The Iron Claw

I watched The Iron Claw sitting next to a guy who kept whispering "that’s a work" every time someone took a bump in the ring, and I’ve never wanted to hit a stranger with a folding chair more in my life. Not because he was wrong—wrestling is, of course, a choreographed dance of high-stakes theater—but because he was missing the point of what Sean Durkin was doing. This isn’t a movie about whether the punches land; it’s a movie about the bruises you can’t see.

In an era of cinema often defined by the glossy, frictionless surfaces of superhero IP, there is something startlingly tactile about The Iron Claw. It’s a "sweat-and-blood" movie. You can almost smell the stale beer and Ben-Gay wafting off the screen. It tells the true, deeply cursed story of the Von Erich family, a wrestling dynasty in 1980s Texas that climbed to the top of the mountain only to find a sheer drop on the other side.

The High Cost of the Heavyweight Belt

At the center of it all is Zac Efron as Kevin Von Erich. I’ll be honest: I spent the first ten minutes just trying to process his physique. He looks less like a human being and more like a collection of topographical maps of various mountain ranges. But once you get past the "Efron-formation," you realize he’s giving the performance of his career. He plays Kevin with a heartbreaking, wide-eyed sweetness—a man-child trying to be a "good son" in a house where "good" is measured in gold belts and suppressed tears.

The family patriarch, Fritz Von Erich (played with terrifying, mid-century rigidity by Holt McCallany), runs his household like a depth chart. He tells his sons he loves them, but adds the caveat that they are ranked in order of his favor. It’s a brutal, contemporary look at toxic masculinity before we had a catchy clinical term for it. Holt McCallany (who many of us loved in Mindhunter) doesn’t play Fritz as a mustache-twirling villain, but as a man who genuinely believes that if he can just make his sons hard enough, the world can’t break them. The true villain isn't a supernatural curse; it’s a father who treats his sons like a deck of trading cards.

Spandex, Siblinghood, and Stoicism

The chemistry between the brothers—Jeremy Allen White as the "Texas Tornado" Kerry, Harris Dickinson as David, and Stanley Simons as the sensitive Mike—is the film's beating heart. Jeremy Allen White brings that same jittery, soulful intensity he perfected in The Bear, playing a man whose body is a temple that’s slowly being demolished.

There’s a beautiful, tragic irony in how Sean Durkin shoots the wrestling sequences. Cinematographer Mátyás Erdély (who gave us the claustrophobic brilliance of Son of Saul) treats the ring like a sanctuary. Inside the ropes, the brothers are safe; they know the rules. It’s only when they step through the curtain back into the "real world"—their father’s world—that things fall apart.

I found myself thinking a lot about the "A24-ification" of the sports biopic while watching this. Traditionally, these movies follow a "triumph-struggle-redemption" arc. The Iron Claw skips the triumph and goes straight for a slow-motion car crash of existential dread. It’s a film that asks what happens when you’re told your whole life that you’re a champion, but you don’t actually know who you are when the music stops playing.

The Ghost in the Ring

One of the big talking points on social media when this was released was the omission of the youngest brother, Chris Von Erich. In real life, there was another sibling whose story ended just as tragically as the others. Sean Durkin made the controversial choice to cut him out, arguing that the movie simply couldn't hold any more grief without becoming unbearable. I understand the criticism—it’s a weird feeling to watch a "true story" that leaves out a human being—but as a piece of narrative art, I get it. The film already feels like it’s gasping for air by the third act.

The score by Richard Reed Parry (of Arcade Fire fame) helps ground the tragedy. It doesn't lean into 80s synth-pop nostalgia; instead, it’s somber and haunting, punctuating the moments where the "Von Erich Curse" claims another victim. It makes the final, somewhat metaphysical sequence—a vision of what lies beyond the ring—feel earned rather than cheesy.

In our current cultural moment, where we’re finally having more honest conversations about the mental health of athletes and the cost of performance, The Iron Claw feels incredibly relevant. It’s a reminder that the strongest grip in the world—the one the title refers to—isn't a wrestling move. It’s the way we hold onto expectations until they crush the life out of us. The bowl cuts are the only thing more devastating than the emotional trauma.

The film lingers long after the credits roll, mostly because it refuses to give you the easy out of a "big win" finale. It’s a heavy sit, for sure, but there’s a strange, flickering light at the end of the tunnel. It’s the kind of movie that makes you want to call your brothers, tell them you love them, and then maybe suggest everyone goes to therapy instead of the gym. Kevin Von Erich’s survival isn't just a plot point; it feels like a hard-won miracle.