The Iron Claw (2023)

Score: 3 / 5

It's always a matter of time until the next sports biopic hits cinemas, and wrestling is one of the more popular topics. Showmanship often matters as much as sportsmanship in this sub-subgenre, and these qualities are often dramatized in sharp contrast to the sordid or challenging private lives of the athletes themselves. The Iron Claw, a rare sports biopic from A24, is hardly different from the mold in that regard as it chronicles the real life story of the Von Erich family from Texas. By film's end, you'd be hard-pressed to categorize this story as anything other than tragedy, but what's fascinating is that the film itself stubbornly refuses to lean into any defining aesthetic or intrigue in its approach to the Von Erichs. Which ultimately makes the film indistinct and forgettable, seemingly undermining its purpose for existing.

Protagonist Kevin is the oldest of the five living Von Erich sons (his older brother Jack died at the age of six) and recently decorated Texas heavyweight champion. Zac Efron has beefed up almost alarmingly for the role, which he inhabits with a muscular suavity that makes him at times unrecognizable. Kevin is a good man, level-headed and patient, whose greatest joy in life is spending time with his brothers, in the ring or out. It almost makes him miss out on the romance of his life, Pam (Lily James), who is a fan until they marry and she bears his kids. Their interactions are shallow and one-note, sadly, when compared to much more dynamic scenes with the brothers, and you can feel the actors not knowing quite what to do with each other.

Meanwhile, patriarch Fritz is utterly terrifying as played by Holt McCallany, a former professional wrestler who encourages rivalry and conflict between his sons to push them to be higher achievers than they themselves desire. Despite the heartache (and deaths) his behavior causes, McCallany remains similarly stoic and one-note, which would work wonderfully if the other characters weren't also inert. His wife Doris (Maura Tierney) is rendered practically silent, which is a crying shame, though her gravitas is welcome. The film belongs to the four sons included in the screenplay; real-life youngest brother Chris is omitted entirely by the film, which makes no sense whatsoever, since the whole point of their story is their unwittingly toxic family unit and the joys and dangers of fraternal ties. So much for honoring the source material.

The brothers included, however, are wonderfully realized in the capable hands of their performers. Apart from Efron, who does absolutely everything he can with the dialogue, the brothers are rounded out by Jeremy Allen White, Harris Dickinson, and Stanley Simons. White's Kerry is an addict and tends to sabotage himself, though he's palpably better when with his brothers. Dickinson's David is the best on camera and in front of an audience, though he seems to feel bad about upstaging his brothers while deferring to their father's demands. Simons's Mike, the youngest depicted, is a musician and doesn't even want to fight; he's supported in his endeavors by his brothers (especially Kevin), but even their combined willpower cows before that of Fritz. 

Writer and director Sean Durkin (who helmed Martha Marcy May Marlene and The Nest, both similarly dark and brooding features) seems to have woefully misstepped here, though it's hard to pinpoint exactly what went awry. It's not in acting, despite his flatly written characters and thickly melodramatic dialogue. It's not in production design, which seems overwhelmed by its own nostalgia at times when we're forced to linger on bad '80s hair and clothes and the accoutrements of a Texan homestead. It's not in sound or camera, which coalesce into a muted, somber, steamy atmosphere of sweat-slicked bodies that never seem clean and the counterpoints of roaring crowds in dark arenas and family car rides through sun-soaked plains. It's rather a failure of writing, editing, and over-directing. Durkin leans into the feel of the film and sacrifices its tragic meat, forcing the characters into one-note caricatures their actors then desperately scramble to salvage. He also sacrifices meaningful character development in order to push the plot forward and cover more historical ground, which is almost laughable considering Chris's absence.