The Mandalorian and Grogu

Director: Jon Favreau
Starring: Pedro Pascal, Jeremy Allen White, Jonny Coyne, Martin Scorsese, Sigourney Weaver, Brendan Wayne, Lateef Crowder
Running Time: 132 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★★ (out of ★★★★)  

Whatever problems exist with director Jon Favreau's The Mandalorian and Grogu actually have little to do with the film itself, which marks an admirable big screen outing for the once popular Disney+ series. The real issue is that it comes about five or six years too late, long after the show's popularity peaked and briefly gave Star Wars fans hope their franchise may have turned a corner. And with pop culture moving faster by the day, it's easy to forget just how big a moment it was when a Mandalorian bounty hunter discovered this adorable, childlike green creature we initially dubbed "Baby Yoda." 

With that reveal, it seemed as if any criticisms, complaints and lingering resentment from the sequels momentarily subsided, replaced instead with the adoration millions suddenly had for Grogu. And for at least the first two seasons, Favreau and co-creator Dave Filoni couldn't miss, crafting a deliriously creative space Western that didn't coast on overexposed legacy names of the past. That is until Disney got greedy, flooding the market with inferior spin-offs and abandoning The Mandalorian after 2023's rough third season. So now amid creative chaos and confusion, this oddly becomes the first full-length Star Wars feature to hit theaters since 2019's The Rise of Skywalker. But awful timing aside, it is a blast seeing these two characters reunited in a film that's better than expected. 

Mandalorian Din Djarin, aka "Mando" (Pedro Pascal) and his foundling Grogu are hunting down Imperial forces on the outskirts of the galaxy when New Republic commander Ward (Sigourney Weaver) tasks Mando with rescuing the late Jabba the Hutt's son Rotta (voiced by Jeremy Allen White) and returning him to Jabba's twin successors. In exchange for this, the Hutts' promise Ward intel on the whereabouts of a mysterious warlord, with Mando begrudgingly accepting the assignment after a new Razor Crest ship sweetens the deal. 

Joined by his mini apprentice, Mando is directed to the moon Shakari, where he discovers Rotta pit fighting for crime-lord Janu (Jonny Coyne), Determined not to be judged by his father's tainted legacy or take part in the family business, Rotta enjoys newfound popularity as a fighter, making his extraction messier and more complicated than Mando anticipates. With Rotta disinterested in returning home and Janu unwilling to give up his prized competitor, Mando takes drastic measures, putting him and Grogu in harm's path. Only this time it's the foundling who's called upon to protect his adoptive father. 

In keeping with recent tradition for the spin-offs, this begins with a short title card rather than the franchise's iconic opening crawl, wisely distancing it from the other films and dropping us into the action right away. For fans of the series, a formal introduction is unnecessary while new viewers won't feel lost when Favreau and Filoni stick to the familiar formula, albeit with a few added flourishes.

The central mission to save Rotta is a good one that isn't bogged down by extraneous side quests, setting Mando on a collision course with three formidable villains, two of which share a connection to one of the original trilogy's more substantial characters, both in girth and importance. And though it's awkward seeing any member of the Hutt clan move (think Jabba in Lucas's '97 Special Edition) much less engage in combat, Rotta's backstory is certainly developed well enough. So even if there's no getting around his visual limitations as a muscular, intergalactic UFC fighter, White's vocal performance creates a sympathetic character, especially in scenes opposite Grogu. We're also treated to brief but humorous voice work from Martin Scorsese as a fearful Ardennian fry cook who nearly steals the film's first half.

Sigourney Weaver's role as Ward is smaller than advertised, to the point that some of her scenes in the trailers and commercials appear to have been cut. But in terms of kicking off the plot, the actress's fair, no-nonsense approach as an authority figure can still be appreciated, however briefly. As for Grogu, he kind of tags along for the ride during the first hour, engaging in his typically cute antics while Mando handles the heavy lifting, at least until a major development changes the course of things. 

