The actor, director and musician opens the doors to his Milanese home to CAM Sugar to offer a glimpse into his kaleidoscopic world and artworks.

When we arrive at his, Francesco Mandelli is busy learning the guitar solos of all the tracks of Definitely Maybe, Oasis’ debut album, which this year turn 30.

If the Gallagher brothers used to sing ‘Can I ride with you in your BMW?’, the actor, director, writer, musician, artist but, above all, a great lover of classic cars, would rather sit behind the wheel of a Ferrari, his first love since childhood.

On the occasion of Gentlemen Drivers, CAM Sugar’s playlist dedicated to motors, chases and smart driving in Italian cinema, Francesco opened the doors to his Milanese gaff to discuss a usually unspoken side of his multifaceted career in the arts: his passions for Formula 1 and drawing.

Since 2017, in fact, Francesco has dedicated himself to F1-themed works, in which with ironic, almost hyperbolic traits, he sketches with coloured crayons faces and details that have marked the history of the motorsport. An iconographic corollary made up of car liveries, helmets and, above all, drivers. There’s Niki Lauda with his protruding teeth, Jackie Stewart with his corduroy hat and rock’n’roll maverick hairdo, Nigel Mansell and his unmistakable pair of moustaches. The artworks tell of a Formula 1 that has now disappeared. A golden age of motor racing that is recomposed precisely through the chromatic details of the sponsors in the actor’s memory.

They punctuate, like a wunderkammer, the living room of the house that Francesco inhabits with his partner Luisa and daughter Giovanna, among all sorts of musical instruments, treasured photographs of ancestors, a star-studded motorbike helmet rescued from a film set, Formula 1 memorabilia and even a framed photograph of The Strokes: one of Francesco’s music and style inspirations.

Lorenzo Ottone: How did your relationship with Formula 1 and motor racing start?

Francesco Mandelli: It started in 1985, my father was a big Ferrari fan and his favourite driver was Gilles Villeneuve: he was a madman, a real rock star. They called him the aviator because he used to fly in his car when he had accidents. He didn’t just want to win, but to find and challenge his own limits at the wheel. In 1985 my father took me to see the Monza GP practice. I remember the incredible atmosphere, the crazy noise of the engines. That impact with the racetrack, immersed in the park, the people walking to get there…I still get goose bumps just talking about it. I used to watch the races on the couch with my dad, and like all the things you do with your parents, I remained attached to it. From there I started to cultivate a relationship with Formula 1.

LO: A ritual at once intimate and choral, I understand?

FM: For me, Formula 1 was a moment of sharing, even in the years to come, especially with the friends I went to the circuit with. The train from Osnago [Francesco’s hometown outside of Milan] to Monza, the rucksack with the panini, my mum putting in a bottle of Coca-Cola, and lots of laughter. And that’s how it was until a few years ago, when Formula 1 changed radically.

LO: So what was the golden age of Formula 1?

FM: The golden age of F1 is from the 1970s to the 1990s, when there was a big increase in performance but also generations of incredible drivers. I’m thinking of James Hunt, Niki Lauda, Emerson Fittipaldi, Ronnie Peterson, Mario Andretti, and we’re just talking about the ’70s. They were all crazy, you couldn’t understand how they couldn’t be afraid of death. 

LO: Don’t you think that these figures’ will not to conform contributed to making the sport more exciting?

FM: Every season there was anticipation to see the two champions challenge each other head to head, right up to the last race. It was like watching mythological heroes hurling themselves at 300 kilometres per hour on speeding coffins. Today it almost seems like a TV series. 

The important thing was, above all, the diversity of the cars. It was not a question of finding a technological innovation and then homologating all the cars accordingly, as the Americans have always done in Indycar, which I love, but it is a completely different sport. I remember when they started to introduce raised nose cones, as Benetton did: each car was different but always harmonious.

LO: Looking at your drawings, the aesthetics of Formula 1 also seem to have played their part…

FM: The aesthetic factor is, without a doubt, one of the most important. That is the liveries, so who put up the money, which was pretty much always the tobacco companies. I’m thinking of the Lotus John Player Special, the McLaren Marlboro, the Williams Rothmans, the yellow Lotus Camel driven by Senna. 

LO: You are also a musician. As a matter of fact you were a bona fide face of indie sleaze in Italy. In your opinion, who were the most rock’n’roll drivers, attitude-wise?

FM: When we weren’t watching Formula 1, at home we listened to records. My father was a big fan of the Beatles or West Coast stuff like the Eagles and Crosby Stills Nash & Young – all bands that his peers probably didn’t listen to at the time. When I was growing up, listening to music defined the person I was, and so did the clothes I wore and the way I spoke. When you are a teenager, being different from the herd is a very important thing. In the ‘90s, for me that thing was Britpop: none of my mates listened to it because after Nirvana there seemed to be more of an interest towards the American grunge scene. Similarly, there were drivers who reminded me of the indie rock stars I was into, because they too had different attitudes, made different choices, acting according to their own instincts and not to predetermined schemes. 

LO: For instance?

FM: James Hunt above all, but also Jacques Villeneuve who wore baggy overalls, had bleached hair, spoke like one of us: he was very direct. It’s no surprise he was the son of a maverick like Gilles. Another was Jackie Stewart, with his sideburns and long hair. He looked like one of ACDC.

LO: How did you approach drawing instead? Do you consider it more of a pastime or a form of escapism and self-therapy?

FM: As a child, needless to say, I used to draw Formula 1 cars: every year [magazine] Autosprint would publish the drawings of the cars for the new season and I would copy them all. For many years, then, I gave up drawing. At one point I remember that Adam Green [American musician and artist, ed], when he broke up with his girlfriend of the time, told me that he had picked up drawing again and showed me his works. He made me discover many things about painting and art, including Italian art, that I wasn’t aware of. He made me understand the beautiful aspect of always carrying a pad and crayons with you, to express something that you have inside you and cannot express in any other way, neither with music nor with cinema, even if you do not come from an academic background. It is the importance of finding a personal and authentic trait, regardless of how good what you do is for others. It’s not a hobby, maybe more of a creative outlet. I’m not interested, though, in taking it too seriously or putting pressure on it.

LO: Besides being an actor and musician, you are also a director. Which composer would you call to soundtrack an ideal film of yours?

FM: First of all I still have to figure out what kind of films I make [laughs]. If I could choose a composer to soundtrack my films I think it would be something between Oliver Onions and Noel Gallagher. I am not sure if there ever existed someone like that. Perhaps Burt Bacharach.

Opening image: Francesco Mandelli in his Milan home. Photography by Manuela Mingrone.