The best-ever film about motor racing is John Frankenheimer’s Grand Prix. We’re liberal and even-handed with a deep respect for the opinions of others and welcome those who challenge our world view. But if you think anything other than Grand Prix is the best motor racing film of all time, then you really should never, ever venture a critical opinion again. Seriously.

The finale takes place at Monza, on the old, banked circuit – and it’s never looked so good, or as shocking as it does here in Grand Prix:

This is thanks in part to Frankenheimer’s insistence on shooting everything at full racing speed on Super Panavision 70mm, and partially because the extras have names like Ickx, Siffert, Clarke, Bandini, Bondurant, Brabham, McLaren and Ginther. Obviously they weren’t going completely flat chat – but Jo Siffert did managed to knock three wheels off his Cooper in between takes. Apparently they all liked to race back to first positions.

The banking, part of the original Monza velodrome, is still here today, hidden out in the woods. The police attempt to limit access during F1 weekend, but if you’re wearing the right kit and have the right sort of pass, or are carrying the right sort of ‘gift’, they’re quite obliging. Although last year the Carabinieri did draw the line when one Paddock-dweller wanted to take a team scooter around. Fair enough; after all it is the racing equivalent of Stonehenge, the Coliseum and The Simpsons all rolled into one.

Until you stand there you cannot begin to imagine the terrible height or steepness. It’s impossible to walk to the top, you need to take a good run up and lunge at the Armco. Fail to find something to grab onto and you’ll soon be tumbling back down the bottom. Here and there you’ll see people simply lying on the concrete like something from a particularly bizarre Radiohead video. It’s just one of those boxes you have to tick when going to Monza.

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