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.

Extremely Wicked, Shockingly Evil and Vile (2019)

Score: 3.5 / 5

I have strongly contrasting opinions about this movie, and this is a rare case where my ambivalence does not particularly help the film in my esteem. And it begins with that historically accurate yet terribly cumbersome title.

The story indeed follows the life of Ted Bundy, here played by a more mature Zac Efron than we've seen since The Paperboy. Looking, as he does, uncannily like the handsome serial killer, Efron manages to play the character remarkably straight, never resorting to caricature or even relishing in the horror of the real man, in the way you might expect camp horror to (I'm thinking if Bundy were to ever appear on American Horror Story). His performance is so deeply layered that some might call it opaque, and I wouldn't say that, here, that's a bad thing; Efron does not give us any footholds, displaying Bundy in his charming wonder behind a blinding smokescreen of suavity. It helps that Efron's public persona is almost exclusively positive and popular, but here he is notably not playing any of his own strengths, and I didn't see a single -ism of his on screen. 

Most fascinating to me, though, is how tightly Efron and director Joe Berlinger work together to craft the film around his character. We never see Bundy committing any of his many murders. While I value the utter refusal to glorify his violence, the lack of it entirely almost does glorify it, doesn't it? It seems to suggest that his crimes occurred in a void, affecting no one, and are perhaps even forgettable, despite that many of his victims have friends and family still alive and mourning. Even more interesting, in this context, is that Bundy himself, bereft of the visual dynamic of his sins, becomes an utter void on screen. Efron's magnetic performance pulls us in, but in to what? He is a blank slate, a repository for all the headlines and accusations and charges leveled at him, but one that could possibly be -- forgive me for even suggesting it -- innocent. If the film is indeed trying to gaslight us (which I don't think it's smart enough to do, but more than once I wondered), it is surely because of its real focus.

The film's primary dramatic character is in fact Liz Kendall (Lily Collins), the barely fictionalized Elizabeth Kloepfer who literally wrote the book of being Bundy's girlfriend. Collins plays the character's insecurities to a tee, which makes her less interesting for us but perfect prey for Efron's Bundy. I say "prey" not because she winds up at the end of his knife but because the film eventually edits itself around her perspective as she begins to suspect the dark heart of the man she loves and has entrusted her daughter with. The too-good-to-be-true boyfriend Bundy is shown to us in blissful home video footage even as Liz turns to look at the latest news bulletin on television describing more brutal murders. Even in scenes where we only follow Bundy, Efron and the screenplay refuse to let us in on his secrets. I kept waiting for the murdering, the final blow of violence, and it never came, unless you count his increasingly adamant declarations of innocence. We never hear his thoughts, we never see his past, we never see his sins. The film, smartly I think, doesn't even try to rationalize his behavior by examining his childhood, development, or philosophy. That's obviously because it's impossible to rationalize him, but any attempt to do so belongs with criminal psychologists in a documentary, not in a Netflix drama.

I did, however, wish for a bit more; I just don't know of what. I found the courtroom climax -- courtroom dramas often boast my favorite climaxes -- dull, despite John Malkovich presiding with his deeply biting tone, because we've literally seen it before. There is a time and place for painstakingly recreated drama, and this one is just not it, especially not with numerous other Bundy documentaries streaming online at the same time. I wondered, during the movie, if Berlinger was relying too heavily on Efron and was otherwise incapable of making an interesting movie. And that may be true, but it's also highly possible that Berlinger was about a very different business than capturing a real-life boogeyman. What I liked most about this movie, and why I think I'd recommend it to any true crime fans, is that its refusal to reveal any hint of Bundy's "extremely wicked, shockingly evil and vile"-ness, is what makes the film so terrifying. His evil was real, as the film's deep understanding of him shares with us, and the only people who got to see it firsthand weren't able to warn others.

The Disaster Artist (2017)

Score: 4.5 / 5

This is the validation his fans have been waiting for the last few years.

Star and director James Franco has crafted one of the biggest Oscar-bait movies this season in The Disaster Artist, a re-creation of the making of The Room, widely regarded as one of the worst movies ever made. Having never seen that film, I wasn't entirely sure what I was walking into. Thankfully, Franco and his filmmaking team make it totally accessible, and by the end I felt that I had seen all of The Room that I will ever need to see. Franco himself plays that film's actor and director Tommy Wiseau, and his performance is one for the ages. A masterful blending of movement and vocal work, mystery, and stunningly perfect comedic delivery, Franco as Wiseau will surely be in the race for an Oscar.

