you might owe Ford for spare parts.

You're not?

No, I'm not.

Okay.

I'm here on behalf
of Mr. Ford, Henry Ford ll.

Suppose, um, hypothetically,

that he wanted his company
to win the 24 Hours of Le Mans.

You're one of the only Americans
that's ever done it...

so I'm wondering...

what's it take?

Hypothetically?

Hypothetically.

It takes something money can't buy.

Money can buy speed.

But it isn't about speed, Lee.

It's not just like those other tracks

where all you do is turn
to the left for four hours.

To win that race, you need a car

that's light enough to do 200
on the straightaways

but strong enough to keep that up
for 3,000 miles without a break.

- (knock at door)
- Not just the best car

y'all have ever made,
but better than anything

that Enzo Ferrari shows up with that year.

And that just gets you to the green flag.

That's where your problems really start.

(quietly) Is everything okay?

(whispers) Go away.

So you're saying it's challenging.

Look, it's not even a track, Lee.

Le Mans is eight and a half
miles of country road.

It's narrow, ungraded, it's rough.

There's no camber on the turns, no rails.

You gotta do that for 24 hours.

Twenty-four hours, Lee.

That means night.

Half that race is in the dark.
You can't see shit.

Cars coming up on you out of nowhere.

Drivers stumbling around
the track, pouring blood.

Maybe one of 'em's your friend. Maybe...

Maybe he's on fire.

You're exhausted, you're hungry...

can't remember your name,
what country you're in.

And all of a sudden, you realize
you're doing 198 on a straight.

And if anything goes wrong...

you blow a gasket, a five-cent washer...

that's it, whole thing's over.

Ferrari wins again.

Just like he won last year
and the year before that.

And the year before that.

Yeah.

It's challenging.

So you don't think...

that Ford Motor Company can build

the greatest race car
the world's ever seen?

You think that we are incapable

of winning an event like that?

Even if we had a brilliant partner?

Even if we wrote a, uh, blank check?

What I'm saying is,
you can't buy a win, Lee.

But maybe you could buy
the guy who gets you a shot.

♪ Have love ♪

♪ Whoa, baby, will travel ♪

♪ Have love ♪

♪ Whoa, baby, will travel... ♪

A new transmission, axles,
shocks all around,

ditch the body and the tires,
you have yourself a contender.

Anything on this beauty that does work?

The mirrors are outstanding.

I saw that walking up.

So, what, you just passing
on an evening stroll?

Actually, Bulldog,
I have a proposition for you.

You're gonna build a car
to beat Old Man Ferrari...

- Yeah.
- With Ford?

With a Ford?

Correct.

And how long did you tell them
that you needed?

Two, three hundred years?

Ninety days.

(laughing)

All right, so let's just look
at this for a moment.

And for argument's sake,

let's just forget about
the whole 90-day thing, all right?

So let's just pretend you've got
all the money in the world

and all the time in the world.

- I like the sound of that.
- All right.

So...

you think that Ford
are gonna let you build

the car that you want...

the way you want it?

The Ford Motor Company?

Those guys?

Have you ever been to Detroit?

I mean, they have
floors and floors of lawyers

and millions of marketing guys,
and they're all gonna want to meet you.

All of them are gonna want
to get their photo taken

with the great Carroll Shelby,
and they're gonna kiss your ass

then they're gonna go
back to their lovely offices...

and they're gonna work out
new ways to screw you.

Why? Because they can't help it.

Because they just want
to please their boss

who wants to please his boss
who wants to please his boss.

And they hate themselves for it.

But deep down...

who they hate even more
are guys like you,

because you're not like them,

because you don't think like them,

because you're different.

It's coming straight from the Deuce.

He's serious.
They're gonna put real money behind it.

(exhales forcefully)

I'll bet they are.

You know why?

Because someone, and I'm not saying who,

someone has told them that
this is actually possible.

Look...

this Sunday at Cloverfield,

they're launching the new Mustang.

They're gonna announce the race program.

Just come on by.

Come take a look. Listen to my speech.

I'm making a speech.

- Bring Peter. He'll love it.
- (chuckles)

- All right, Shel.
- (knocks on table)

See you Sunday.

Whoa.

Dad, look at that.

Huh.

The Ford Mustang. What do you think?

I think it's a secretary's car.

I like it.

Oh.

Excu... Excuse me.

Would you, would you not do that?

Oh. Sorry.

Oh, er, is this, is this your son?

Yes, it is.

Would you ask him to keep
his hands off the paintwork?

No, no, no, Peter.
You're okay. Who are you?

Leo Beebe,

senior executive vice president,
Ford Motor Company.

Ah.

I'm responsible for the launch
of the Mustang.

Ah! At least now we know
who's responsible.

Don't get me wrong, Lenny.

- Leo.
- It looks fantastic.

But inside, it's a lump of lard
dressed up to fool the public.

My advice is,

lose the inline-six
and that idiotic three-speed,

shorten the wheelbase,
somehow lose half a ton,

and lower the price.

Dad.

But even then,
I'd still choose a Chevy Chevelle.

And that's a fucking terrible car.

CARROLL: How are we doing up there, Steve?

There's Cloverfield, Mr. Shelby.

CARROLL: Oh, yeah.

You mind if I take a shot at the landing?

- STEVE: Uh...
- (all laughing)

No, no, no. I mean it.

- I flew B-29s out of San Antone in '44.
- You're kidding.

- I did.
- Okay.

Carroll, what are you doing?

- Does he know how to fly?
- LEE: Carroll.

I had an instructor tell me, he said...

Don, I would say it's probably
a good time to buckle up.

"Do everybody a favor,
stay on the ground."

That's a true story.

- DON: Oh, no.
- LEE: Oh, shit.

- God damn it.
- CARROLL: Here we go.

(on speakers): This is the car
you never expected from Detroit.

(crowd exclaiming, applauding)

All right. Let's go.

Not staying, Ken?

Ah, it's a bloody pig in a poke, isn't it?

CHARLIE: Oh, here they come now.

(airplane engines droning)

- Wait. Are they crashing?
- Oh, Lord.

Who's the pilot?

My guess, Peter...

it's someone we know.

LEE: Everything all right up there?

DON: Oh, no.

- LEE: No!
- CARROLL: Hang on.

Oh, shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

- Shit. Shit. Shit.
- (tires screech)

Tell you what, that's like riding a bike.

Talk about making an entrance.

- MAN 1: Shelby...
- PHIL: Good grief.

- WOMAN 1: Shelby!
- MAN 2: All right!

- MAN 3: Over here. Over here!
- WOMAN 2: Shelby!

How y'all doing?

WOMAN 3:
Can I get your autograph, please?

MAN 4: Can I get your autograph, sir?

LEE: Carroll, this is Roy Lunn.

Old Roy here is developing
the prototype over in England.

Oh, hell, I know Roy.
Good to see you, Roy.

Welcome to the madhouse, Shelby.

Ford wheeled out the entire
executive committee for this one.

Hold that thought.

CARROLL: Ah.

Hello, Mr. Lindbergh.

(chuckles) You like that?
Hey, Peter, how you doing?

- PETER: Mr. Shelby.
- Good to see you.

Are you building a car
that's gonna beat Ferrari?

Well, we're gonna go
to Le Mans, that's for sure.

And if we get across
that finish line first, we're gonna win.

LEE: Carroll, allow me
to introduce Leo Beebe,

senior vice president, Ford Motor.

Oh, sure. Yeah. A pleasure, Mr. Beebe.

- LEO: Thank you for coming.
- Say hello to Ken Miles

- and his son, Peter.
- Yeah.

- We've, um... we met.
- We, uh... we met.

KEN: Yeah.

Didn't we?

