Sonny Hayes in 'F1 The Movie': True Passion, True Freedom 

One may question Sonny Hayes's character, but no one would doubt his passion for racing.

Sonny Hayes (played by Brad Pitt) was easily labeled as "arrogant." The freelance driver not only possessed excellent driving skills but also frequently employed unconventional, high-risk strategies to achieve unexpected victories. Naturally, such tactics invited resentment from competitors. "F1 The Movie" opened by showing just how disliked Sonny was—he habitually hid a pair of pliers behind his back after races in case someone tried to beat him bloody. Despite being offered a full-time position due to his outstanding performance, he refused. After this scene, a question emerged in my mind: why was Sonny pushing himself so hard? If he accepted the offer, the benefits he could gain from being on the team would at least give him peace of mind. As a freelance driver, he didn't need to take every race so seriously. Even if he disappointed one team, as long as his overall win rate remained decent, there'd always be another team that needed him.

Then, after many years apart, Sonny's old friend Ruben tracked him down. Ruben explained that his team, Apex, had failed to break into the top 10 for several consecutive quarters—if the next quarter yielded similar results, the board would sell his team. To entice Sonny, Ruben not only appealed to their friendship and offered the best compensation package, but also presented an irresistible opportunity: the chance for Sonny to become his younger self again—a top F1 racing driver. Sonny fought hard to find a reason to decline such a tempting invitation. Finding none, he had no choice but to agree.

After joining Ruben's team, a typical crowd-pleasing plot would have shown Sonny initially being underestimated by everyone, then gradually proving his doubters wrong through unexpected successes. Instead, reality was harsher—Sonny not only faced disrespect but also suffered bigger setbacks after each minor victory. Throughout this process, I was reminded of watching "Die Hard"—constantly questioning whether the protagonist could actually succeed. In Ruben's team, Sonny not only made frequent mistakes during races, but his teammates also resented his self-centered behavior. They refused to believe his strategies would work and withheld cooperation. Whenever Sonny faltered, they placed all the blame squarely on him. Sonny was effectively racing against enemies on two fronts: the other drivers on the track and his own teammates off it.

A new question surfaced: Why did Sonny clash with his teammates? Why couldn't he grasp the simple truth that arrogance breeds resentment?

Director Joseph Kosinski provided a brilliantly subtle answer. Rather than explaining his motivations from an outside perspective, he kept the focus on Sonny, revealing his true nature through persistent questioning of the other characters. Viewers realized that Sonny's questions invariably centered on one thing: how to make the team finish first. The responses from others varied dramatically, but none matched his perspective. The team's engineer never envisioned building a car that was capable of driving the team to victory—she simply aimed to enhance its speed performance. The coach never focused on victory, but only on helping drivers achieve better results while maintaining safety. Sonny's partner did think about finishing first—but it was purely for himself, not the team. As long as he captured the spotlight and increased his social media influence, nothing else mattered to him.

These characters' approaches represented different strategies, each with its own distinct strengths and weaknesses. The engineer's method was rigorous but inflexible, as their competitors' cars would also improve. If her fundamental model was flawed, she'd perpetuate the same mistakes while seemingly making progress. The coach's approach was meticulous but lacked focus—F1 racing is inherently dangerous, and while risk reduction wasn't wrong, he'd gotten his priorities wrong. As for Sonny's partner, he was truly the selfish and arrogant one. He cared for neither the team nor racing itself—only fame.

(On that note, crafting distinctive supporting characters in sports films is challenging, and Kosinski's approach was ingenious: he used a "troublemaker" like Sonny to stir up reactions from the other characters, and their true personalities were revealed whenever they attempted to prove him wrong.)

Objectively speaking, no one was wrong—they were all making the best decisions from their own perspectives. Each worked hard to achieve his or her goals, yet none realized these isolated efforts were destined to fail. If the engineer focused solely on the current car, she'd never accommodate the driver's personalized handling; if the coach prioritized only safety, he'd never develop unexpected tactics, as safe strategies remain predictable while surprises introduce variables; if Sonny's partner pursued personal glory, he wouldn't provide honest feedback when problems arose during races. Consequently, true collaboration became impossible.

In reality, people often believe the ideal approach combines everyone's methods, leveraging the strengths of each to create a synergistic effect. "F1 The Movie" demonstrated otherwise—the path to victory requires collective effort, but crucially, everyone must build the same path. For a team like Apex which was lagging so far behind in rankings, they couldn't afford to pursue multiple directions. Sonny recognized this clearly; he wasn't arrogant—he simply saw nothing but victory.

At the film's conclusion, Kosinski presented an extended first-person shot of Sonny after he overtook all his competitors to lead the race. In this long take, we saw neither his opponents nor the spectators—only the seemingly endless track illuminated by lights. The background music quieted, every character held their breath, and only the engineer whispered: "Sonny is flying." Viewers might interpret this shot differently, and some may feel that Kosinski failed to capture the essence of "flying." To me, this moment felt profoundly authentic and served as the film's masterstroke. The reason is simple: when you're in top condition, your focus is fixed on only the act itself—not on yourself, not on others. In such a state, you feel weightless because nothing can affect you. That's what it means to "fly."