The Disaster Artist chronicles the development and production of the cult film while it also recounts the affectionate friendship between Wiseau and Greg Sestero (played to perfection by Dave Franco), his line producer and fellow actor. The film is far more than a buddy bromance or situational comedy about failed moviemaking. It's a consummate work of art, a film about the artistic process and the toll it takes on his craftsmen. Not unlike Birdman and other films, it has both side-splitting humor and deeply moving pathos, asking the audience to consider our own perspective on celebrity life and movie culture, and ultimately what we would do in pursuit of our dreams. Like this film's depiction of Wiseau, is it so bad to "fail" when we managed to chase and achieve our own goals?

As a movie about movies, this flick is also a meta-commentary on filmmaking, and in that regard Franco shines still more bright. He has loaded the film with stars and cameos, from Bryan Cranston playing himself to Jacki Weaver (who always deserves more screen time) as a supporting actress. Josh Hutcherson and Zac Efron pop in as newbie actors, Alison Brie and Sharon Stone and Megan Mullally play some of the women in Sestero's life. Really, the whole thing sounds like an ensemble piece. But it's not, and though it could have easily been an old fashioned madcap comedy, Franco -- I think rightly -- keeps everything realistic. Bizarre, certainly, but grounded in honest hopes and fears that resonate in an age when art and freedom of expression are being assailed by our government.

And, of course, it's just fabulous entertainment.

IMDb: The Disaster Artist

The Greatest Showman (2017)

Score: 5 / 5

An exuberant love letter to show business, The Greatest Showman is also one of the best pictures this year. Directed by Michael Gracey in his feature debut, this film is at once safely familiar and improbably fresh in execution. Though the historicity of its source material -- the real-life P.T. Barnum as he creates his renowned circus -- is never more than dubious, this movie is not meant to be a biopic. It's a musical, for heaven's sake! Rather, this film plays out like a fantasy (in the style of Chicago, Nine, Burlesque, or Glee) of life on the edges of society lived to the fullest. Its songs each mention stars, dreams, and love, and the film is full of each of these elements. The film is a nearly perfect marriage of style and substance, though the style is infinitely more engaging from this viewer's perspective.

The best thing about this movie -- and there are almost no bad things to consider, so the list is lengthy -- is its soundtrack. It's easily the best soundtrack this year and the most cohesive in thematic scope, surpassing even the Fifty Shades sequel soundtrack, which is again amazing. Scored by Pasek and Paul (Dear Evan Hansen, La La Land), the pop-Broadway beats and flair carry the film with seemingly little effort. Rousing ensemble numbers like "The Greatest Show", "Come Alive", and "From Now On" each grow from quiet intros to explosive dance beats and choral glory. Even soft solo numbers soar to heartrending heights, as in "Tightrope", "A Million Dreams", and my personal favorite, "Never Enough". And, of course, the romantic duet "Rewrite the Stars" deserves a place on every radio station. Taking the cake, though, is the Golden Globe-nominated song "This Is Me", which was featured on the trailer for the film as well, a powerhouse ensemble number declaring personal and communal empowerment for everyone who has felt out of place or different.

While the basic premise of the story is problematic when summarized -- Barnum grows through toil and strife to become the dreamer of fabulous dreams whose primary motivator is money, which he gains by exploiting "freaks" and undesirables -- the film does not solely focus on Barnum's character, played to perfection by Hugh Jackman. Its heart, rather, lies with the entertainers in his circus and the other lives around him, including those of his business partner (a typically excellent Zac Efron) and family (his wife is played magnificently by Michelle Williams). And while the film spends most of its time on these rich white people, I would argue that the most emotionally resonant scenes come from its freaks. The turn of the film is also the first act finale (were this to become a stage musical, which I hope happens) "This Is Me", in which Barnum is totally absent. The performers, excluded from a high society party by their boss, regroup and march through town, saying, "I'm not scared to be seen / I make no apologies" and showing that they are capable not only of running the show themselves but also of owning themselves in a world that hates them.

The film is thus an inspiration for the outcasts, the losers, the freaks. People with different skin colors, sexuality, abilities, and backgrounds are the heroes here. They band together not to fight the things they hate but to celebrate the things they love. They embrace themselves as they are and put it all on show. And in the process they change the hearts and minds of young hegemonic people who see them perform. It's a film so dripping with social justice commentary that it plays out like a manifesto of those who are and have been terrorized by the Trump administration. While not all its commentary is ideal -- there are always the problems of capitalism and exploitation looming -- it also doesn't necessarily promote those things at odds with its plebeian gospel.

Of course, it's also the most fun I've had at the movies in ages. Not a moment passes that isn't as richly detailed, sequined, glittering, or joyful as anything in Burlesque or even a Baz Luhrmann movie (Gatsby, I'm looking at you). I was crying through the whole thing because it's just that full of infectious happiness. To be sure, this is a movie for all the artists and performers out in the world. But it's also a movie for the dreamers, the stargazers, the outsiders and insiders, and the whole family. Start your kids watching movies like this while they're young, and our future will be just fine.

IMDb: The Greatest Showman