So, um, well...

I'll take Petey for some pop.

Good luck with these guys, Shel.

- PETER: Bye, Mr. Shelby.
- See you, Pete.

Don't worry, he's gonna stay.

So, you two get a chance
to talk on the plane?

Yeah. Uh...

Carroll, why don't we just
step this way for a second?

(man speaking indistinctly over speakers)

LEE: Look, it's pro forma.
It's window dressing.

But there's gotta be
a sense of give-and-take

between you and...

you know.

No, I don't.

The group.

"The group"?

Senior creatives, Carroll.

Just to make sure everybody's comfortable.

Well, I'm confused, Lee.

'Cause up until this moment, right now,
I was comfortable.

You should take a look
out there, Carroll. Hmm?

What do you see?

You know what I see?

I see a machine.

I see 10,000 moving parts,

moving hopefully in harmony,

and it's my job to make it so.

It's my job to guide you through it.

I am here to help you, Carroll.

But you gotta trust me.

- Excuse me, Lee.
- Carroll...

do not step on that stage
if you don't trust me.

MAN (on PA):
Please welcome Mr. Carroll Shelby.

Gotta go.

(crowd cheering)

WOMAN: Shelby... Oh. Shelby.

What'd he say?

He gets the drill.

CARROLL: Thank you.

Well, if my daddy was here today...

he'd tell me to sit on down

and leave the yakking
to the college boys, so...

like my cars, I'll make this fast.

(crowd laughing)

When I was 10 years old,
Pops said to me, "Son...

"it's a truly lucky man

"who knows what he wants
to do in this world.

'Cause that man will
never work a day in his life."

But there are a few, a precious few,

and, hell, I don't know
if they're lucky or not.

But there are a few people
who find something they have to do.

Something obsesses 'em.

Something that if they can't do it,

it's gonna drive them
clean out of their mind.

I'm that guy.

And I know one other man
feels exactly the same.

His name...

His name is Mr. Henry Ford.

- (crowd cheering)
- MAN: Yeah! Whoo!

And together, we're gonna build
the fastest automobiles in the world.

(crowd cheering)

And we're gonna make history,
too, at Le Mans.

(crowd cheering and whooping)

- Let's go.
- What?

My name is Carroll Shelby.

I build race cars.

(cheering continues)

(engine stops)

(car door closes)

KEN: No. Whatever it is, no.

No.

Thirty minutes.

Ah, just... I'm spent.

- I wanna have a bath.
- You're gonna wanna see this.

Trust me.

Thirty minutes. I'll have you
back for meatloaf and gravy.

Thirty minutes.

- Yeah.
- (car engine starts)

(tires screeching)

(jazz music playing)

Bloody hell.

Fresh off the plane from England.

Now, she's still a little
on the rare side of cooked.

(engine revving)

Whoa! Come on.

(tires screeching)

Interesting.

Well?

It's awful.

It's worse than awful.

Yeah, it doesn't track.
You know, the third gear is too high.

Torque is not reaching the road.

Steering's loose because
the front end gets light.

And over 140, it thinks it's a...

Airplane.

Yeah.

It wants to lift off and fly to Hawaii.

Anything else?

- (engine revving)
- One sec.

(rock music playing on stereo)

You were back late last night.

Yeah.

- Were you working?
- Mmm.

So, you didn't go anyplace?

What?

Well, I'm asking, did you
go anyplace last night?

Mollie.

It's a simple question.

And I answered, didn't I?

What was the answer?

Is something up, love?

- (engine revs)
- (tires screech)

What are you doing? What are you doing?

You're driving very fast.

Oh, am I? Am I?

Yes, you are.

(tires screeching)

Bloody hell! What are you...
The hell is this?

Well, you tell me, 'cause I don't know.

Right, slow down!
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! Mollie!

(tires screeching)

Please slow it down, all right?

You trying to kill us or something?

- Well, I thought we love this shit.
- KEN: What?

(horns honking)

- Bloody hell!
- It's a bit of racing fun. No?

No, no, no. It's not the same at all.

(shouting) Well, I think it's thrilling!

All right.

Look, I saw you, all right?

I saw you leaving with Shelby,
and I saw you coming back.

Okay. Shit. Okay, but slow it...

And then all day you've got
that stupid look on your face.

Mollie, slow down. You're too close here.

(horn blaring)

Mollie, put on the brakes right now...

Not until you tell me what's going on!

All right. I went to look at a car.

- With Shelby?
- With Shelby.

- A racing car?
- Sort of.

There's a corner coming.
You'd better hold on.

Oh! Are you gonna lift your
foot off at all through this?

No, 'cause I like a clean racing line.

Slow down!

(tires screeching)

(clattering)

KEN: Okay.

Shel offered me a job.

Ford has a car that they want
to put up against a Ferrari.

- You told me you were done.
- That's it. Now, slow...

I didn't say yes.

Slow down.

You told me you quit.

- I don't understand.
- Get fat and old, you said.

Fat and old.

(brakes screech)

- I don't understand.
- That's what you told me.

I don't understand.

Are you upset because I said I was done
or because I looked at a race car?

Just don't lie to me, Ken.

Don't make it a secret,

what you want or what you feel,

just because you think
it's gonna make me happy.

Moll, I don't even know what I feel.

If you do this...

then he better be paying you this time.

'Cause I can't work any more
hours and look after Peter.

You know, the IRS have the garage.

I'm not losing my home.

It's $200 a day.

Plus expenses.

Are you shitting me?

But I haven't decided.

$200 a day?

Are you nuts?

(upbeat rock music playing)

(engine roaring)

(tires screech)

Look at this. This is ridiculous. Here.

So, Shel, grabbing air.

That's the problem.

Over 90, air's getting in,
not getting out.

It's the nose, I can feel it in the wheel.

ENGINEER: Mr. Miles, if there's a problem,
the computer will find it.

- All right.
- PHIL: Charlie,

get some Scotch tape and a ball of wool.

All right. Good, good, good.

So, now let's just, uh,
get all of this junk out.

Right, Pops?

PHIL: Yeah, yeah. I concur.
Come on, guys.

ENGINEER: What are they doing?

Making your car faster.

(engine roaring)

There. Right there.
Airflow's getting stuck.

ENGINEER: I see it.
Yarn blows straight up.

- PHIL: Yep.
- ENGINEER: The front's lifting.

Damn, he's right.

(Ken grunting)

This car wants to go faster. I feel it.

PHIL: Any lighter, we're getting fragile.

Took 70 pounds out of her
in the last week.

She's outputting max horsepower
from this displacement.

(exhales) So put in a bigger engine.

Where we gonna put it? On the roof?

(engine rumbling)

(loudly) Managed to make it
52 pounds lighter

than the NASCAR unit.

All-new aluminum cylinder heads...

vibration dampeners,
water pump, smaller valves.

We call it the Beast.

Yeah, I can see why,

but how's it gonna fit

without a redesign of the engine bed?

Well, it certainly wasn't easy.

Good morning, gentlemen. Mr. Shelby.

So, you already put that in a GT40?

(chuckles) I'm afraid we have.

(engine rumbling)

PHIL: I'll be damned.

Well, it's heavy, of course.

Problems with the handling,
especially the stopping.

- I can show you the data.
- What problems?

- Understeers a little, but...
- KEN: Can I, uh, borrow that?

Can I borrow that?

Just a second. Thank you.

ROY: Ken!

Ken, perhaps you want to check
with HQ before you test...

What did he say?

- We should ask...
- (engine revs)

Right.

- (engine revving)
- Oh, yes!

Mr. Shelby, welcome to Dearborn.

What are you doing at a test track?

You're gonna get Castrol oil
all over that nice suit.

