drop the merc ad analysis pretty pretty please? 🥺🙏
Ask and ye shall receive, anon.
Disclaimer: I am analyzing this strictly through an RPF lens. If I imply any kind of agenda by the team to portray the drivers a certain way, I am saying that as a writer of fanfic! Nothing about this is serious. Quite literally an exercise in absurdity.
I feel it is imperative to immediately acknowledge that the music underlying this ad is a cheap knockoff of the Succession soundtrack, which does feel as though they’re inviting this sort of analysis. And who am I to refuse the call?
If you’ve not watched the ad, go do so. If you refuse, for whatever reason: the premise is that the drivers overhear engineers discussing a product that promises to be “self-driving, self-protecting, self-optimising, and self-healing” and become paranoid that they are being replaced with self-driving technology.
The first thing that strikes me about this ad is, right off the bat, Kimi is both the one who first realises the potential threat to both of their careers, and takes the active role in starting the conversation (via text message) with George. This doesn’t, upon first examination, seem terribly significant in and of itself; George is physically present in the room where the discussion about the technology is happening, while Kimi is listening in from another location. However, the framing is interesting.
Kimi, the first driver we see, is the focal point of all shots he’s in. He’s framed like a protagonist.
George, appearing after him, is portrayed among the gaggle of engineers, appearing as merely one cog in the Mercedes machine.
Now, it would be a massive stretch to try and glean anything substantial from these observations, as they’re all fairly unremarkable in and of themselves, easily handwaved as circumstantial; but they do become more interesting when taken alongside the rest of the video.
The initial text message exchange between the drivers is as follows:
You hear that? 🫠
I did…I’ll check it out 🫡
Mate…they’re all-in 💀💀
In the conclusion of the “first act” of the ad, Kimi is shown receiving George’s text.
Once again, his framing comes across as that of a central character, as does the fact that the segment both starts and ends with solo shots of him.
As for the next segment?
Kimi again! We jump immediately from Kimi, alone and contemplating George’s observations as they are conveyed via text, to Kimi physically training, distracted by the prospect of being replaced by self-driving tech.
We then cut to a stone-faced Kimi, standing before menagerie of microphones in a press gaggle, before he turns and storms out of frame.
And third, we get this silly shot of a behelmeted Kimi, desultorily twirling pasta in the Merc cafeteria.
Then, the focus turns to George:
We see him lowering his face down onto what I'm fairly certain is a massage chair (though one anon insists it's a sex chair, which is entirely possible and only strengthens my case), before the camera cuts back to Kimi, investigating (in Italian), what some of the unfamiliar terms used to describe the foreboding tech actually mean.
We then flash back to George, at home (or possibly in a hotel room), dozing in bed as text messages from Kimi pile up.
George?
George.
GEORGE!
What about US? 😭😭😭
George doesn't say anything, or even text Kimi back; he just kinda shakes his head and meeps eyelashingly.
Now, you might be saying: "Gosh, 'What about US?' sure does sound awfully mercesty." And to that I say, true, but that's tangential to the main course.
What I find especially interesting about this segment is the contrast, specifically along the active/passive axis.
Despite Kimi's worry and neediness, he's still framed as a far more commanding and dynamic presence; he's training, he's representing the team to the press, he's there in the workplace eating among his colleges. As the end of the video will reveal, both drivers have been wallowing in paranoia, but Kimi is the only one shown taking the initiative to learn more about the technology.
George's framing, by contrast, is wholly passive; he sits in a chair waiting to receive a massage, he doses in bed while receiving text messages. He is no less concerned than Kimi, but seems unwilling or perhaps unable to bring himself to push back against what he fears may be his fate.
Now, you're probably thinking that what I'm describing sounds terribly un-Georgish. And I agree! But this isn't the Merc drivers as their authentic selves; this is the Merc drivers as the team wants their public personas to appear. So what, then, does that say about how they'd like to portray Kimi, versus how they'd prefer to portray George? I'll let you chew on that.
Finally, please take note of the cock shame/cock confidence poses in the final scene. I think that speaks for itself.
Oh, and a postscript: there's a little scene at the end wherein George laments that he wishes they (the drivers) were self-healing, like the technology allegedly is. Kimi, with a shit-eating grin, reminds George that he, unlike pushing-thirties George, still is young enough for that to basically be the truth.
This is the last shot of the video, by the way. It begins and ends on Kimi.
Because of course, beyond all else, we must be sure to remind George that he's no longer Daddy's favorite teenager whenever possible. Birthday video analysis throwback, anyone?
