MAY 2025:

A Thoroughbred Myth for the Screen…

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A Racehorse, A Legacy, A Legend

Walt Disney Pictures’ Secretariat (2010), directed by Randall Wallace and written by Mike Rich and Sheldon Turner, tells the remarkable true story of the horse many consider the greatest to ever run — Secretariat, winner of the 1973 Triple Crown. The film centers on Penny Chenery (played by Diane Lane), the determined and visionary woman who took over her father’s Meadow Stable during a time when women in horse racing were rare and often unwelcome. It’s a story of courage, of exceptional animal talent, and of one woman’s steadfast refusal to back down in the face of tradition and corporate pressure.

But Secretariat is more than a feel-good sports drama; it is a dramatized distillation of the legacy William Nack captured in his 1975 biography Secretariat: The Making of a Champion. Nack’s book is widely regarded as the definitive account of Secretariat’s life, training, lineage, and record-shattering racing career. Part investigative sports journalism, part character study, and part reverent elegy, Nack’s book remains a cornerstone of equine literature.

The film, while rooted in Nack’s account, does not attempt a literal translation of the book. Instead, it transforms its deeply reported, often gritty material into a sleek and inspiring narrative fit for the Disney brand — one that emphasizes empowerment, perseverance, and triumph. This review explores the film not only as a piece of cinema, but as an adaptation: what it chooses to honor, what it omits, and how it reshapes a horse racing epic into a mainstream story of human (and equine) excellence.

The Horse That Changed Everything

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Before evaluating the film’s strengths and limits, one must understand the seismic impact Secretariat had on American sports. In 1973, after a 25-year drought since Citation, Secretariat won the Triple Crown — the Kentucky Derby, Preakness Stakes, and Belmont Stakes — in a feat that shattered time records and public expectations alike.

Secretariat’s performances weren’t just victories; they were dominations. In the Belmont, he didn’t just win — he left his closest competitor 31 lengths behind, finishing in 2:24, a time still unbeaten on dirt at that distance. He was dubbed “Big Red,” a horse with a freakishly large heart, a flawless stride, and a sense of command on the track that transcended animal instinct.

William Nack, then a young reporter for Newsday, followed Secretariat’s career obsessively, eventually compiling the definitive chronicle of his life. His 1975 book was not simply a horse biography; it was a masterclass in detail, offering intimate knowledge of Secretariat’s bloodlines, anatomy, psychology, and the characters who orbited him. The story was as much about the humans — the Chenery family, trainer Lucien Laurin, jockey Ron Turcotte — as it was about the horse. That duality remains central in the film’s adaptation.

From Page to Screen: Adapting Nack’s Masterpiece

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The first thing viewers should understand is that Secretariat (2010) is a highly stylized and dramatized adaptation of Nack’s book, not a documentary reenactment. Mike Rich and Sheldon Turner’s script simplifies and re-centers the story around Penny Chenery, transforming the biography’s ensemble scope into a singular tale of female agency.

Nack’s book dives into multi-generational breeding strategies, pedigree analysis, and the politics of the racing industry — all fascinating, but perhaps not cinematic in their raw form. The film wisely distills these complex elements, using Penny’s negotiations and decisions as narrative anchors. Her challenge to syndicate Secretariat to cover her inheritance taxes, her fierce belief in his potential, and her resistance to the old guard of horse racing become the dramatic threads pulling the viewer through the story.

Yet, some of the richness of Nack’s writing is lost in this distillation. His book is filled with digressions about anatomy, psychology, equine care, and racing minutiae that, while unfilmable in detail, provide the horse with an identity that transcends symbolism. The film treats Secretariat more as a divine metaphor — noble, flawless, untouchable. In contrast, Nack allows for vulnerability, for mystery, and for the mundane details that made the myth possible.

In adapting this book, Wallace and the writers made a calculated decision: rather than ask the audience to enter the granular world of horse racing, they invited them into a familiar structure — the underdog sports drama — and polished the myth to gleaming clarity. It works for many viewers, but purists may miss the layered journalism of the source.

Penny Chenery as Protagonist: The Engine of the Story

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At the heart of Secretariat is Diane Lane’s Penny Chenery — elegant, composed, and driven. Lane brings warmth and iron resolve to a woman who stood her ground in boardrooms and barns alike. In the film, Penny is positioned as a revolutionary force, breaking into the male-dominated world of thoroughbred racing while balancing grief, family tension, and financial uncertainty.

This is a more heroic portrayal than Nack’s even-handed rendering. In the book, Penny is certainly pivotal — intelligent, emotionally attached to her horses, and business-savvy — but Nack never idolizes her. He presents her as one piece in a complex system of caretakers, gamblers, veterinarians, and egos.

The film, however, thrives on centralizing Penny. Her relationship with her father, Christopher Chenery (played with fragility by Scott Glenn), gives the film emotional stakes. The decision to preserve Meadow Stables becomes a moral mission. Her faith in Secretariat — unwavering even when others balk — becomes the spiritual center of the film.

What Lane’s performance does exceptionally well is bridge the world of horses and humans. She’s a translator for the audience — a stand-in for anyone unfamiliar with equine pedigree or racing dynamics. And that’s no accident. The film’s screenwriting leans into her as both emotional core and explanatory guide, shaping a more accessible narrative for a general audience.