Ah, I wanted to hear your thoughts
on a few planning decisions.

You know, personnel for Le Mans.

CARROLL: Well, it's a hell of a lineup.

Ken Miles, Phil Hill,

Chris Amon, Bruce McLaren.

Hill's a lock. Amon, McLaren, too.

We're less sure about Miles.

We like Richie Ginther...

Masten Gregory, Bob Bondurant.

Well, you're gonna want
the best driver for the car.

Understands the machine.

That's Ken.

Oh! Yes!

More of that, please.
More of that, my girl.

I may not get the finer points
of racing, Mr. Shelby,

but I do know people.

Miles is a...

Well, he's a beatnik. He dresses like one.

Ford means reliability.

Ken Miles is not a Ford man.

Whoa!

Giddy-up! Giddy-up!

What's the lap record here, Burt?

1:58.

- 1:50 dead.
- CARROLL: A beatnik?

That man landed a busted tank
on the beach at D-Day

and drove it clean
across Europe to Berlin.

A beatnik?

You know, Lee here asked me a while back,

"What's the one thing money can't buy?"

I'll tell you what it is.

A pure racer behind the wheel of your car.

That's Ken Miles.

Well, be that as it may...

we think he may be too pure.

Carroll, do not lose sight
of the big picture here.

"Too pure"?

What exactly does that mean?

It means he's all about himself.

ABC puts a microphone under his nose,

perhaps there's a detail he dislikes,

millions watching...

do you trust him not to
put out the wrong message?

Well, look, you can get a clean-cut,
all-American poster boy

and stick him behind the wheel,

teach him what to say.

Shit, you get Doris Day to drive the car,
if all you want to do is lose.

So, you don't agree with us on this issue?

I'm saying you gotta trust me on this one.

Carroll, with marketing concerns,
that's just not possible.

Put a Ford-type driver
in a Ford car, Mr. Shelby.

That's the Ford way.

ANNOUNCER (on radio):
Yet another championship win for Ferrari

as British driver John Surtees

pilots his Ferrari 312...

Ferrari wins.

ANNOUNCER: It's Surtees'
first win since the '64...

PHIL: Wedges. We have wedges.

KEN: Oh, good, good, good.

Perfect.

- 40?
- Yep.

(brakes squeal)

- DAN: Hey, boss.
- Hey, Dan.

- Boss, Ferrari just bagged...
- You got a passport?

CHARLIE: What's that?

Sign that. Get a passport.

Get it back to me by Friday. Frosty.

Boys, I'm going to France.

Phil.

Ken, can I get a word?

KEN: Oh.

Can I take this?

Hey.

Do you know why Ford named it the GT40?

Why they put that "40" on there?

- No.
- Regulations. All right?

We gotta be 40 inches high

to make the ground clearance requirements.

No more, no less.

They measure it before every race.

Problem is, that with that height,

there's too much drag
under the car, all right?

So, we have a solution.

Wedges. We put wedges in the suspension...

You're not coming next week.

You're not coming, Ken.

We're taking McLaren,
Chris Amon, Phil Hill...

and Bob Bondurant.

It's Ford's call.

It is their opinion that
you are not a good image,

so you cannot drive their race car.

And putting aside the fact
that you made that car

whatever the hell it is...

and you're the best man
I got behind the wheel...

I'm gonna reroute the oil line.

If there's spillage, it could drip
onto the rear nearside disc.

Ken...

Tell the boys
to watch their pace come sunrise.

The, uh, the gearbox will overheat.

(door closes)

(janitor humming)

Ken, the race is starting soon.

Want it on the radio?

Not unless you do.

(continues humming)

(changing radio stations)

COMMENTATOR 1: of the race.

There they are.

The Maserati going into the Esses,

but it's still the number 2 car,
driven by Chris Amon.

In third place, is the number 1 Ford

that is driven by Bruce McLaren.

A tremendously fast start for the Ford GT.

3:43.4 lap for car number 2, a Ford.

COMMENTATOR 2: I think
it's a little bit quick

for this stage of the game.

COMMENTATOR 1:
Little bit quick right now.

Racing too hot.

COMMENTATOR 1: This could go down
to the last hour or so, don't you think?

COMMENTATOR 2: It could,
but the probabilities

for a finish like that
in a 24-hour race are awfully small.

COMMENTATOR 1: Another Ford
has come into the pits.

It's being pushed into
the pits by the mechanics.

Head gasket.

The car's not a moon rocket.

COMMENTATOR 2: Trailing
Bob Bondurant in fourth,

car number 7.

Leading number 20, Ferrari.
Michael Parkes.

So, we have Ford running one,
two, three. How about that?

Too soon. Surely too soon.

COMMENTATOR 1: One has
to really be respectful

of the mechanism with any...

(commentary continues indistinctly)

(engines revving over radio)

COMMENTATOR 1: Here's the big story,

the lead Ford, driven
by Richie Ginther, retired

with gearbox trouble,
and the new leader...

Gearbox. I told them. Be gentle with it.

COMMENTATOR 1: and his
partner Lorenzo Bandini...

- (door opens)
- who was one of

the two winning drivers last year.

Who's there?

COMMENTATOR 1: Again, we're back,
speaking to you live from Le Mans, France.

The 24 Hours of Le Mans,
the Grand Prix of Endurance,

the 33rd renewal.

What's that you're listening to?

Oh, some race over in France.

(commentary continues indistinctly)

Exciting?

I'm not really paying much attention.

COMMENTATOR 1: However, Phil,
there was one time in 1933,

when the lead changed hands three times.

(changing radio stations)

♪ I ain't lyin' ♪

♪ No, I ain't lyin' ♪

It's not exactly champagne...

♪ You know I can't stand it... ♪

But it's got bubbles.

♪ You know better, daddy ♪

♪ I can't stand it
'cause you put me down ♪

♪ Yeah, yeah ♪

(bottles clink)

♪ I put a spell on you ♪

♪ Because you're mine ♪

♪ You're mine ♪

Thanks, Mollie.

♪ Yeah, yeah ♪

♪ Oh, yeah ♪

(typewriter clacking, dings)

(muffled chatter)

LEE: There's a difference
between Ford and Ferrari...

Grace.

(chatter continues)

(intercom buzzing)

Yes, sir. I will send him right in.

Thank you.

Mr. Shelby, Mr. Ford will see you now.

- All right.
- LEO: Are you still willing

to stake your reputation on this guy?

SECRETARY: This way, Mr. Shelby.

CARROLL: Mr. Ford.

Gentlemen.

FORD: Shelby.

Give me one reason
why I don't fire everyone

associated with this abomination
starting with you.

Well, sir...

I was thinking about that very question

as I sat out there
in your lovely waiting room.

As I was sitting there...

I watched that little
red folder right there...

go through four pairs of hands...

before it got to you.

'Course that doesn't include...

the 22 or so other Ford employees

who probably poked at it before it made

its way up to the 19th floor.

All due respect, sir,

you can't win a race by committee.

You need one man in charge.

Now, the good news, as I see it,

is that even with all the extra weight...

we still managed to put old Mr. Ferrari
exactly where we want him.

Did we?

Oh, yes.

Expand.

CARROLL: Well...

sure, we hadn't...

We haven't worked out how to corner yet.

Or stay cool.

Or stay on the ground.

And a lot of stuff broke.

In fact, the only thing that
didn't break was the brakes.

Hell, right now, we don't even know

if our paint job will last
the whole 24 hours.

But our last lap...

we clocked 218 miles an hour
down the Mulsanne Straight.

Now, in all his years of racing...

old Enzo ain't never seen
anything move that fast.

And now he knows...

without a doubt...

we're faster than he is...

even with the wrong driver...

and all the committees.