The world champion after his retirement. The German who left F1 speaks for the first time:
I'm finally free. Pilots live like hamsters.
MARCO MENSURATI – The Republic
MONTE CARLO - HE GRINDS some Sichuan pepper on the smoked salmon that the waitress at the lounge bar at the Meridien Beach Plaza has just left on the low glass table. Then he stretches. "The fact is that I'm free, finally," he says. And with a pinch he lifts his blue cashmere sweater from his chest. The gesture - anyone who has ever frequented a paddock will have immediately understood - alludes to the "plain clothes" clothing, that is, the absence of team suits. "Free. If I'm here talking to Repubblica it's because I chose to. No one from Mercedes said to me this morning: "Go and talk to that journalist." No. Nico wants to talk, Nico talks.
Let's start with the choice to stop. Three months have passed, are you still convinced you did the right thing?
Even more than before. The sacrifice you have to make to win a world championship is monstrous, in physical, personal and relational terms. For goodness sake, it's part of the game. A beautiful game, which I chose myself and which I wanted to play first.
But now that I've won - or, better, now that I've gotten where I wanted to - I can say: thank you all, that's enough. It was a golden opportunity to close my F1 book here, there was also a happy ending. Now I enjoy all the other beautiful things that are out there. Life can't just be going around in circles from morning to night, all year round, in a car. I'm a man, not a hamster!
The comparison between drivers and hamsters is a bit strong.
Let's say: beautiful hamsters, rich and living a fantastic life.
But still hamsters.
Yes, no offense. Formula 1 has been my life up until now. And I would like to continue to have a role in this sport. But I repeat: there is a whole life to live out there; and if you are a driver you are forced to always and only focus on your own activity, in the car and outside.
When you began your career as a driver, your father set the goals: "Win a race, win in Monte Carlo, win a world championship". The fact that you stopped exactly one second after reaching the goals indicated by your father, saying, "now I am free", provides a particular key to understanding your sporting and human story.
Having a dad like mine was difficult, especially at the beginning of my career. Everyone looked at me, asked me about the son of an driver, do you know how many times I heard that? He helped me out of charity, but he was cumbersome: he knew everything about the world I was entering, what I had to do, what the others had to do, what was best and what was worst. It worked well. But then when F1 arrived I realized that something had changed: I needed to make mistakes, to do it my way. So one evening we talked.
Did you argue?
We were clear. I really believe in the art of telling things as they are. I think that if we all did it, our lives would be simpler. On one side there was a parent who wanted to make things easier for his son, on the other there was a man who was looking for his own path. How do we move forward in F1?, we said to each other. In the end he stepped aside, and I thank him for the lightness with which he did it. He is an emotional guy (Rosberg is multilingual, his Italian is almost perfect, in this case he meant emotional, but the slip was too significant not to report it - ed.) and he was able to manage the situation in the best possible way and today I can only thank him for having let me do it, I would like him to know that it is only thanks to this that I am now here speaking as a world champion. And I would also like him to know that now I know how much it cost him.
Now you are a father too. What role did your daughter play in the decision to stop?
More than my daughter, my family. It's the most important thing I have. And I had to ask them for a huge, unfair effort too. Now I want to focus on them as much as I can and be a better father and husband. Which is something I've already started to do, discovering that fatherhood isn't all that simple. There's very little talk about it, people always say "children are the most beautiful thing in the world" and no one says how complicated it is, especially for a father, to relate to a one-and-a-half-year-old girl. It's beautiful but also tiring and, let's face it, boring at times. You're there with another person with whom you struggle to communicate and inevitably you get bored. Then when you're not there you miss them, and above all you feel guilty because when you were there you were bored. It's part of the relationship, of growth, of the normality that a pilot can hardly aspire to.
Listening to you speak, it seems like you can glimpse behind so much lucidity, a precise path, psychological work... Did you get help from anyone?
Yes. One of the keys to my success was the work I did with the mental coach. I had been working on that aspect for a long time, but this year I took new paths, it was more intense.
Isn't it just a fad?
Is philosophy a fad? There have been geniuses in the past, Epicurus, Seneca, take your pick, who two thousand years ago already experienced the same problems, the same difficulties as us. Since they were geniuses, they also analyzed and codified them, giving us extraordinary tools to read what happens to us. In life and in sports.
Are you saying that you won the F1 world championship by reading Epicurus?
I gave an example. Ten years ago I was jealous of my wife, I felt bad when she looked at someone else. Today I understood that the problem is not her looking at someone else, but me needing to have all her attention, and I have re-modulated my reactions accordingly. And we are all more serene. The point is that when you understand the reasons for your emotions, you adapt your reaction. And you reduce mistakes. It's called self-awareness. You have to work hard on it.