Supporting Cast and Characterizations

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The other standout performance is John Malkovich’s turn as Lucien Laurin, the eccentric, flamboyant trainer who reluctantly comes out of retirement to handle Secretariat. Malkovich plays Laurin with comedic flair, dressing him in loud suits and giving him a cantankerous edge that balances Penny’s polished demeanor.

In Nack’s book, Laurin is a more grounded figure — competent, strategic, and prideful, but not a caricature. The film exaggerates him for color, and while it sometimes edges into silliness, Malkovich infuses enough pathos to maintain believability.

Nelsan Ellis as Eddie Sweat, Secretariat’s devoted groom, delivers a quiet and touching performance, though the film gives him little dialogue. Nack’s book elevates Eddie as one of the horse’s most emotionally attuned caretakers, and one might wish the film had more time for his inner world.

Similarly, Otto Thorwarth plays Ron Turcotte, Secretariat’s jockey, with steady charisma. But again, the film uses him sparingly. Nack, who spent countless hours speaking with Turcotte, gives him voice and perspective in the book — most notably about how Secretariat “knew” when to run and by how much.

This is where the adaptation reveals its biggest divergence: the book allows for multiplicity. The film allows for momentum. And in a two-hour runtime, that trade-off is inevitable.

Cinematic Elements: Direction, Music, and Visual Language

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Randall Wallace, best known for writing Braveheart, brings a reverent tone to the story. His direction is steady, sentimental, and occasionally grandiose. The race sequences are highlights — shot with kinetic energy, tracking alongside the thundering hooves and capturing the controlled chaos of elite racing.

The cinematography by Dean Semler (who won an Oscar for Dances with Wolves) brings bucolic Virginia landscapes to life with golden hues and sweeping aerial shots. Horses gallop in slow motion. Dust kicks in sunlit paddocks. It’s visually romantic, bordering on mythic.

The score by Nick Glennie-Smith underlines this emotional arc with swelling strings and stirring crescendos. It’s very much in the Disney mold — overt, uplifting, and calculated to inspire. For some, that works beautifully. For others, it might feel a touch manipulative.

There’s little grit in this world. No muck in the stables. No whispers of the darker side of racing — injuries, breeding pressures, gambling corruption — all of which are explored, at least in part, in Nack’s book. The film chooses a fable tone. It doesn’t apologize for it.

Faithfulness to Source: What the Film Keeps and Leaves Out

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So how faithful is Secretariat to William Nack’s Secretariat: The Making of a Champion?

In spirit, the film holds true to the major beats: the lineage tracing back to Bold Ruler, the death of Penny’s mother and the collapse of the Chenery estate, the syndication of Secretariat to cover estate taxes, and the historic wins. These are all present, and many lines of dialogue are adapted directly from real quotes and records that Nack preserved in his work.

But the tone, complexity, and scope differ significantly.

Nack’s biography is interested in the internal — not just Secretariat’s physicality, but his temperament. He famously documented that Secretariat’s heart was 2.5 times the size of an average Thoroughbred’s, metaphorically and literally a “big-hearted” horse. The book also spends significant time detailing Secretariat’s “losing” races as well as his victories, making his journey feel earned and uncertain.

The film does the opposite. Secretariat never seems to struggle. Every race feels predestined. The mystery is gone. What’s gained is clarity, heroism, and emotional payoff. What’s lost is realism and nuance.

Yet one must remember: Nack was writing a chronicle. Wallace was directing a story. One had pages to meander. The other had minutes to motivate.

Legacy on Screen: What the Film Accomplishes

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Despite its limitations as a historical adaptation, Secretariat succeeds in several vital ways. First, it revives public interest in a story that deserved retelling. For many younger viewers, the film served as an introduction to Secretariat’s legacy and to Penny Chenery’s courage. In this sense, the film honors its source not through replication, but through celebration.

Second, it places a woman at the center of a sports narrative without reducing her to stereotypes or side roles. Penny’s story could have been overshadowed by the horse — but the film’s focus gives her overdue credit as the strategist and spiritual force behind Secretariat’s career.

And third, it maintains the awe. That final Belmont scene — Secretariat pulling away to 31 lengths, the score swelling, the editing accelerating — is undeniably effective. It doesn’t just show a victory. It delivers transcendence. For a moment, cinema and history converge.

Between Myth and Muscle

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William Nack’s Secretariat: The Making of a Champion is a journalist’s ode to a biological marvel, an insider’s exploration of the machine and magic of racing. It is rigorous, reverent, and revealing.

Secretariat (2010), by contrast, is a myth — streamlined, uplifting, and emotionally engineered. It trades detail for drama, realism for resonance. As an adaptation, it diverges from Nack’s tone and depth, but it honors his subject with a wide-open heart.

And that, perhaps, is fitting. Secretariat was not just a horse. He was poetry in motion, an animal that defied limits and redefined greatness. Nack gave us the anatomy of that legend. The film gives us its anthem.

Together, they keep Secretariat alive — in the body, in the mind, and on the screen.

Secretariat is available now with a subscription to Disney+…