And that's what he's thinking about
while he's sitting in Modena, Italy...

right now.

That man is scared to death...

that this year you actually
might be smart enough

to start trusting me.

So, yeah...

I'd say you got Ferrari
exactly where you want him.

You're welcome.

Come here.

See that little building down there?

In World War ll...

three out of five US bombers
rolled off that line.

You think Roosevelt beat Hitler?

Think again.

This isn't the first time
Ford Motor's gone to war in Europe.

We know how to do more than push paper.

And there is one man running this company.

You report to him.

You understand me?

Yes, sir.

Go ahead, Carroll. Go to war.

Thank you, sir.

(TV playing indistinctly)

CARROLL: You were right.

It's the gearbox.

We ran too hot.

Three out of four of 'em broke.

The rod blew on the other one.

We're going back, Ken.

They told me I had
"carte Blanche" this time.

I looked it up.
It's French for "horseshit."

I know they're gonna squeeze
our nuts any way they can

soon as they work out how.

Well, the, uh...

ice cream's melting.

All right. Hey, Ken.

You want me to apologize?

Mmm.

You want me to beg?

I don't know. Let's try it out.

Let's, uh, see how that feels.

Ken, I'm sorry.

Sincerely.

Mmm.

Do you have any idea the kind
of shit that I had to eat

just to get four wheels on that grid?

No, you don't.

'Cause you don't deal
with any of that stuff.

Now knock it off, Ken. We got work to do,
and this car ain't gonna build itself.

(grunts)

(groans)

(sighs)

(Carroll chuckles)

(inhales sharply)

Okay. All right. (chuckles)

(grunts)

(both grunting)

- God.
- (Carroll grunting)

Come here.

- Bloody car salesman.
- CARROLL: Shit!

(both continue grunting)

CARROLL: Come on. Now you're gonna get it.

Get off me!

(grunting continues)

- Stubborn son of a bitch.
- (Ken screaming)

KEN: God!

(panting)

- You just look...
- KEN: Right.

- Yeah, now.
- KEN: You...

- Ow!
- KEN: You all right?

CARROLL: Shit!

Now you're gonna get it.

- Come here.
- (Ken groaning)

(both grunt)

CARROLL: Done.

(both panting)

KEN: Mollie, darling.

Yes, love?

Can I get a fizzy pop, please?

Yes, love.

You want one, too, Shelby?

- No. No.
- Uh, yes, please, Mollie.

No. He can get his own.

Just for me, please.

(panting)

How long has that been?

Oh, it's gotta be three
or four years, at least.

Right. Riverside.

Yeah. SCCA Divisional Championship.

You broke my finger.

(stammers)

What's that nippy bloody thing

you do under the arm, that thing?

Yeah. I call that the Llama Bite.

You name it? (laughs)

Where'd you learn that? The Girl Scouts?

- What? You wanna go again?
- MOLLIE: Here you go.

KEN: You're an angel.

CARROLL: Thank you.

My pleasure.

Right. Well, I'm about to go
to the grocery store.

Anything you think you'll need?

Um, ice cream.

Ice cream would be good and, uh...

bread.

Right.

CARROLL: No, I'm good. Thank you.

KEN: Thanks, Moll. (exhales deeply)

You still take those for your ticker?

Only 'cause they're so delicious.

- KEN: (sighs) Up yours.
- Oh, go to hell.

(upbeat rock music playing)

Come on. Giddy-up.
Giddy-up. Giddy-up. Giddy-up!

(machine whirring)

Phil! Here's the one for you, mate.

Dino, come here.

- (engine revs)
- (tires screech)

- Well?
- There's still lag when I hit the gas.

Let's get rid of the vacuum secondaries.

Charlie, get a Holley carb.

We're gonna rebuild the throttle assembly.

KEN: (sighs) Three weeks to Daytona,

and it still feels
like a bag of squirrels.

CARROLL: Brake heat.

That's a whole different ball game.

KEN: All right, Petey,
let's go for that ride.

What are you doing?

You see that crack?

That's my marker for turn eight.

What, to slow down?

Uh, brush the brakes and downshift.

But you'll be going 150 miles an hour.

Yeah.

PETER: So how do you see it?

You're going fast,
but as the car speeds up...

everything else slows down.

You don't do that.

You do this. Right?

And then you see everything.

Do you set other markers?

Indeed I do.

Lots of them.

Yeah, 'cause you can't just push
the car hard the whole way, right?

That's right. You have
to be kind to the car.

You feel the poor thing
groaning underneath you.

If you're gonna push a piece
of machinery to the limit

and expect it to hold together,

you have to have some sense
of where that limit is.

Look out there.

Out there is the perfect lap.

No mistakes.

Every gear change, every corner...

perfect.

You see it?

I think so.

Most people can't.

Most people don't even know
it's out there, but it is.

It's there.

You want some ice cream?

- Yeah.
- All right.

Come on, then.

Do you know what this marker is?

- PETER: What?
- KEN: That one.

Pull my finger. You'll find out.

- (Ken blows raspberry)
- (chuckles)

(tires screech)

(engine roaring)

(tires screeching)

How much longer before he comes in?

Uh, well, we change drivers
every four hours,

- so about 10 minutes.
- CARROLL: No, hang on.

You're saying Beebe
is 100 percent in charge now?

LEE: Yes, and he wants Miles gone.

Look, it is personal with this guy.

And, yes, he has the leverage
to stick it to you.

He and the Deuce
are flying there tomorrow.

He's gonna tell you in person.

Now, all he is hoping for

- is that you lose your cool.
- Uh-huh.

It's time to let this go.

You cannot destroy the whole thing.

Not for one goddamn guy.

- Sure, I can.
- Well, why?

'Cause while we're here talking,
he's out there getting it done.

(engine roaring)

(tires screeching)

- (brakes squeaking)
- Oh, shit!

(tires squealing)

He's got brake fade.

(tires squealing)

CHARLIE: Ease off!

(gasps softly)

LEE: Carroll?

- PHIL: Get him out!
- MOLLIE: Peter!

Go on. Go inside.

Just stay there.

- MAN: Get Ken!
- MOLLIE: Ken!

MAN: Get him out!

There he is!

CHARLIE: Ken!

MAN: I can see him.

(Ken coughing)

- Ken!
- MAN: Come on.

(Ken gasping, coughing)

KEN: The brakes.

(coughing)

Let's just rip out
the damn engine. All right?

We can't use it if we can't stop.

CHARLIE: You know,
the brakes would last longer

if we slowed down a bit.

Wouldn't that defeat the whole
purpose of the extra power?

You know, I thought the whole point
was to win the damned race.

PHIL: Maybe we could design
a new assembly.

Instead of swapping out
the pads in the pits...

swap out the entire braking system.

Rotors included.

Put in a fresh one.

Wait, wait, wait, Pops,
are we allowed to do that?

I don't know. I don't read French.

Well, brakes are "a part"
like any other, right?

We are allowed to change parts.

CHARLIE: Yes.
Will we have time to do that?

PHIL: I don't know yet, Charlie.

- I'm gonna take him home.
- All right.

- Sort this shit out.
- I will.

Have you ever been on fire?

Uh, well, no, it's never happened to me.

(stammers)

The suit's flameproof, see?

It, uh, keeps heat out.

Yeah.

But Lewis-Evans burned to death
in the Moroccan Grand Prix.

He had a flameproof suit on.

Mm-hmm. Yeah, but, um...

See, he got stuck.

He couldn't breathe.

So, as long as you get out
of the car, you're okay.

Dad got out.

- He sure did.
- MOLLIE: Peter!

(whispers) Bye.

PHIL: See ya.

- You all right?
- Yeah.

What's wrong with you?

