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The Palio — a twice-yearly horse race that takes place in Siena, Italy every July and August — is the type of cultural phenomenon that begs to be captured on film. After months of preparation, ten horses, each representing a different contrada, or district, meet in the central piazza to run a frantic race that lasts just 80 seconds. The winner is the first horse to cross the finish line, with or without a jockey. Each district's reputation hinges on the outcome, and the Sienese take it all very seriously: Before the race, the citizens of each district lead their horse into a local church to be blessed.

Director John Appel is the first outsider ever given permission to document the event, which dates back to the Renaissance. Instead of focusing on the race itself, he follows the residents of Civetta, the smallest contrada, as they prepare for the race they last won in 1979. His documentary, The Last Victory, is a nice introduction to this fascinating and utterly unique tradition — but it is just that, an introduction. Appel doesn't dig any deeper, to find out exactly what it is about this race that drives an entire town to give it quasi-religious significance.

Our guides are Egidio, 93, a district councilman who wants to see Civetta win one more time before he dies, and Paolo, 22, the stablehand who compares winning the Palio to an orgasm. The two offer contrasting perspectives. Egidio's is dignified and nostalgic, placing the race within the context of the spirit of community; speaking for the whole of Civetta, he eloquently verbalizes the emotions that ripple through the town as race day approaches. "It's pure suffering," he says, when describing the wait for the race to start. Paolo's take is more fanatical; for him, the race is not so much a social occasion as a sporting event, like a calcio (soccer) game. "Sometimes I dream that I'm crying and hugging the horse that has won the Palio," he says.

In truth, the Palio does share some elements with calcio: passionate fans, team flags hanging all over the town, crowds congregating around TV sets in shop windows. But they differ in some crucial respects: While football fans usually have a choice in which team they support, the Sienese are forever tied to the district they're born into.

Through casual interviews and fly-on-the-wall observation, Appel gives clues as to how closely the race is tied to the district's sense of identity. Children are baptized wrapped in the district flag, the selection of the horse (done by lottery or, in the eyes of a deeply religious community, chosen by Fate) reduces people to tears, and the horse's stable is fitted out like a mansion, complete with chandelier and framed portraits of past winners. By piling on these details, Appel brings us a little deeper into this world both so familiar and so alien.

It isn't enough, though. The interviews, while often touching and sometimes amusing, paint little more than an outline of the Civettans' emotional attachment to the race. This isn't completely the director's fault: the small community's distrust of the camera is evident. Edigio, Paolo and the others are guarded with their feelings and no amount of visual spectacle can make up for the sense that something is missing. And Appel, on-camera, at least, never asks the obvious question: Why do you care so much about an 80-second horse race? The absence of voice-over does give the film an intimate feel, but it also means we are left to figure out what's going on. When race fans gather in the town square, all wearing their district t-shirts and waving their flags, it takes several minutes to realize that they've gathered, not for the race itself, but to hear the lottery for the horses. It's unnecessary confusion that could be easily cleared up by a narrator or subtitles.

Appel also neglects to give any explanation of the rules of the race or its history (thank goodness for press notes and Google), assuming we either already know or don't need to. Which begs the question of who his audience is: people who have experienced the Palio or those who have never heard of it before?

The point where Appel lets his audience down the most is at the end: at the critical moment of the race, just before the horses finish the final lap, he turns the camera away from the action and forces us to watch the crowds. Their reaction is intense — cheers, sobs, hugging, fighting and, for some of the losers, stunned, silent disbelief — but it leaves us cold. By denying us the chance to share in the result, Appel makes emotional investment impossible. After all, the concept of the Palio may be foreign to most, but the concept of winning and losing is universal. Without it, The Last Victory (which opens August 6 in the U.K. and later this summer in the rest of Europe) is ultimately an empty one.

• JUMANA FAROUKY
• The Last Victory serves up some interesting moments, but doesn't look deeply enough