Worth: $15.99
FilmInk rates movies out of $20 — the score indicates the amount we believe a ticket to the movie to be worth
Cast:
Zac Efron, Jeremy Allen White, Harris Dickinson, Holt McCallany, Maura Tierney, Lily James
Intro:
… a palpably devastating drama …
For the right audience, getting to see an absolutely jacked Zac Efron in his tighty-whiteys for a not-insubstantial amount of screentime, would be reason enough to watch this. And indeed, there’s plenty of Texan-fried beefcake on offer in this biopic about the Von Erich wrestling dynasty, with Efron starring alongside Jeremy Allen White and Harris Dickinson as brothers Kevin, Kerry, and David respectively, all under the tutelage of Holt McCallany as their father Fritz.
As overseen by the film’s stunt leads Hiro Koda and pro wrestler Chavo Guerrero Jr., the action scenes are incredibly well-done. The camerawork from DP Mátyás Erdély gives audiences a gold-tinged ringside seat to some impressive physicality, getting close enough to bring out the most from every body blow but not too close as to obscure the choreography.
But this isn’t really a sports movie. In a lot of scenes, not just relegated to the wrestling matches, the camera will slowly zoom in on something happening in background, away from what so many years of sports movies have trained us to consider the main action. And most of the time, what’s being zoomed in on is Kevin himself, on the sidelines either waiting for a tag-in that doesn’t occur, or just watching his brothers get all the love and attention from their dad by succeeding in the ring.
No, beyond a simple sports movie, this more closely resembles Greek tragedy in its depiction of a family wrestling not with flesh and blood, but with a supposed ‘curse’ on the family name. A curse that, over the course of the film, we see root itself deep inside these brothers, pushing them to maximum exertion in the hope that they will survive whatever life throws at them. And if they falter, it’s only because they didn’t try hard enough.
The curse itself isn’t anything mystical; rather, it’s the toxic influence of Fritz as the patriarch. Taking the machismo that is regularly associated with wrestling and removing the veneer of power fantasy from it, writer/director Sean Durkin highlights a family that’s been taught to lock themselves away from their emotions, to consider their shared legacy as more important than the anguish required to build it. As Kevin finds himself not only further away from the adoration of the crowd, but also from his own family, Efron’s embodiment of survivor’s guilt and simmering desperation makes for some of his most impassioned work to date (which is saying something for an actor whose only moves nowadays are leaps and bounds). To say nothing of McCallany’s effectively grim portrayal, giving a horrifyingly realistic face to the attitude of ‘I’m not here for you, you’re here for me’.
The Iron Claw has immediate and visceral impact to burn, but its real worth comes from its empathetic exploration of the psychological pain of its characters. It’s a palpably devastating drama that presents a tragic cycle of enforced expectations and emotional implosion, showing true strength measured not by championship belts but by the breaking of that cycle.