Sixty minutes in, it feels as if this story's all wrapped up and the closing credits are ready to roll. Of course, we know that's not the case as Mando gets into deeper trouble escalating from his earlier decisions. And by necessity, Grogu will become more involved, giving the film its big payoff when he takes the initiative to rescue his dad. 

Despite a slow section where maybe too much time is spent with Grogu alone in the woods, everything does come together for an exciting finale. And those still complaining about Pedro Pascal's overexposure may want to prepare themselves for Mando's helmet coming off, as it did a couple of times already during the series' run. But how he loses it is thematically warranted, hardly lacking in either context or motivation. 

If Grogu's the real star, his closest competition might come from Oscar winning composer Ludwig Göransson, whose music here actually exceeds and builds on what he did on the show. And besides a return of that main title theme majestic enough to compete with John Williams' best, his electro-synth sounds interestingly highlight Mando and Grogu's excursion into Shakari's gritty fight pit. 

The biggest concern was always whether this would go a more cinematic route or safely play like an extended episode of the series. As a "two-parter" of sorts, it's clearly the latter, hypothetically ranking among the show's stronger entries. But in successfully harnessing the spirit of a series we'll probably never see again, you wonder why Disney couldn't even manage to announce they were shelving it. To this day, no one knows. Still, Favreau and Filoni get their act together to deliver a fun, tightly scripted adventure that recaptures much of the early magic. It's just a shame it didn't come sooner.                                   

Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere

Director: Scott Cooper
Starring: Jeremy Allen White, Jeremy Strong, Paul Walter Hauser, Stephen Graham, Odessa Young, Gaby Hoffman, Marc Maron, David Krumholtz, Harrison Gilbertson, Grace Gummer, Chris Jaymes, Johnny Cannizzaro, Brian Chase
Running Time: 119 min.
Rating: PG-13

★★★ (out of ★★★★)  

In Scott Cooper's low-key, surprisingly contemplative Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere, we get a portrait of an uncompromising artist attempting to escape his past, his childhood, his own father and the  fame that began to engulf him in the early 80's. Bruce Springsteen's journey is recognizable, but that's less a flaw with the film than confirmation of how often personal pain powers the work and ambition required to achieve greatness. For Bruce, it was always about the music first, even as his celebrity became an unintended consequence he'd rather ignore. 

Problems often arise when films of this genre employ a traditionally linear approach, cutting corners and running through tired clichés to reach the finish line. So it's to Cooper's credit that he doesn't attempt to cram the entire life and career of the Boss into a two-hour window, instead staying true to Warren Zanes' 2023 book covering the creation of his riskiest album. It's more a fading snapshot of a specific era, with Bruce arriving at a personal and creative crossroads, painfully looking back while trying to move forward.  

It's 1981 when ascending rock star Bruce Springsteen (White) finishes the final leg of his sold-out The River tour and manager Jon Landau (Jeremy Strong) rents him a house in Colts Neck, New Jersey where he can quietly decompress. After stumbling upon the movie Badlands on TV, he starts researching notorious serial killer Charles Starkweather, using his story and the works of author Flannery O'Connor to craft new material. But the home's close proximity to the Freehold neighborhood where Bruce grew up brings back traumatic childhood memories of an alcoholic, mentally ill father Douglas (Stephen Graham), who physically and emotionally abused him and his mother Adele (Gaby Hoffman).  

Calling on his guitar tech Mike Batlan (Paul Walter Hauser) to bring in a four-track recorder, Bruce turns the bedroom into a makeshift studio where he begins writing a collection of somber songs influenced by his blue-collar upbringing. He also starts dating his old friend's sister Faye (Odessa Young), a single mom struggling to make ends meet. After hearing the somber tracks, Jon's perplexed by Bruce's refusal to alter or clean up the raw acoustic sound he perfected in that room. But as Jon faces the impossible task of convincing Columbia Records' exec Al Teller (David Krumholtz) to release the unmarketable Nebraska, Bruce is suffering from a bigger identity crisis than anyone realizes.

