The Iron Claw (2023)

Goddamn, did Sean Durkin hit me from the top rope on this one. The Iron Claw was evidently a long-gestating passion project for Durkin, and every year of that can be seen in his careful, meticulous, gorgeously choreographed depiction of one of the most harrowing and tragic family stories in American athletics. The Von Erich clan's saga is notorious in the world of wrestling (and I have been tangentially aware of it until I listened to Robert Evans's excellent breakdown of the events in his first installment of his six-part Vince McMahon takedown on Behind the Bastards), and while Durkin is forced to take some artistic liberties with the story (namely by excising one brother and compressing some of the tragedies to fit a more cinematically friendly timeline), he captures the agony and the ecstasy the Von Erichs endured so vividly.

What's more is that every single role in the film is meaty enough for their actors to sink their teeth into with relish, and everyone (and I mean everyone) steps up to the plate. As single-minded pater familias Fritz, Holt McCallany's laser-intense disapproval and monomaniacal urge to win at all costs could easily have gone off the rails, but he sidesteps cartoonishness and retains humanity every step of the way. We understand Fritz's drive and can see his desire as a savage twist of fatherly love and pride, because he does want the best for his boys . . . but he doesn't realize that being the best is not necessarily what's best. Maura Tierney has perhaps the most subdued role as Von Erich matriarch Dottie, but in the film's back half we see the true cost of motherhood's sacrifice etched in her visage, which supplements the entire performance when you take it as a whole. Lily James acquits herself well in what could have been a thankless one-dimensional role as the protagonist's love interest, showing little moments that cut deep when we see her realize that for all of her amour's physical strengths, he is often not strong enough in other ways to endure life's hardships.

And then you've got the boys themselves. Stanley Simons, who plays sensitive youngest brother Mike (who seems to have no real drive or interest in pursuing the family business), is a revelatory find here, hitting some of the film's more tragic beats with an almost D'Onofrio-like intensity. Jeremy Allen White's searing performance as Olympian-in-training Kerry could've warranted a film all on his own, and it shows that this guy has the chops to make it far on the auteur scene; there's some definitely Phoenix energy here that needs to be taken advantage of. And Harris Dickinson, who won me over brilliantly in his 2022 twofer, gives what might be the best supporting performance of the bunch as hype-man David, with a McConaughey-esque swagger that proves he would've been a perfect Elvis.

But then there's Zac Efron as oldest brother David. Ho. Lee. Shit. Efron's been champing at the bit to break free of the pretty-boy persona for quite a while with bold, eclectic roles (notably his Ted Bundy a few years back), but this performance is a juggernaut turn that should immediately obliterate any preconceived High School Musical notions. It's a performance that invokes the physicality of De Niro's La Motta, with a bruised vulnerability that comes off almost child-like at times. David is consumed not with love of the sport, but by love of his family and the duty bestowed on him by their stern taskmaster father to set an example for his brothers. The weight of the Von Erich legacy (and the Von Erich curse that comes along with it) hangs around David's neck like an albatross, and Efron's every breath and movement feels like he's struggling against that anchor, and any time that a glimmer of happiness comes into his life, he's holding his breath knowing the other shoe is about to drop. This is a true awards-caliber biopic portrayal and if there were any justice in the world, this would be the performance to beat come Oscar time.

The thing I found most impressive is how Durkin managed to portray this increasingly mounting tragedy without making it feel exhausting. There is certainly a version of this where the constant heaping of grief and misery could fall into the realm of the eye-rollingly ridiculous (i.e. the cancer diagnosis in Maestro), but The Iron Claw is far nimbler than one might expect. Durkin's choreographed it so precisely that every move packs a wallop, but gives room to breathe and recover before going in for the next killer shot.

I presume you meant it was all in Kevin's mind. I've seen that elsewhere and think that's what the film is going for, but that renders its specific placement necessary and that is where I have a bit of a problem with it.

Also, the first thing I thought of when the scene revealed itself was Flealick:

The highlight of the movie was the cast chemistry - capturing the primal, healing dynamic btwn the four brothers (and then, Pam) helped deliver the blow of each brother’s passing. Otherwise it felt like each brother’s arc (other than Kevin) was underwritten, with very shallow lead up to each tragedy, which is shocking considering they excised an entire brother from the narrative and the runtime was a little over 2 hours.

I’m curious how folks would rank the cast. Efron, Dickinson, and James were the standouts for me. McCallaney and Simons were solid. Allen White and Tierney I felt could’ve done a lot more had they been given more to do. Tierney especially so, where she felt quite one-note for what was a dynamic role with a lot (presumably) bubbling below the surface.

I’d give it a 7.5/10, a solid movie with excellent performances that emotionally landed but could’ve been utterly devastating with a script that did a deeper dive for each layer of tragedy that befell this family.

Not a bad idea at all. I'd also love a miniseries on the Hart family someday.