The Guardian (USA)

The Iron Claw review – underpower­ed drama dulls impact of real-life wrestling tragedy

- Adrian Horton

The Iron Claw, written and directed by Sean Durkin, takes its name from the signature move by Fritz Von Erich, the wrestling persona created by Jack Adkisson in the 1950s: an unmovable grip on the face, tight pressure on both temples, paralyzing an opponent to the ground. The move would certainly hurt if applied with effort but, as with most of profession­al wrestling, it’s hard to tell the line between feat of athleticis­m and performanc­e, real pressure and theatrics.

Which should be interestin­g territory for Durkin, whose two previous features, the eerie cult psycho-drama Martha Marcy May Marlene and 80sset The Nest, are unnerving tangles of the real and imagined, strange comminglin­gs of the supernatur­al, psychologi­cal and social. Like The Nest, The Iron Claw depicts the dissolutio­n of a family under financial pressure – in this case, the real-life Von Erich lineage in American profession­al wrestling begun by the imposing Fritz (Holt McCallany) and wife Doris (an underused Maura Tierney) and continued by their sons. As with Durkin’s other characters, the Von Erichs are afflicted with paranoia (or a reaction to it): that the so-called family “curse” – a sports legend of hardship, injury, malaise and death in certain segments of the US – will come for them.

But whereas Durkin’s other work is twisty, non-linear, shifting between time or viewpoint, The Iron Claw is relatively straightfo­rward and, despite a roster of committed performanc­es, frustratin­gly opaque. The story is bookended by musings on the curse by Kevin Von Erich (Zac Efron), Fritz’s second-oldest son, sole survivor of five brothers and our guide through this A24-produced tale of sports success and woe in 1980s Texas. (The oldest son, Jack Jr, died in a freak accident at age six, an early-stage manifestat­ion of the “curse”.)

Efron, with his newly prominent jaw and muscles nearly bursting out of their sinews, looks and moves like a man uncomforta­ble in his skin. The impression befits the role – Kevin is Fritz’s true student of wrestling (and thus recipient of the brunt of his ambitions and insecuriti­es), yet the least naturally suited of the brothers to the sport’s demands of showmanshi­p and bravado. Helpfully for the uninitiate­d, Kevin explains the system of wrestling championsh­ips – a belt is basically an award for performanc­e – on a first date with Pam (Lily James), the woman summarily hurried through the steps of spectator, suitor, girlfriend, strained wife.

The Iron Claw initially revels in the campy dramatics and base pleasures of pre-WWE profession­al wrestling with a remarkably vivid sense of place; the Sportatori­um mini-arena where Fritz Von Erich hosted his own tournament circuit in Dallas is both dingy local watering hole and a spectacle of triumph to a few thousand regulars. Durkin’s sly camerawork and deft sound design capture the propulsive sensations of profession­al wrestling – enough to flinch at the performers’ physical extremity and pain but not so much to drive the squeamish away. And there’s a slick energy to the homespun, genuine charm that made the brothers – Kevin, David (Harris Dickinson, the most compelling of the bunch), Kerry (The Bear’s Jeremy Allen White) and Mike (Stanley Simons) – successful, a renowned family in wrestling.

That is, until things start devolving, and the film becomes a grim procession of tragedies, devastatin­g in abstract but, given little space to land despite its two-hour, 12-minute runtime, hard to really feel. For the sake of economy, a whole son and his tragic end has been elided from this retelling, which is unbelievab­le for just how much pain this family went through. Durkin presents the legendary curse as part superstiti­on, driving Kevin from his apartment for fear of infecting Pam and their young child with misfortune, part reality – what else explains all this suffering? – and most interestin­gly, as a code and cover for mental illness in a predominan­tly male family.

And yet, so much of it is at a remove; with the exception of Kevin, we spend minimal time with each brother and learn little beyond their persona within in the family. Same, too, for Fritz, who manages to say he’s proud of his sons but is, at core, hard, harsh and uncompromi­sing. And even for profession­al wrestling, which in the film’s latter montages becomes difficult to understand as a sport – the line between genuine pain and performanc­e more confusing than provocativ­e.

Still, the Von Erichs endured so much loss, and Durkin manages to convey some of it. There’s a palpable emptiness, a muted quality, to the second half of the film, as Kevin finds himself increasing­ly alone and Efron plays a man who, without family, is without a compass. The final scene should bring any feeling human to tears, but for a story this tragic, you’d hope for more.

The Iron Claw is released in US cinemas on 22 December and in the UK on 9 February 2024

times, pleasure is just pleasure: “I like my coffee with some head in the morning,” she asserts in a knowing flutter on the sumptuous Disguise, with a chorus so thick with yearning it could be a Bollywood love song. But elsewhere, she’s sharply aware of how those three wants intertwine, and how people might use her for any one of them: “It’s ’cause my money’s just too long / The thought of me spendin’, gives you goose bumps,” she offers in weary, whispery falsetto on gently buoyant Reckless & Sweet.

Despite the potential climbers,

Amaarae remains unbridled in her pursuit of gratificat­ion. On Come Home to God, she even places herself as the almighty – “Shawty say she love me like she love the Lord / When I’m in that pussy, I’m above the law.” Sex, Violence, Suicide crescendos from a delicate Auto-Tuned ballad ruminating on a relationsh­ip that’s not working (“What’s wrong with us? / Is that I love you?”) into snarling, shouty punk aided by UK rock trio Dream Wife. By the second half, her roaring ego isn’t wasting time feeling bad about herself: “Don’t care ’bout what I’m asking you / Just fucking tell me, ‘Yes’ / Tell me I’m the one / Tell me I’m the best.” Her ego remains unbridled, too – but the abundance of Fountain Baby is an act of generosity, strapping in the listener to accompany Amaarae on her gloriously confident romp in pursuit of pleasure.

 ?? ?? Zac Efron in The Iron Claw. Photograph: Everett Collection Inc/Alamy
Zac Efron in The Iron Claw. Photograph: Everett Collection Inc/Alamy

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