And don't be telling me brakes
or me almost kicking the bucket out there.

It's something to do
with the suits, isn't it?

It's under control.

What is it?

You know how we talked about
how you do your thing,

I do my thing?

- This is my thing.
- Really, Shel...

Just trust me, Ken.

(sighing) You got a plan?

Absolutely.

It a good one?

It's high risk.

How high risk?

Extremely high risk.

Well, that's something.

- Glad we had this talk.
- Anytime.

Mr. Ford, this is a surprise.

Apologies for the unannounced
intrusion, Mr. Shelby,

but when a man pays $9 million
for an automobile,

he ought to at least be able to see it.

Well, that sounds reasonable enough.

Uh, Shelby, could I have a word?

CARROLL: Sure.

- In private?
- Uh, yeah.

That would be preferable.

CARROLL: All right. Hey, Phil.

You wanna take care of Mr. Ford here?

Mr. Ford, that's Phil Remington.

Of course.

CARROLL: Come up to my office, Leo.

- Pleasure to meet you, sir.
- Phil.

Give you a little tour of your car.

We, uh, took out your 289 small block...

and put in a 4277-liter.

Uh, firstly, I want to just clear the air.

I hope that whatever disagreements

between us can just be chalked up...

to natural red-bloodedness
in the heat of battle.

Oh, I appreciate that, Leo. Truly, I do.

It falls on me, Shelby, to inform you
that I have been appointed

overall executive director
of the racing program.

Now, I do hope that this
won't be a problem between us.

Well, I assure you, Leo, it will not.

(rattling)

Hey, Carroll...

Carroll!

And what is that top speed
with the, uh, 427?

Well, why don't we take it for a spin?

- What?
- Yeah, go on, Mr. Ford.

- Hop on in. Go on.
- You want me to...

CARROLL: Just see
what $9 million feels like.

- (banging door)
- Hey!

God...

(inaudible conversation)

Open the door!

Hey, open the door!

- Open the door!
- (engine starts)

(revs engine)

Just hold me right there,
and you take my hand.

Oh, God. I sat on my nuts.

We're gonna build the next one
for comfort. Don't you worry.

(glass shatters)

- (latch clicks)
- Open the door.

Sorry, sir, if you just give me a moment.

- Open the door.
- It's a sticky one.

- (engine revs)
- You ready?

The name on the middle
of that steering wheel

should tell you that I was
born ready, Shelby. Hit it.

- Attaboy.
- (engine revs)

(tires screeching)

Whoa! It's got a little kick, doesn't it?

- Open this door.
- Oh, there we go.

Good God, Mr. Beebe. You okay, sir?

- Whoa! Oh, my God!
- (engine roaring)

- Oh, my God! Oh, my God!
- (tires screeching)

(tires screeching)

Yeah, baby.

- Yeah, baby.
- (tires screeching)

It's about right now the uninitiated
have a tendency to soil themselves.

(Ford screaming)

FORD: Oh, my God! Whoa!

(tires screeching)

(screaming)

(gasping)

(sobbing)

(continues sobbing)

Mr. Ford...

You okay?

(breathing heavily)

Mr. Ford...

you all right?

I had no idea.

I wish my daddy...

he were alive to see this.

(sobbing) To feel this.

Now, this is not a machine
just anybody can get in

and easily control.

Absolutely not.

I had no idea.

Now, you wanna win Le Mans.

If you really wanna take first place,
Ken Miles is the man to do it.

Good timing.

CARROLL: Now, he knows this car

because he helped me build it.

Shelby, you know I've already
appointed Leo Beebe director of racing.

Which is exactly why I'm talking to you.

Now, you let Ken Miles race Daytona.

If he wins...

he gets to drive Le Mans.

And if he doesn't?

Ford Motor Company gets full ownership
of Shelby American.

Lock, stock, and brand.

Forever.

COMMENTATOR (on PA): We're in
hour six at the Daytona 24,

and Fords are dominating the leaderboard.

Shelby American's Ken Miles
holds a narrow lead

over the Holman-Moody Ford
driven by Walt Hansgen.

I don't bloody think so, Walt.

(tires screeching)

Oh, this race is not just
a test of our cars,

but also our teams.

As you know, we have
a second team out there today.

- Holman-Moody.
- That's right.

COMMENTATOR: Number 95, Hansgen,
blisters through the front tri-oval

while closing in on Ken Miles.

Walt's pushing her too fast.

He's pushing 7,000 RPM.

Hey, get the EZ sign out there.

Come on. Move. Do it now.

Every one of these GTs out there today
is under my direct supervision.

And of course the supervision
of Henry Ford ll.

The drivers, the speed, the strategy...

even the RPMs are determined by us.

(engines roaring)

COMMENTATOR: Ken Miles
is locked in a pitched battle

with Hansgen as they pass the grandstand.

Hansgen is taking a run
at Miles entering turn one.

Miles is boxed in.

Hansgen slips by and takes the lead
approaching the infield chicane.

(tires screech)

(grunts)

Cor blimey!

Did you see that?

COMMENTATOR: The caution flag is out.

(tires screech)

(exhales sharply)

Still racing. Hey, we are still racing.

Come on, guys, let's go!

Let's go. Move it.

CARROLL: He's coming in.

MAN 1: Let's go, let's go, guys. Come on.

MAN 2: Go, tires up.

MAN 3: Here, right here.
Let's go. Let's go. Move it.

- MAN 4: Fuel flying in.
- MAN 2: Breaker bar!

- We're good.
- MAN 4: It all checked out.

- 36. 38.
- MAN 1: Go! Go!

Hansgen is right up our arse.

If I can just get
outta the pit ahead of him...

KEN: She's running hot,
but I think she'll hold.

- MAN 1: Fuel's low.
- MAN 2: Bring up the scoop.

She's hot.

CARROLL: Hey there, Walt. Good to see you.

Yeah, after I get out of this pit, Shelby,
it's the last time you will.

Oh, don't worry.

We got rearview mirrors.

What happened to that Mustang he took out?

Don't know yet.

I can push her harder than six, Shel.

- I can feel it.
- Uh-huh.

Hey, how come these guys pit
so much faster than we do?

They got a goddamn
NASCAR crew, that's why.

- No shit?
- No shit.

MAN: Go! Go, come on.

We're clear, we're clear.

Goddamn NASCAR crew.

MEN: Go, go, go!

Guys, they've already left.

(phone ringing)

Hello?

KEN: There's my Mollie. Hello.

Hiya, love.

- Mom? Mom?
- What are you doing?

Just having a cuppa.

Mom, ask him about the brakes.

- Go to bed. It's 1:00 a.m.
- Ask him.

Go to bed. Now.

I take it he's not asleep.

I'm sure he smuggled in a radio.

Yeah. (chuckles)

He said to ask, "How are the brakes?"

The brakes? Yes. No, no, no.

Tell him they're working for now.

You know, Shelby's been acting
very strange.

- Ford have gone...
- Ken.

And put up another team.

- With a GT.
- Ken.

Some sort of yampy, bloody
corporate test or something, I dunno.

Just take a rest
whenever you get a chance.

Sorry, my love, what were you saying?

You've only got a few hours.

I can't hear you very well.

I'm sorry. I can't hear you.

Wish me luck.

- Good luck.
- I love you, darling.

COMMENTATOR: After 23 hours
here at Daytona,

Walt Hansgen driving
the green and white Ford

has a commanding lead
over Ken Miles and Shelby American

as the rest of the field
has fallen off the pace.

LLOYD: We're locked out.

Ain't nothing Miles can do
this late in the race.

Engine's hot. We gotta keep it
under six thou.

(indistinct conversation)

All right.

