Slowly Going Faster: David Martinez’s Documentary on Perseverance

David Martinez’s love of storytelling began at a young age, and what drew him to photography then is what still drives him today: the endless ways images can be used to tell a story. Over the years, what began as a solitary endeavour evolved into a deeply collaborative process, one where countless people, places, and details contribute to each project. David brings that same sensibility into his work as a filmmaker, where simplicity, intentionality, and a respect for light and environment shape how he approaches every project.

That philosophy, distilling complexity into something essential, comes through clearly in his documentary “Slowly Going Faster” about Alp Sungurtekin, a celebrated land speed racer and motorcycle designer. Shot over several years at the Bonneville Salt Flats during Speed Week, the film captures Alp’s singular vision, his record-breaking achievements, and the universal drive to pursue something meaningful against all odds. What started as David’s curiosity about the races grew into a layered story of innovation, perseverance, and community. With the film recently being accepted into the Motorcycle Film Festival of Toronto, we wanted to share the film with you and learn a bit more about the process from David. 

How did you first meet Alp, and what led you to start documenting him?

I first met Alp through a friend of mine who’s an expert on vintage motorcycles. I wasn’t part of the racing world at all at that point, though I’ve ridden motorcycles here and there. I was more fascinated by the Bonneville Salt Flats themselves. I’d always heard about them, and the idea of this stark, otherworldly landscape where people push the limits of speed really intrigued me.

When I went out there for the first time, I asked my friend if he knew anyone I should meet. He connected me with Alp, and I was immediately struck by his personality and reputation. He’s a bit of a unicorn in that world, someone who has become well known not only for his racing but also for the bikes he builds for others. Later, when I was looking for a project, I kept coming back to him. I picked up the phone one day and asked if he’d be open to me documenting what he was working on, and that’s really how the project began.

What made you want to pursue documentary filmmaking?

With photography, I’ve always been drawn to the storytelling element, you’re trying to do so much within one single image or maybe a series of images. But at the same time, there are limits to what one image can hold. With film, you have sound, movement, pacing, and music, and all of those layers open up a bigger toolbox for storytelling.

My first real taste of documentary came during COVID, when I made a small film with my vintage-motorcycle friend. I had to wear every hat, shooting, recording sound, and editing. It was challenging, but it hooked me. I saw how film could expand on what I loved about still photography and let me explore more nuanced, dimensional stories.

When you’re out filming, do you have a clear idea of where the story is going, or does it unfold as you go?

It’s definitely a balance. Over time, I’ve become more structured. I create outlines now, think about the arc, and go into a shoot knowing what pieces I’ll need to tell the story. That kind of preparation makes filming smoother. But with documentary, you also have to leave room for spontaneity, because life doesn’t follow a script.

That’s actually what excites me about it: the chance to capture serendipity. I’ll go in knowing that I want to show Alp’s tenacity, his problem-solving, and his independence. Then I watch for those qualities to emerge naturally in the way he works or interacts with his team. In that way, the story I imagine at the start is really just a framework, and the real narrative comes from staying open to what unfolds in front of the camera.

What was it like to shoot at the Bonneville Salt Flats?

It’s an incredibly harsh environment. Temperatures easily climb into the 90s, and there’s no shade anywhere. You spend hours, sometimes days, waiting for a run that lasts only a few minutes. And yet those few minutes carry so much weight; everything builds toward them.

That combination of intensity and anticipation makes Bonneville unique. For me, the most rewarding moments were seeing Alp work through setbacks, mechanical issues, delays, the reality of building something entirely different from anyone else, and then watching him succeed. Last summer was particularly exciting: he set five world records in one season, something most people spend years chasing. To witness his ideas, which look unlike anything else in that world, succeed on such a stage was unforgettable.

You served as both the director and the DP. How did that affect the project?

It came down to necessity more than choice. Independent projects like this don’t usually have the budget for large crews. That said, I don’t see it as a disadvantage. The tools available now make it possible to do a lot with a small footprint, and I’ve always been the kind of person who teaches myself new skills.

Working this way also changes the energy. When it’s just me and a camera, people tend to open up more. There’s a level of candor that can get lost when you show up with a crew, lights, and equipment. 

What do you hope people take away from the film?

I hope audiences walk away with a glimpse into a world they might never otherwise see. Most people don’t know much about land speed racing, but the beauty of a good story is that it connects universally. Alp’s dedication, resilience, and willingness to keep pushing even when things don’t go as planned and resonates far beyond motorcycles.

At its heart, this is a story about what it takes to pursue something you’re passionate about. It’s about the joy and the struggle, the setbacks and the breakthroughs. And its setting is both breathtakingly beautiful and increasingly fragile, with ecological pressures threatening its future. My hope is that people see not only Alp’s story but also the larger human story it reflects: the drive to create, to test limits, and to leave something meaningful behind.