In addition to philosophy, how did you work on it?
Meditation. It was the extra weapon this year. An art that you can practice anywhere, walking, running, in bed as soon as you wake up. Let's be clear, it's work, not magic, but if you practice it consistently and seriously, little by little it helps you improve . It helped me: I'm sure that ten years ago, in a situation like the one I found myself in in the last ten laps of Abu Dhabi, the decisive race, with Lewis slowing down in front and me crushed between the two Red Bulls and Vettel... I'm sure I would have crashed. Instead, I was ready. I'm not saying I was calm, in fact I remember that during the overtaking maneuver on Verstappen I saw everything red and I was very tense. But I was there. And I brought it home... Everyone should do it, teach it in school: we live on the edge, always connected, incapable of getting bored or being alone. We accumulate stories and we are less and less lucid . I, even today, the first thing I do every morning is twenty minutes of meditation. Then it was also very important talk. With the coach we talked about everything, including my father and Lewis.
Here, Hamilton. A complicated coexistence, yours. The journalistic stereotyping wanted the Englishman in the role of the talented and invincible champion, you in that of the zealous "underdog." Then you beat him but those stereotypes partly resisted. Have you ever wondered about your talent? Is he more or less than Lewis?
I have always believed in myself; but it is obvious that he has a lot.
You did not answer.
Because it makes no sense to answer this question. Talent is an elusive concept, which is also tied to that of self-esteem . What is obvious and what I can say calmly is that I do not beat Lewis with talent but with everything that there is in sport beyond talent; if I put myself on the level of "talent against talent" maybe I could do the same as him, but beat him -- no. It took more than that to beat him. I had to work outside the car. Optimize everything, make sure I brought 100 percent of what I had to the track, every time we raced. Or at least more often than he did.
You were very good friends as kids in the karting days.
Best friends. A cinematic story. I still remember that night in Greece. We were on vacation together. After dinner, looking at the sea, he said to me: "Can you imagine how wonderful it would be if one day we found ourselves, you and I, at McLaren (the strongest team at the time, ed.) fighting for the title?" I thought about it, of course. It was my dream. I thought it would be the best thing in the world. Then it actually happened and now I can say that maybe it was, even if the friendship suffered. It's always strange when a dream comes true: it's never how you imagined it.
Now he'll continue to be a hamster and you'll do something else. Maybe you can become friends again.
Well, now that there's no competition anymore, I hope so. I would like to. We were good together. Many say he is a strange guy, I think he is unique. I know him perfectly, I know how his brain works, I know everything about him.
He recently said he would have liked to see Alonso take his place at Mercedes.
As a Formula 1 fan I could not have hoped for anything better, Alonso against Hamilton ten years later, it would have been a unique show. But I understand that the "Bottas solution" makes more sense for Mercedes.
Bottas is said to be saving Vettel's place for 2018.
Well, the contract with Ferrari ends this year, for Mercedes it would be a sensible solution: they will certainly talk about it.
Schumacher in 2007, when he was retiring, confessed that he wanted to swim in the ocean with whales: a dream of his that he had never been able to realize because of F1. What is yours?
Much more banal: I would like to ski, by contract I couldn't. And then take guitar lessons.
Michael Jordan said in '93 that he was retiring to be free. At most even free to return and start playing basketball again by choice and no longer by inertia.
Right, but I don't find myself in it. My story as a Formula 1 driver is over. And I won't reopen it.
if i had a dick i would love to have a disappointing orgasm in the shower while thinking of something or someone that i felt i should not be thinking about & then stand under the water with my forehead against a wall watching the proof of my guilt & shame go down the drain
Minkyu meeting Spider-Man in 4K and, stupidly, not realizing that it's Rio he's looking at
The night air is biting against the exposed part of Minkyu's collar, skin toned pale in the winter where his coat doesn't protect.
He tugs down on his sleeves to cover more of his hands, fingertips gone white with cold; he really regrets not pulling his gloves from his bag before leaving the rink, for whatever reason deciding that he definitely would not get lost on his way to the train station this time.
Evidently, Minkyu is lost.
He's been glancing up and down from his phone and scanning his surroundings in a desperate search to gather his bearings, motivated only by the wind chill pelting him in the back of his neck.
After pinching his screen and zooming in and out about a hundred times on his maps app, the train station is finally in sight, backlit by the warm, mandated low level light emitting from underneath the awning, washing the tracks out until it's nothing but an inky abyss, a black pool of gravel.