(engine revs)

(tires screeching)

She could come apart.

One way to find out.

I thought we were keeping him under 6,000?

Shut up, Don.

COMMENTATOR: With only minutes
of racing left here at Daytona,

a pitched battle for the lead
is being waged

as the number 98 Ford makes
an incredible late surge.

- What's happening?
- He's moving up.

COMMENTATOR
entering the front tri-oval,

Ken Miles' desperate bid
for the win may prove to be...

- (engine revs)
- (tires screech)

MAN: Come on now!

CHARLIE: White flag! Last lap!

(men cheering, shouting indistinctly)

Miles is pushing him. Hard.

That's it, girl.

(laughing)

COMMENTATOR: Ken Miles drafts Walt Hansgen
coming into the final turn.

(engine roaring)

Come on. Come on.

- (applause)
- What the hell?

(crowd cheering)

PHIL: Come on.

All right.

Look at this now.

(engine revving)

Damn it!

(triumphant music playing)

- (all cheering)
- Yeah!

COMMENTATOR: Ken Miles
takes the checkered flag,

bringing glory to Shelby American.

(laughing)

How about that?

(all cheering)

(exhales)

- (phone ringing)
- Reliability, strength...

Yes, Leo.

LEO: Mr. Ford, sir, we won.

Uh-huh.

We won! Ford won Daytona.

- Hot damn.
- (applause)

And which team was it, Leo?

Shelby American. Miles driving.

Son of a bitch.

- CARROLL: All right.
- (indistinct chatter)

Where the hell is he?

Hang on, I see him. Hey, wait.

Someone lost a bulldog on the beach.

(all cheering)

No, no. Come on. Come on.

Come on. Let's go. Let's go.

Someone get this man a drink.
Someone get him a drink.

KEN: Oi.

In bed, you. What are you doing?

Dirty stop out.

I was...

drawing a map, so I could
follow you on Le Mans.

KEN: Mmm.

- (switch clicks)
- Look at that.

That is spot on.

You are a dab hand, very accurate.

Tell me about the track.

No, I can't, Petey.

Please.

Well, you start at the start line.

PETER: Yeah, but you actually start here

because you have to run
to your car at Le Mans.

True enough.

So, once your old man manages
to hobble over...

- and pull out...
- And not hit anyone.

- Yes, right.
- (chuckles)

Then you accelerate very hard
up to Dunlop Bridge...

road banking away from ya

and down through the trees to the Esses...

and accelerate up to Tertre Rouge.

Critical first gear corner.

Fast entry.

Keep your speed up for your exit onto...

Mulsanne.

Long straightaway, hemmed in by poplars.

Top gear, 210 miles per hour.

And down to third, revs up.

Revs are your friend.

Get a maximum exit. Let the car run free.

Over the brow...

then wham!

Mulsanne Corner.

Accelerate to Arnage

and then over the rise to the White House.

You get that right and...

(inhales sharply)

your first three and a half minutes...

of 24 hours.

But... you can't make every lap perfect.

But I can try.

All right.

Off to bed, you.

(Ken exhales deeply)

I will... wake you...

before I leave for France.

I promise.

Okay. Good night.

- (pop music playing on stereo)
- (indistinct chatter)

- (boy shouting in French)
- (bell tolling in distance)

Eh, where's, um...

Where's that? The Hotel Saint Pierre?

(speaks French)

Where?

(man singing drunkenly
in French in distance)

(singing continues)

It's gonna rain again tomorrow.

(chuckles)

There's always rain here.

Start'll be dry though,

so we'll swap out your tires come rain.

Yeah.

(sighs) Might be smart to sleep, Bulldog.

Well, you, too.

I'm not driving.

(chuckles)

That's a bloody shame, that.

Oh, hell, I couldn't make this team.

(chuckles)

I'm gonna go walk the first corner.

I figured.

(Carroll chuckles)

Counting on it.

(indistinct chatter)

(indistinct announcements on speaker)

(fanfare playing on loudspeakers)

(crowd cheering and whistling)

Ken.

Chaz.

CHARLIE: We'll change
the color of them seats,

shall we, Frost?

(indistinct chatter)

KEN: Well, if this were
a beauty pageant...

we just lost.

Looks fast, don't it?

Ah, looks aren't everything.

Scarfiotti and Bandini start for Ferrari.

You can take him.

PHIL: Four minutes, Ken.
Four minutes, buddy.

CHARLIE BROCKMAN (on TV):
Live from Le Mans, France.

Mom! Come on.

MOLLIE: All right, coming.

BROCKMAN: The 24 Hours of Le Mans.

And there are the cars lined up...

ANNOUNCER (on PA): Drivers,
please take your places.

(announcer speaking in French)

(crowd cheering)

- (on TV) And there they are...
- There he is.

Lined up, ready to go.

MAN: They're lined up
as per their practice times.

Faster cars are up to our left.

(announcer speaking in French)

(clock ticking)

(Phil breathes deeply)

(ticking continues)

(man counts down in French)

(crowd cheering)

(engines starting)

- Oh, bloody joker!
- (tires screeching)

BROCKMAN: Number 10, a Bizzarrini,
almost loses control.

It's all right.

(announcer speaking in French)

You looked great out there, sir.

What happened to Miles?

(tires screeching)

(grunts)

Bloody hell.

No.

(grunting)

Poxy bastard.

(engine revving)

COMMENTATOR (in English): After one lap,
Bandini-Ferrari is in first place.

(laughing)

Where is Miles?

- Where the hell is Ken?
- I don't know.

He's coming in.

Oi! He's coming in.

CARROLL: He's coming in. Let's go.

PHIL: Frosty, come on. Let's go. Move it.

I think it's his door.

BROCKMAN: That's a rough start
for the Ford team so early...

The bloody door won't close!

All right. All right.
We'll take care of it.

- (speaking Italian)
- KEN: Come on, guys.

PHIL: Damn door!

- Try that.
- PHIL: This'll do it.

Shelby, what the hell is wrong?

MAN: Something's hitting the frame.

Oh, you're joking, aren't ya?

Guys, get outta the way.

Just get outta the way. Hold it.

- Go! Go, go, go!
- (engine revving)

(engine revving)

He's back out.

Go.

COMMENTATOR: Ken Miles,
in Shelby American's

Ford number 1, in tenth place.

BROCKMAN: Tremendous gains
for Ken Miles in Ford number 1.

- Come on, Dad. Come on.
- Passing Porsche 43.

Moving quickly into the
top 20. He's passing them...

(crowd cheering)

COMMENTATOR: Ken Miles, Ford,
has set a new lap record.

Three minutes and 34 seconds.

Yeah! (whooping)

BROCKMAN: Ken Miles passed it
with a time of 3:34.3.

Shelby.

He's pushing the car too hard.
That's not the plan.

Plans change.

(crowd cheering)

Lap is 3:34. Track is 8.36.

Someone tell me the miles per hour!

(all commentating in different languages)

Three minutes, 31 .9.

- Another lap record!
- That's an average speed

of 142.01 miles per hour.

Let's go. Let's go, boys.

- (Ken grunts)
- Tea's ready, Ken.

Oh, thank you, Chaz.

- Happy birthday, old chap!
- Cheers, mate. Great run.

MAN: Go, boys. Move, move, move.

Need a quick body check!

(grunts)

You're three seconds faster than Gurney.

If you hadn't blown the start,
you'd be in the lead.

Can you keep this up?

- Can the car?
- (crash)

(all exclaim)

COMMENTATOR: There has been
an incident on turn six.

Number 18 and 26 have collided.

- (exclaims)
- (tires screeching)

COMMENTATOR: It appears Ferrari number 20,

Ludovico Scarfiotti,
has also left the track.

