In the opening act of this enjoyable, internally conflicted documentary on a film nobody much cares about, we learn that Steve McQueen once lived in the apartment above James Garner. Having heard that Garner (a nice man by all accounts) had beaten him to making a film about car racing – the fitful Grand Prix (1966) – McQueen apparently pulled out little Steve and urinated on Jim's flower pots. This is one of the more flattering stories in The Man & Le Mans.
Featuring contributions from Chad McQueen, Steve’s middle-aged son, Gabriel Clarke and John McKenna’s picture seems to be attempting a positive, semi-authorised portrayal of the man they clumsily call “the King of Cool”. Unfortunately the history keeps fighting back.
Eventually released in 1971, Le Mans was a vanity project whose grandiose flatulence – though remarkable enough – failed to satisfy the insecurity of its egotistical star and producer. John Sturges, who directed McQueen in The Great Escape and The Magnificent Seven, eventually left, frustrated at the actor's interference and at the conspicuous lack of script, to be replaced by a genial journeyman named Lee H Katzin. Inevitably, The Man & Le Mans argues for Le Mans's cult status – as all such documentaries must – but the resulting mess was of interest only to pre-Clarksonian petrolheads.
The filmmakers, who have limitless access to archive footage, do a good job of summoning up the desperate atmosphere. Shooting in and around the Le Mans 24-hour race, Katzin and Sturges were pressed into increasingly dangerous verisimilitude. At least one driver was appallingly injured in the process.
Through it all, McQueen cruised imperiously. “He loved cars liquor and women,” somebody says in apparent awe. True enough. He cheated on his wife repeatedly. He deflected blame for a late-night road traffic accident. He weed on Jim Rockford’s petunias.
Who are we to judge? His former wife speaks of him with affection. Those injured most by the Le Mans experience still seem star-struck. His charisma in earlier films is beyond question. This film doesn't work as hagiography, but it contains lessons about the blinding power of fame.