But before he can get any closer, something zips past in Minkyu's peripheral vision, something that stirs the wind and hangs low to the ground, scuffling against something, too quick to identify in the darkness.
Minkyu squints in the direction of the noise, bringing his hand up flat above his eyes as if that will help him see any better.
All he can see, though, is a long strip of grass cut short and neat before meeting the base of a large brick building. The moon is small tonight; the barely visible sliver of it reflects against the darkened windows.
Something in the back of Minkyu’s mind recognizes it as an extension of the school, an old building they reinhabited as a workspace for the robotics club that Rio told him about a few months ago.
The building is hardly in use over the winter season, though, left to collect dust while school is suspended, and it means that the building turns into an intimidating background element, the old brick morphing into something that's easy to look over.
Minkyu has been walking past this building the last few nights, and he had never really noticed it before, aside from the time when it was windy and dark, and the windows would creak in the tornadic breeze; it freaked Minkyu out, steps speeding up when he needed to pass it.
But, when he sees something shuffling around the corner, the flick of black toned heels stumbling until obscured by the brick, he goes against his better judgement and approaches, frozen fingertips forgotten in the face of uncertainty.
And when Minkyu rounds the corner, what he finds is the last thing he expected.
Spider-Man, as ridiculous as it sounds, lying on his side, his back pressed against the brick with his arms clutching around his sternum, shoulders shaking with occasional chills.
Minkyu is stuck in place, taken aback by the sight, incapable of doing anything but observing.
He looks really hurt, chest rising and falling in a weird, stuttering rhythm, uneven and labored, but also somehow… passive, like he isn't conscious of his breathing at all.
Conscious. Conscious. Oh God.
Minkyu hasn't blinked in what feels like two minutes despite the brutal winter breeze freezing his lashline, drying his eyes out until they're stuck open in awe and horror of what he's seeing.
And slowly, ever so slowly, Minkyu lets his bag slip off of his shoulder, marbling off of the smooth material of his puffer and landing in the crevice of his elbow with a bit too much weight, probably leaving a lasting bruise, before dropping it to the ground, crushing the icy, petrified grass in the process.
He approaches cautiously, hands clutched apprehensive and close to his body, nervously checking over his shoulder like he's doing something wrong.
He's not, right? Assisting a superhero vigilante isn't a crime here, is it? Minkyu really has no idea; two months living here and he still doesn't know anything about this country.
When he finally meets said vigilante superhero, small and curled up by Minkyu's feet, his breathing is still unnatural, and Minkyu squats down to get a closer look, panic quickly growing in size in his chest, heart picking up pace in time with Spider-Man’s erratic breathing.
It's so surreal, and Minkyu has no idea what to do; he has no medical expertise whatsoever, and even if he did, he's sure it would mean nothing in the face of helping a fucking superhero.
Minkyu’s hands are suspended stupidly in front of himself, hovering hesitantly over the famous red and black Spandex material covering Spider-Man’s whole body, stretched smooth over the line of his forearms, still clutching at his midsection.
His panic hits its peak, thumping hard in his chest, and it kicks his body into gear; sitting here in front of an injured person, superhero or otherwise, is going to do absolutely nothing.
So, with shaking hands, Minkyu glides his hands over Spider-Man's forearms, prying his arms apart to get a better look at him.
There's nothing outwardly wrong, and even if there was, the brunt of his suit is red, a color that could potentially soak up any blood colored stains, and it does nothing to soothe any of Minkyu's worries.
If anything, his heart hammers quicker, rabbiting against his ribs when he realizes that the rise and fall of Spider-Man's chest has gone from irregular, to concerningly slow, almost unnoticeable.
Fuck. Minkyu doesn't know a single thing about medical care, but he's sure that can't be a good sign at all.
Lost in a state of dread and fear, Minkyu reaches up to try and feel any sign of a pulse, base instincts taking over and guiding his hands, blanketing his eyes in a thin red handkerchief.
He doesn't feel anything. Fuckfuckfuck, that's bad.
So, unthinkingly and panicked, Minkyu tries to slip his fingers underneath the mask– maybe the fabric was covering it up?
But before he can get very far, fingertips barely slipped into the soft hem of the material, only partially obscuring his fingers up to the first knuckle, Spider-Man wakes up with a flinch.
He grabs Minkyu's wrist and pulls it away harshly, wrenching it to the side painfully, narrowly missing twisting Minkyu's arm at an awkward angle, and his grip is fucking insane, digging into the ball joint right in Minkyu's wrist and squeezing.
He winces at the feeling, the sensation like he's one wrong finger movement away from getting his entire hand crushed, bone disintegrating like sand.