(crowd groans)

(announcer speaking in French)

- All right, watch your head.
- Here you go.

MRS. FORD: Thank you.

Have a good dinner, sir.

Oi, McLaren's pitting.

Mr. Ford's probably going
somewhere nice for dinner.

What do you mean "probably"?

Rain's coming.

All right.

(announcer speaking in French)

(thunder rumbling)

CHARLIE: Coming in.

MAN 1: Go, tires up!

MAN 2: Get 'em checked out.

Engine's running hot, Pops.

- All right.
- She's hot, mate. Crack on.

- MAN 1: Go.
- MAN 2: Well done, Denny.

Tire.

Dash clear.

Swap.

(indistinct chatter)

We're at 220. We're okay.

All right.

MAN 1: Fuel flying in.

MAN 2: Rear tires coming up the wall!

MAN 3: Get the fuel in there.
Come on. Let's go.

MAN 4: Swap that out.

(grunting)

MAN 1: Front set.

MAN 2: We're good.

- CARROLL: Get it moving!
- KEN: Go! Go!

MAN: Go, go!

PHIL: Good job, guys. Good job.

CHARLIE: It was a good change, fellas.

Hey, I need a stopwatch.

(indistinct chatter)

(conversing in Italian)

Did you see that? The great American automobile
magnate leaves in a helicopter. Very classy.

(men shouting in Italian)

COMMENTATOR: Lorenzo Bandini remains
in first place for Ferrari.

KEN: Easy, Dan. You're getting boxed in.

He's not batting
on a full wicket, that one.

Easy, Dan.

(bursts)

Oh, bloody hell!

You arsehole.

(engine revs)

(tires screeching)

Oh, piss off!

You wanker!

(tires screech)

A face like a smacked arse,
now, don't ya? (laughs)

(men shouting in Italian)

(shouting in Italian)

COMMENTATOR: Porsche number 58
with an unidentified Ford

are run off the track at Arnage.

MAN: Go, Ken. Come on, Ken.

Nice stopwatch.

You want one? They're Italian.

BROCKMAN: Ken Miles in Ford number 1
and Bandini in Ferrari 21

are locked in a battle
against the elements

as they push their cars to the limit
past the White House corner.

And now with all that rain,
the track conditions are wet and slippery

so expect these very fast laps to suffer.

Yes, sir?

Yes, sir.

Okay, sir. Right away, sir.

Hey!

What the hell are you doing? Give me that.

Dumbass.

Mr. Shelby...

(metallic squealing)

Here we go.

Come on, girl.

Come on.

Hold it together now.

(grunts)

God!

Bugger! Come on.

BROCKMAN: The leader at this
moment is Ferrari number 21

being driven by Lorenzo Bandini.

His brakes are shot.
All right, here we go.

It looks like Ken Miles is
bringing the number 1 Ford

into the pits very slowly.
He could have a...

PHIL: Coming in. Watch yourself, guys.

- Brakes. Nothing. Gone.
- PHIL: Yeah.

All right. Let's go, let's go, let's go.

I had him. I almost had him.

Well, he's putting another lap on us now.

PHIL: All right. Fit it in.
Do the upper arm first.

CHARLIE: Come on, let's go.
Come in now, now. Faster.

PHIL: Let's go.

Upper arm first.

Watch the brake line pulling it out.

They're doing it. The brakes.

BROCKMAN: Now, that's gonna take...

CHARLIE: I said watch the brake line.

CHARLIE: Faster! Faster! Faster!

MAN: Coming in. Watch your back!

CHARLIE: Jeff, you've gotta be faster!

(conversing in Italian)

CHARLIE: Bleed the brakes, Jeff.

MAN: No, no, no.

It's against the rules.
You cannot just change things.

Oh, no, no, no.

You show me where it says in your book
that we cannot swap out the system,

and then you can disqualify us.

Bulldog, back off.

Calm down. Calm down.

This is not legal.

You show me where it says
in that little rule book

where I can't swap out
my upright assembly.

A part is a part.

Be it a brake caliper, a rotor,
or an upright assembly,

and I can swap out
any damn thing I want to.

We read your damn rule book.

(man shouting in Italian)

(in English) Bandini's pitting.
He's pitting.

(man shouting in Italian)

- Oh, what a shame.
- (chuckles)

I think he blew a line.

Well, he was trying to keep up with you.

(shouting in Italian)

I don't speak Italian, but he ain't happy.

(shouting continues)

Get me out of here, Pops.

- Come on!
- PHIL: All right.

KEN: Come on!

PHIL: Almost there, Ken. Almost there.

How's it looking, buddy?

MAN: One pump, and we're good.

PHIL: Car's yours, Ken.

All right, listen, you can still take him,
but you gotta pass him twice.

I get it. Pass him twice.

Ford number 1 driven by Ken Miles

is back out, hot on the heels
of Bandini in Ferrari 21.

(men conversing in Italian)

(shouting in Italian)

(man whooping)

Not bloody good enough, Miles! Come on!

He's off his pace.

He doesn't trust the car yet.

Come on, Ken.
I gave you new brakes, buddy.

All right.

What did you come here for?

Let's do it.

(tires screeching)

(crowd cheering)

That's it! Come on!

He ain't done it yet.

He needs to take another lap on him.

(crowd cheering)

He needs to pit soon.

He needs to catch Bandini first.

(engine revs)

(tires screeching)

All right, you bastard.

Let's do this again.

(engine revving)

(engine roaring)

Come on.

That's my girl! That's my girl!

- (exclaiming)
- (rattling)

Oh, my God. Oh, my God!

Bloody hell!

(uplifting music playing)

- He did it. We're in the lead.
- (crowd cheering)

Are we in the lead?

What about Bandini?

Where's Bandini?

PHIL: They're done. Finished.

Ferrari's over.

McLaren's four minutes behind him in a GT.

So we're lying Ken first,
and two and three. All Fords.

(conversing in Italian)

COMMENTATOR (in English):
Ferrari number 21

and driver Bandini have left the track.

(crowd cheering)

The Deuce is coming.

Ken's up in a half an hour.
Want me to wake him?

Nah, let him sleep.

- Thank you very much. Thank you.
- Unbelievable.

- FORD: Hello.
- MAN: Mr. Ford.

We're not quite there yet, but...

FORD: You missed a good meal.

LEO: There he is. There he is.

Brief me, Leo.

We're running one, two, three, Mr. Ford.

- Who's in the lead?
- Hulme, Miles.

You know, I was thinking, Mr. Ford...

wouldn't it be great
if all three Fords lined up

and crossed the finish line
at the exact same time?

They all lined up and came home together.

Ford. Ford. Ford.

I don't think we can
actually do that, sir, but...

Why not?

Miles is laps ahead, Leo.

What would you have him do, slow down?

Yeah.

LEO: Mr. Ford wants Miles to slow down.

He wants all three cars to
cross at the exact same time.

He thinks it'll be
a historic moment for Ford.

It'll make a great photograph.

Shelby, Miles needs to be
a team player here,

and so do you.

You gonna tell him, or you need me to?

(mug clatters)

Don't go near my driver. Go on.

This is what Mr. Ford wants.

Go on now.

- He expects loyalty.
- Go on.

- PHIL: Guys, let's go. Come on.
- CHARLIE: All right, look lively, boys.

PHIL: Let's go. Frosty.

FROSTY: Yeah, coming.

- PHIL: Let's go. Come on.
- What's Beebe want?

(laughing) Oh.

It's off the scale, innit?

They want you to slow down.

Run that by me again.

They want you to slow down.

You're outshining their car, Ken.

You're four minutes up on McLaren.

The Deuce wants the three Fords

to cross the finish line
one, two, three, all together.

