THE SAN MARINO GRAND PRIX, 1994. THIRTY years ago this May Day. AYRTON SENNA sits on the start line and removes his helmet, which he never usually does. “The helmet hides feelings which cannot be understood,” he once said. Today, he doesn’t bother to conceal. The camera zooms in on him and holds. His expression is all focus, but below the surface melancholy currents of reflection run silent and deep.
Already the weekend seems cursed. His compatriot and protégé Rubens Barrichello broke his nose and arm in a crash two days ago, and yesterday the Austrian,
