As a series of title cards explains at the beginning of the new documentary, The Last Race, stock car racing is long past its mid-century heyday. Filmed at the last remaining race track on Long Island, Riverhead Raceway, director Michael Dweck gives us a glimpse into a world that is slowly being developed out of existence. As Wal-Marts and Costcos close-in, we get a last look at a world where salt of the earth Long Island bros can still feel like gods simply by winning a race.
Though there are moments that feel like any other sports doc (a scene of two male drivers talking shit about a female driver, fist fights that are never given context and probably don’t need them anyway), stylistically, Dweck’s film feels less like the average 30 for 30 and more like video art. With no narration and only a few interviews, Dweck and editor Charlotte Munch Bengtsen instead immerse us in Riverhead’s world with almost no hand-holding. One of the most striking shots comes early on. In slow motion, with a camera presumably set on the back of a car, we lead a group of stock cars as they roll onto the track before the race. There’s a strange beauty to the way they break formation, lining up single-file to squeeze though the gap in the track wall.
There and throughout, Dweck’s camera maintains a kind of distance from the subjects and while it ultimately creates a more impressionistic perspective, it can be hard to find a single person to connect with. Take the scene where we watch a young driver prepare for a race. He breathes deep to calm his nerves, glances nervously at the camera on his dash and then puts on his goofy helmet. But instead of watching him drive after, Dweck and Bengtsen move on. On some level, the choice is about sticking to the film’s meandering pacing, but by keeping the audience from forming an attachment to any one person, the film becomes about the raceway and the sport itself.
Still, while The Last Race isn’t really interested in telling one person’s complete story, that doesn’t mean it isn’t filled with some wonderful characters. One of them, is Rick Todd, an older gentleman who’s been filming the races for years and then giving the recordings (seemingly for free) to the drivers. Dweck has a habit of not cutting the awkward moments before or during an interview and watching Todd yell over the sound of the announcer and essentially declare the beginning and end of the chat is one of the film’s best scenes.
Dweck also follows a handful of regular drivers out on their day jobs (bagging clams, removing hornets nests while wearing worryingly little protective gear), but we never learn their names. In fact, the only subjects whose names are given before the credits roll are the track’s owners, Barbara and Jim Cromarty. Though the film’s title tells us from the start that the couple won’t be able to operate the track forever, it’s still upsetting to see their health deteriorate as the film goes on. Barbara may worry about becoming like their listless retiree friends down in Florida, but after watching an aid help them painstakingly enter their office, it seems inevitable that they’ll soon be forced to join them.
Still, while the world The Last Race shows is in decline, perhaps it deserves to survive. As Barbara beautifully puts it: “This guy, what does he do? Maybe he’s got a plumbing store, he’s got a shoe store, he’s a regular guy, but he comes to the racetrack and he’s a hero…I don’t know where you get that anywhere else.” The sort of aggression-fueled, performative masculinity that seems to drive the sport deserves to die out, but maybe the people raised in it don’t deserve to have their dreams taken away either—even when pursuing those dreams can lead to self-annihilation.
Rating: 8.5/10