They're asking that
you be a team player...

and make that photograph happen for 'em.

That photograph. That's good.

That is good. Mmm.

Ken, even if you tie for first...

you'd still be the first man
ever to win...

Sebring, Daytona, and Le Mans
in the same year.

You'd have the triple crown.

Look, I ain't get...

I haven't been able to get you
to follow an order

since day one.

Whatever you wanna do is fine with me.

My choice?

Your choice.

(indistinct announcement over speakers)

DENNY: The engine's running at boiling.

The brakes are shot.

How was that?

Taken care of.

PHIL: The car's yours, Ken.

CHARLIE: Ken, the car's yours.

Ken!

Car's yours, Ken.

(crowd cheering)

(men cheering)

BROCKMAN: It's the Fords
that are the cars to beat,

claiming the top three positions...

What the hell is he doing?

Led by Ken Miles in Ford number 1...

(phone ringing)

COMMENTATOR: If you’re not
watching this right now...

CARROLL: Don't answer that.

Get away from it.

COMMENTATOR: Ken Miles in Ford
number 1 is demonstrating

why he's one of the top drivers
here at Le Mans

with an outstanding display of skill.

Keep an eye on Ford number 1.

He's gonna break his own record.

Shut up.

Wait for it.

Now.

(engine revs)

CROWD (chanting): Miles. Miles. Miles.

Miles. Miles. Miles.

(chanting continues)

Bellissimo.

3:30.6. That's another record.

(chuckles)

BROCKMAN: Another lap record
falls to Ken Miles...

It's a perfect lap.

Breaking his own record
and virtually guaranteeing

first place for Shelby American

and their exciting GT40.

COMMENTATOR: Ken Miles in Shelby America's

Ford number 1
just beat his own lap record.

Three minutes and 30.6 seconds...

Bring him in.

Right now! He's outta control.

Now, you bring him in
before he wrecks that car

and we don't finish.

Bring him in, Shelby,

or I will get you banned
from the SCCA and the FIA.

Ken Miles is behind the wheel, Leo.

That's his car to the finish.

♪ H-A-P-P-Y ♪

♪ I'm H-A-P-P-Y ♪

♪ I know I am, I'm sure I am ♪

Woo!

Oh.

(panting)

(soft instrumental music playing)

Come on, lads, where are ya?

BROCKMAN: That is quite a sight to see.

PETER: What's he doing?

Mum, why is he slowing down?

The second and third place
Fords to close ranks.

(announcer speaking in French)

- (indistinct shouting)
- (phone ringing)

The three Fords are going
to cross the line together.

Ken Miles slowed down. He waited for them.

- BROCKMAN: Here are the Fords...
- Dad.

- Lined up in a row...
- No.

- MOLLIE: It's all right.
- Dad.

It's all right.
Look, he's bringing them in.

BROCKMAN:
Led by Ken Miles...

MOLLIE: He's bringing them
all in together.

BROCKMAN: certainly
the leader of this group

- and owner of the Le Mans lap record...
- Good for you.

- Set just moments ago.
- Good for you, Ken.

(crowd cheering)

- Yeah! Yeah!
- (laughing)

Look at that. (laughing)

- Well done, Leo.
- You too, Don.

(announcer speaking in French)

COMMENTATOR: Please stand by.

Final results are under review.

CHARLIE: is explain to me
how he's finished first

and he's not won the race?

OFFICIAL: Because McLaren
started from further,

so he came in... see, he won.

Look, it's not a tie.

No, because McLaren...

Because McLaren started further back,

he's saying he's traveled
that little bit further,

so he's won and not Ken.

PHIL: That is bullshit. That's bullshit.

PHIL: Shel! Hold on!

(crowd cheering)

- CARROLL: Where's the tie?
- LEE: Hey, hey, hey.

Where's the goddamn tie?

What?

- You son of a bitch!
- Hey, Shelby!

- You knew!
- No, I didn't know!

- That's enough! Enough!
- Get off me! Hey!

(laughs) Bruce.

Nice race, mate. Congrats.

(indistinct chatter)

Shel!

They robbed you, Ken.

COMMENTATOR: Here is the clarification.

Though the drivers finished
the race in a heat,

McLaren has been ruled the winner
as he started from farther back.

PHIL: Some bullshit technicality.

Final results. Ford number 2,
driven by McLaren and Amon,

is the winner.

Ford number 1, driven by Miles and Hulme,
second place.

In third place, Bucknum and Hutcherson
in Ford number 5.

I never should've asked you.

Selling cars, huh?

That's what they do.

Well, you promised me the drive.

Not the win.

It was a hell of a drive.

She's a hell of a machine.

Oh, she's fast.

Could be faster.

The 7 liter's sweet...

but, uh...

we still need a lighter chassis.

I was thinking bonded aluminium.

It's a ground-up rebuild,
but if it works...

we can lose a couple hundred pounds.

Well, what the hell are we doing here?

Let me take a shower, get a cup of tea...

ham and cheese cob or something.

CARROLL: We're gonna get
the bastards next year.

Got a bit of fuel left in the tank.

What do you think
of those honeycomb panels?

What you were looking for?

Don't know yet.

(engine starts)

(engine revs)

She looks pretty good.

CARROLL: There's a point at 7,000 RPM...

where everything fades.

The machine becomes weightless.

Just disappears.

Yeah!

CARROLL: And all that's left

is a body...

moving through space and time.

7,000 RPM.

That's where you meet it.

You feel it coming.

It creeps up on you, close in your ear.

Asks you a question.

The only question that matters.

PHIL: Get the van!

CARROLL: "Who are you?"

(indistinct chatter)

MAN: What do you think?

DAN: It's fantastic. Feels really good.

Nice and smooth.

No vibration in the box.
Feels really strong.

You drove it for less than an hour.

You can't tell shit after an hour.

Go for seven even, that'd be 14 all in.

Hey, Shel.

Hey, Shel, that guy,
you know the one in the hat,

he's ready to close on those two 427s.

His and hers. Full freight.

They, uh, flew in from Galveston.

CARROLL: Uh-huh.

Uh, I need you to come outside
for maybe a minute.

And do what?

Be Carroll Shelby.

Tell them a story, spin a few magic words.

What does that mean? "Magic words"?

It means...

come outside and say hello

and make them feel good
about their purchase.

They're getting the damn cars.

That's what they get
for their money, Phil.

Now, either they want 'em or they don't.

- Am I some kind of a lounge act?
- No.

Am I here to talk people into things?

It's been six months, Shel.

- Six months.
- (sighs)

PHIL: Sometimes they don't
get out of the car.

(sighs)

MOLLIE: Peter!

Peter, come and take the garbage out.

PETER: Mr. Shelby.

Oh, hello, Pete.

I remember that wrench.

My dad threw it at you.

I believe he did.

PETER: Why?

Oh.

I think I probably said something to him.

Called him a few names.

That's right.

Do you wanna speak to my mum?

Well, I did. Uh...

I came to say hello,
check in on her and...

(sighs deeply)

Then I started thinking that sometimes...

uh, words...

just... are... are not useful.

Tools are useful 'cause
you can make stuff with 'em

and you can fix stuff with 'em.

Here.

Thanks.

Your daddy was, uh...

(clicks tongue)

He was your friend.

Yes, he was.

Yes, sir.

And he thought you was
just finer than frog fur.

MOLLIE: Peter!

I think I've gotta go help my mum.

What are you doing here then? Go on.

PETER: Bye.

(sobs quietly)

(sniffles)

(horn honks)

(exhales sharply)

- (keys jingle)
- (engine starts)

(engine revs)

(upbeat rock music playing)

(mid-tempo music playing)

(instrumental music playing)

Subtitled by Point.360