What’s a story that never fails to bring you to tears?
The Tour de France is the world’s premier bicycle race, steeped in history and tradition, held every July across France. Nearly 200 professional riders traverse the country, covering 100-130 miles a day, racing relentlessly every single day for three brutal weeks.
To the average person, that might be a “meh”. Amazing, good for them, but so what? That’s usually where it ends.
But watch this documentary, and the sheer depth of emotion that the riders and team directors pour into the Tour de France strikes you right in the gut. Calm, quiet confessions. Flailing arms. Yells. Tears. Agonized grimaces. Some have even lost their lives in crashes on terrifying descents. They are betting their lives on this—literally.
Who cares about a mere bicycle race? What’s the point of pro sports? Honestly, when I was younger, I used to think the same way. It doesn’t move the world forward; it’s a luxury for rich people; it’s just fleeting entertainment for spectators. That perspective isn’t entirely wrong. But today, I can say with absolute conviction: looking at it that way is a tragic waste.
The Tour de France spans over 120 years of history. For more than a century, countless human beings have poured their entire souls into this with raw, uncompromising seriousness. It is the accumulation of that intensity that we call “tradition,” “culture,” and “history.” That is what draws spectators, inspires young riders, and pulls people toward this race.
Season 1 follows the 2022 Tour de France. That year, I watched the daily race highlights religiously. Cycling is an endurance sport like a marathon, but it’s also a high-stakes mind game, like poker. Following the key moves in the daily summaries kept my hands sweating, and there were so many dramatic moments that I remember tearing up time and time again.
Yet, watching this documentary made me realize something: standard broadcast footage, which is taken from helicopters or trailing motorbikes with lower resolution, is somewhat sanitized. It bleaches out the raw reality.
Riders’ point of view. Bicycles at 40mph. Arm’s distance to nearby bikes in every direction. A world on the absolute edge, where a split-second lapse in judgment triggers a catastrophic crash. And when this roaring pack sweeps past the crowd at that insane speed, what do the spectators feel? Picture a mother holding onto her child’s hat so it doesn’t fly away. Just imagine the sheer force of that wind shock.
In crisp, vivid slow motion, the riders’ raw human emotions are laid bare. Imagine riding 100 miles while climbing 15,000 feet of elevation! What a brutal physical labor that is. As someone who loves riding a road bike myself, I can extrapolate from my own tiny experiences and easily picture their peerless athletic power and the agonizing pain they endure.
Then come the player interviews. You feel, with overwhelming force, the mindset they brought into that day’s race, and what the Tour de France truly means to them. Broadcast footage alone can never convey these visceral human emotions. A rider says, “We are riding with the French flag on our backs.” Imagine putting on that skin-thin polyurethane jersey emblazoned with the tricolor, and feeling the weight of that nation. When he rides through his hometown, the crowds line the streets, shouting his name. On an agonizing climb, that thunderous support gives him wings—and yet, he still comes up short. Imagine the heart-wrenching pain of that moment… Or take the goofy, jokester rider who repeatedly loses by a mere foot, until finally, he crosses the finish line first. In his post-race interview, he chokes up, stammers, says “I shouldn’t be crying on TV, right?”—and then breaks down, completely speechless.
National pride. Family. Responsibility to their teammates. Carrying all these burdens on their shoulders, so that when their bodies are screaming “Stop!”, they can transform that very weight into the force that pushes them forward.
When a viewer is confronted with that level of raw strength, heartbreak, and pure joy right before your eyes, it’s impossible not to be moved to your core. If you were to articulate the cliché of “a middle-aged guy getting obsessed with watching sports,” this is what it actually looks like.
The other day, while watching a documentary about the Java programming language, I remembered asking myself: How would I tell a story like this? This Tour de France documentary uses top-notch raw material, but its creators are top-notch, too. While most interviews are with riders and directors, there are two commentators who aren’t directly involved. They act as the mouthpieces for the filmmakers, subtly handing the audience the lens through which to view the drama ahead. Out of the three weeks of chaotic warfare in the Tour de France, they craft and deliver distinct human stories. Because these are human stories, they possess a universal truth. You don’t need to know anything about the technical side of cycling to be deeply moved by them. That, I’ve come to realize, is what truly great documentary filmmaking is all about.
Tour de France: Unchained. Please, go watch it. Experience the brilliance of a sport you might have never heard of, and let it blow your mind.