Watching this, you see how oddly fitting it is that Springsteen's most recognizable single came six years prior with "Born To Run," a title he appears to live by through much of the film. And though the pressure's on to top The River's enormous success, we're at least spared another rock star's descent into drug abuse and addiction, with the singer having already gotten a front row seat to those consequences as a child. Rather Bruce's demons come in the form of untreated depression, dimming the brightest moments and lessening what should be the highest of highs.  

Strange as it seems given Nebraska's esteemed standing in Bruce's catalogue, the album was actually a huge gamble that could have easily derailed his career. And a folk excursion coming off the heels of one of the artist's more commercially friendly periods only made it a tougher sell. But what's interesting about Cooper's script is how it doesn't necessarily present this undertaking as a choice so much as a flood of memories and influences converging at once, leaving him little option but to lower his guard and let them in. 

Absent among these demos is a radio ready hit like "Hungry Heart" or "Out in the Street," but that's inevitable given the stripped down circumstances under which they're produced. And Bruce won't budge on any of it, rejecting the idea of a tour, singles, promotion, or even his photo on the album's cover. But most importantly, the sound he created in that bedroom must be replicated as it was, minus the usual studio bells and whistles. Neither difficult or full of himself, he's just sure of his work in an era when even the most popular musicians were forced by suits to make crippling compromises. 

While now we know how far a record like this can go in enhancing an artist's discography, the notion of creative freedom or subverting expectations was foreign at the time, even if it bolsters their popularity once they eventually return to the sound with which fans are most familiar. So if it's painful for Jon and producer Chuck Plotkin (Marc Maron) to shelve future all-timers "Born in the U.S.A.," "Glory Days," "I'm Goin' Down" and "I'm on Fire," to accommodate Bruce's more muted vision, it all worked out in the end, with those abandoned tracks defining his legacy on the next album. 

Focusing on the concept album's construction makes this more palatable than it would otherwise be, even if 1950's black and white flashbacks to Bruce's abusive childhood might prompt complaints of Cooper following the genre's typical blueprint. In this case though, it's relevant to both the music's content and emotional scars that infiltrate every facet of the singer's life. This includes a meaningful relationship with Faye he can't help but sabotage, fearful of exposing a side of himself no one's permitted to see. 

Powered by Jeremy Allen White's transformative performance in the title role, we're reminded how singing is only half the battle, if that. Briefly convincing us he sounds good enough to pass muster in the concert scenes is one thing, but actually capturing the Boss's swagger and mannerisms is another challenge entirely, as the actor goes beyond imitation to dig deeper during his many quieter moments alone, haunted by the past. 

Strong leaves a lasting impression as Bruce's biggest advocate, shepherding the release of a possibly doomed album that only sees the light of day with his full support. Critical but realistic, he's a friend anyone would be lucky enough to also call their manager, as demonstrated by his receptive "wait and see" approach upon receiving the tape. His best scene comes opposite Krumholtz's exec, making it clear that his allegiance lies with Bruce, regardless of what the label wants. 

A biopic peppered by a series of depressing flashbacks is good cause for skepticism, but the tropes are mostly sidestepped by Graham's ice cold supporting turn and memories that pay off in Bruce's songwriting and eventual acceptance of where he came from. While the elder Springsteen may have done the best he could, his best happened to be terrible, which is something both need to work past. But in writing an album he didn't know needed to exist, Bruce lets it all pour out, intrinsically tying his music to the endeavor of creating it. Deliver Me From Nowhere is at its best when exploring that process, shedding light on how Nebraska eventually came to be.  

The Iron Claw

Director: Sean Durkin
Starring: Zac Efron, Jeremy Allen White, Harris Dickinson, Maura Tierney, Stanley Simons, Holt McCallany, Michael J. Harney, Lily James, Brady Pierce, Aaron Dean Eisenberg, Kevin Anton, Cazzey Louis Cereghino, Chavo Guerrero Jr., Ryan Nemeth, Scott Innes
Running Time: 132 min.
Rating: R

**The Following Review Contains Plot Spoilers For 'The Iron Claw' **

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

Watching Sean Durkin's The Iron Claw you can't help but wonder how differently the film plays for casual viewers as opposed to wrestling fans already well versed in the Von Erich story. The uninitiated are likely to be shocked, scratching their heads in disbelief at how this continuous string of tragedies struck one family in such a short period of time. But even ardent followers numb to the depths of despair that define this industry would admit what happened to them stings worse than anything before or since. 