But instead of saying anything about it, a litany of apologies are spilling from Minkyu's mouth in place of it, panicked and half-breathless, heavy and accented on his tongue.
Spider-Man's grip on his wrist subsides, but only slightly, and he doesn't let go, keeping Minkyu in his grasp like a threat, a gun with the safety on.
The safety mocks itself in front of Minkyu's face as they stare at each other, a tense, restless pause stretching between them.
“I’m sorry, I wanted to help,” Minkyu says in another hasty spill of breath and panic, potentially breaking the silence against his better judgement.
Spider-Man glances between Minkyu's face and his wrist still grasped in his hand, and then he suddenly releases it, shoving it away with a weird kind of urgency, palm facing outward like the feel of Minkyu's skin and bone in his hand was burning him.
“What are you doing, Minkyu, it's freezing,” Spider-Man suddenly asks, scrambling to push himself up into a sitting position, wincing and grasping at his side when he moves too quickly.
“I was going-” Minkyu starts, brain addled and ignorant, before cutting himself off.
Wait. How did he know his name?
Minkyu skeptically echoes as such, stitching his words together in the most coherent manner possible, though he's sure it comes out scrambled and messy anyway, a combination of panic and unfamiliarity mixing the syllables up.
“Uh,” Spider-Man says, voice muffled as he glances off to the side, distracted by, seemingly, nothing, before pushing himself onto his feet, only barely managing and having to support himself on the wall.
“I'm, uh, really into figure skating! Yeah,” he elaborates after catching his breath, exhausted from the effort of simply standing up.
Minkyu stands, too, straightening himself up from his squatted position on the ground and narrowing his eyes in his direction.
Spider-Man doesn't give him an opportunity to retort, though, turning his back to Minkyu and stumbling a couple of steps forward, relying heavily on the wall and grunting slightly, clutching at his side again.
“Tell, er, Cha Junhwan that I'm a big fan.”
It's the last thing he says before slinging a web and grappling himself onto the roof of the nearest building, weight unbalanced as he stumbles on his feet on the landing, shadowy form disfigured as a result of still cradling his midsection.
Minkyu watches him until he can't see him anymore, swallowed up by the rooftops and the stars, sky frighteningly clear in the bone chilling winter breeze.
He looks down at his wrist, cradling it in his hand and looking over it, eyes tracing the red ring wrapping around the entire circumference, palm shaped and already bruising, before looking back up to the sky.
riokyu/seokata spiderman au... I've been writing ab them all morning bro ...
Rio being jworld champion and also a highschooler and also spiderman... him being a physically weaker spider variant but having more abilities (i.e. venom blasts, organic webs, spider bite, stuff like that) to compensate.. him having a more graceful fighting style bcuz in figure skating grace > outright brute force. sighs longingly
minkyu in this au in my head has transferred to Japan for schooling and/or training just for. um. plot convenience 😭😭😭 cuz it's hard to write an au like this without them being physically approximate to each other often ANYWAYS. minkyu being equivalent to MJ...
naturally in this universe, Rio being spiderman gives him a really gross advantage within the sport which is REALLY HARD for him bcuz he's so fiercely competitive, and he truly loves competing, but he would HATE having to purposefully hinder himself to make competition fair (but don't get me wrong, he DOES want it to be fair too... he likes being challenged he likes fighting for the winning spot ... so u can see where his conundrum comes from). mind u Rio with spider abilities can probably do a septuple. mf can do an octuple bro he can FLYYY😭😭
after Minkyu finds him out, they have a discussion about whether Rio has been holding back so they can actually, yknow compete, and Rio has no idea how to respond, and Minkyu spirals a little bit about it, and he can't decide whether to be angry about Rio purposefully impairing himself for Minkyu's sake, or to be angry about Rio putting himself in danger and getting himself hurt every single day for some ridiculous, self sacrificial duty as a hero
Rio has to beg him not to be angry because he cares about Minkyu a lot, but minkyu just needs sometime to himself. and then after a few days Minkyu is like. sigh. okay. fine. prove it. and Rio doesn't exactly get what he means. and really what Minkyu means is that he wants Rio to prove that he's been inhibiting himself; prove that he Can beat Minkyu that easily, that it has all been on purpose. so they sneak into the rink at like fuckin 2am and Rio nakata first man to do nine rotations or some shit. and minkyu maybe doesn't care as much as he thinks he should, bcuz this helps him realize that Rio cares about him too much to ever be unfair. or maybe because Minkyu realizes that he shouldn't care.. bcuz if Rio hurts himself then. well. they are rivals after all
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