The true story of the inseparable Von Erich brothers, who made history in the intensely competitive world of professional wrestling in the early 1980s.
The weeks leading up to Christmas are such prime release weeks when it comes to movies that if a studio plants its flag on one of those Fridays, the odds are good they have something that either works or works well compared to everything else that’s out. “The Iron Claw” is one of those counter-programming moves from savvy indie distributor A24 that highlights big talent names (Jeremy Allen ‘Yes Chef’ White, Harris ‘I’ve Seen Him Before Somewhere…’ Dickinson, the great Holt McCallany, and Zac Efron.) It’s perfectly positioned as a gnarly antidote to the saccharine tones of Wonka or the quietly beautiful “The Boy and the Heron.” The classic rock needle drops alone promise plenty of wrestling action, but what this story really wants to develop is this one-family tale of a curse. With more tender moments than body slams, this movie lives and dies by its drama, but the limits of its craft feel exposed. What should be a gut-wrenching melodrama feels just good enough to get you misty-eyed and no more.
The film follows the legend of the Von Erich family. Patriarch Fritz Von Erich (McCallany) never got the championship belt he was promised, so he raised four sons, all to take over the family name. Kevin (Zac Efron), the second oldest (the oldest died at a young age), dutifully lifts his weights, drinks his protein, and cares for his wilder brothers on his path to winning the belt. Kevin’s whole life is wrestling until the day he meets Pam (played by the affable Lily James.) His younger brothers Kerry (White), David (Dickinson), and baby brother Michael (Stanley Simons) grapple with trying to impress their impossible father. Even as Fritz leans on the youngest to start bulking up, Kerry’s wrestling surpasses Kevin. One by one, the brothers all try for greatness, and even though they come close, tragedy tears the family apart. Kevin must navigate death, fame, loss, an angry dad, and deep despair to avoid collapsing under the legendary ‘Von Erich Curse.’
Let’s get this part over with: I have never seen a human with more muscles (fake or otherwise) than Zac Efron. White’s beefed up, too, that’s fair, but Efron’s square jaw matches so sternly with his absolute block physique that it’s more a fantasy casting for He-Man than a real person. Seriously, who is his trainer at this point? The things Efron’s doing with his body feel like they push the limits of human endurance. It would give Christian Bale a run for his money, without a doubt.
The movie feels so perfectly encapsulated in its small settings. Whether it’s the family ranch or the sportatorium in Dallas, the film looks and feels indie to its core. Its laser-focused camera never loses sight of the family amidst all the cool wrestling moves. This wrestling, in fact, effortlessly nails the gritty texture of the 1980s. The gyms are stained. The mats are sweaty. The hair is mullet-length. Everything drips with dust and sweat. Everyone works out in jeans or jean shorts. Its period piece sensibilities are impeccable.
Efron carries this movie from beginning to end. His sweet-natured, lovable older brother bleeds for his brothers. The masculine stone-faced white-knuckling emotions play quietly across his baby blue eyes. You genuinely feel for this guy. Similarly, all his brothers land their beats with aplomb, even though they weave in and out of the movie enough for you to feel the producer’s scheduling efforts.
So much of this film feels…. Functional. Like the camerawork running and gunning the wrestling scenes with rapid cuts to stitch it all together or the roving camerawork during more tragic beats. Lighting comes across as more natural but minimalist to a degree of obscuring more than revealing. The performances work well for the character, but the actors don’t often get too much to perform across the board. This hell-bent patriarch wrestling story feels more like a mix of “Foxcatcher” meets “The Wrestler” to a degree it feels a little less than novel. Don’t get me wrong, I want to root for this movie. Its classic rock needle drops and excitable wrestling sequences balance evenly with its quiet countryside cutaways. It’s a movie that’s content not to show too much grisly tragedy but instead meet its characters as they learn of the tragic events. It’s more concerned with emotions before or after the event rather than the event itself, which can make good drama but can also feel like a budget move.
My biggest gripe is seeing my home city on the screen dozens of times (the modern Dallas skyline plays so prominently so much), and yet the film was shot in Baton Rouge with sections in Canada. I wouldn’t hold the producer accountable; that’s just good film accounting. What bugs me is another example of a great Texas-centric story (these good ‘ol boys literally country line dance at a wedding) finding its production home anywhere but Texas. Aside from the one insert, it skips the physical production in Dallas in favor of cheaper locations, more incentives, and overall easier production in neighboring Louisiana. No wonder there’s a constant joke among crews in Dallas that if it’s ‘narrative,’ it’s cheap or no pay. For a film that had its world premiere at the Texas Theater back home, it also deserved to bring more work to the city.
“The Iron Claw” feels like any functional sports drama. An abusive father and a submissive mother raise a bunch of athletes who push themselves too far to impress their dad. One by one, the sons succumb to the pressures. Drugs, alcohol, wrestling. For some reason, we have circled the well of ‘wrestling as sanctioned self-abuse’ at least three times, so “The Iron Claw” is the latest to dip its toe in the waters.
In Theaters Friday, December 22nd