Only when A24 announced the project did the enormity of Durkin's task come into view, with many focusing on how inaccessible it would be. But of the three films he's directed, it's probably the most accessible, weaving a complex and multi-faceted narrative about a very specific form of entertainment into a shattering meditation on damaged families. If everyone thought this was just too damn sad to make into a movie the public would willingly see, Durkin proves them wrong, but the hardest part was always going to be fitting it all in.

There's the challenge of pacing out numerous deaths over the course of a two hour and thirteen minute film, making us care equally for these fallen siblings, choosing what gets left out and casting actors that do justice to their real life counterparts. The results are all over the map and intriguing to examine, but what's less debatable is this idea of a "Von Erich curse" that's frequently debunked throughout. The brothers' fates were instead controlled by a strict, controlling father determined to make their sons champions so they'd always be protected. Unfortunately, no one was there to protect them from him. He's the real curse.

It's 1979 and Texas NWA Heavyweight Champion Kevin Von Erich (Zac Efron) is being pushed by his father, former wrestler and WCCW owner and promoter Fritz Von Erich (Holt McCallany), as the promotion's top draw and forthcoming contender to the prestigious NWA World Championship. Shortly after, brother David (Harris Dickinson) makes his promising debut, teaming with Kevin and rising up the ranks quickly enough to possibly displace him. 

While Kevin begins dating fan and future wife Pam (Lily James), younger brother Kerry's (Jeremy Allen White) 1980 Summer Olympic hopes are dashed after the U.S. boycott the games, causing him to move back to the family ranch. It isn't long before Fritz recruits him into the ring and also pressures shy, awkward youngest son Mike (Stanley Simons), who shows little aptitude between the ropes and prefers playing with a band than following in his siblings' footsteps. 

With the Dallas Sportatorium selling out and TV ratings going through the roof, the Von Erich brothers become overnight celebrities as their battles against The Fabulous Freebirds heat up the territory. But when unimaginable tragedy strikes multiple times, Fritz doubles down in his quest to bring the title into this family, whatever the cost, leaving an emotionally catatonic Kevin to watch in stunned silence as his brothers perish one by one.

If pro wrestling has a long history of promoters controversially pushing their offspring, the Von Erichs are outliers in that their natural ability warranted it, save for Mike. But this making great business sense isn't Fritz's only motivation, as all his decisions spawn from his misguided desire to vicariously live through his sons, who he believes can bring home the NWA title he was supposedly screwed out of holding. In a black and white flashback to open the film he tells wife Doris (Maura Tierney) and a young Kevin and David about building a new life for this family, which his self-serving intentions  eventually sabotage.

When Fritz sits at the kitchen table casually ranking all his sons in order of preference, he's not joking. Kevin's the athlete, David's the talker, Kerry's the favorite with charisma to spare and Mike's just a back-up plan. But he doesn't care who gets the championship, his view of their interchangeability becoming more apparent with each tragedy. Durkin might skip over a lot, but the acknowledgment of Fritz's first-born son Jack's accidental death isn't one of them. An unseen catastrophe that shaped this demanding patriarch in the ugliest of ways, his desire to replace him never waned, causing the other boys to pay the price. 

The decision to omit real life youngest brother Chris and merge details of his story into Mike's might raise eyebrows, but with the film's pacing already compromised by needing to cram so much in, the choice seems understandable. Though some character development is adversely affected when all these events run into each other, Mike's awful plight is an exception, zeroing in on Fritz's determination to shove him into a profession he isn't physically or mentally equipped for.

The period details of a packed Sportatorium and the entire atmosphere surrounding the Von Erichs' rise to prominence in the early 80's is displayed in full glory. This also extends to the recreation of WCCW's weekly television program, with its innovative use of entrance music (like Rush's "Tom Sawyer" for Kerry) and groundbreaking camera angles that continued influencing major promotions long after their doors permanently closed. Everything's here in bits and pieces, including Michael J. Harney's small but  authentic turn as longtime company announcer Bill Mercer. 

The actors are all believable inside the squared circle, with skillful editing and lots of training likely giving a big assist. With a surprising amount of time donated to in-ring action, we see the most from Efron as Kevin in matches with Harley Race (Kevin Anton) and Ric Flair (Aaron Dean Eisenberg), both of whom are distractingly impersonated. And even if Efron doesn't really resemble Kevin and clearly went overboard in bulking up to play the way leaner, barefooted grappler, he sure looks and moves like a wrestler on that mat.  

Giving a performance within a performance, there's this moment during the Race match where Kevin appears to be hurt, but we can't be sure. Is Efron really this good at making it look like Kevin's selling this or is he supposed to actually be hurt? It's enough to make your brain explode, but the movie hardly shies away from exploring the line between fiction and reality that pro wrestlers straddle. An early conversation between Kevin and Pam finds the former delivering about as succinct an explanation for what they do as a skeptic could possibly get. Ask Fritz and you're more likely to hear a lecture on how backstage politics dictate everything, which would seem especially rich coming from him. 

While the film justifiably centers around the shell shocked Kevin, Harris Dickinson might give the most factually accurate portrayal as David and not just because of the English actor's uncanny resemblance to the tall, lanky uncrowned champ. He really seems to grasp every facet of this when he's on screen and his bathroom talk with Kevin ranks as one of the film's more subtly powerful scenes. 

Kerry isn't introduced right away so Jeremy Allen White has some catching up to do on top of the fact he's playing the most famous Von Erich. And since Kerry looked like a chiseled superhero, Durkin makes the right call in de-emphasizing the far smaller White's ring scenes, opting instead to focus on his turmoil outside of it. White excels at this, letting the film mercifully use actual footage of Kerry's two most important matches to spare us another extended Flair imitation. The timeline may be a little wonky, but the motorcycle accident that took his foot is covered, as are allusions to his drug-riddled WWF run. Despite being the only brother to make it there, the bloom was off the rose by that point, accelerating his downward spiral. 

Something about Stanley Simons' performance as Mike grabs hold early and doesn't let go, bringing a contemplative innocence we haven't seen in previous accounts of Mike's ordeal. And it's probably time to call Richard Reed Parry and Little Scream's original song "Live That Way Forever" one of the bigger Oscar snubs of the year. Performed by Simons in the film, it slides perfectly onto a soundtrack of 70's classics from Tom Petty, Blue Oyster Cult and John Denver.  

Journeyman character actor and Mindhunter star Holt McCallany plays Fritz without judgment, embodying the master of the Iron Claw as a ruthless stage dad from hell who's convinced himself that this psychological abuse is just a form of "tough love" for his boys. While there isn't nearly enough time for the film to delve into the full extent of Fritz's monstrous acts, McCallany's powerful performance still manages to imply the remainder of them, as each subsequent tragedy prompts him to continue filling the bottomless pit that exists inside his rotting soul. 

As Doris, Maura Tierney is sort of invisible, which is exactly who the devoutly religious matriarch proved to be, silently supporting whatever her husband does. Lily James' role as Pam is slightly larger than you'd expect, her character often acting as the voice of reason as Kevin starts to buy into the potential validity of this curse.  

There's plenty we don't get, like Fritz's insulting introduction of phony Von Erich cousin Lance (AEW wrestler Maxwell Jacob Friedman in a whittled down cameo) or that infamous Pizza Inn commercial with Mike, Kevin and Kerry. And while there are scenes of their hard partying, most of the excessive drug use is skimmed over enough that the viewer will need to connect the dots. It's easy to imagine the existence of a longer cut somewhere that works to fill in those blanks.

Durkin makes a conscious choice not to show all the grisly details of these deaths as this whole experience culminates in an emotionally wrenching afterlife scene you'll have trouble shaking. The Iron Claw covers a lot of ground well, even if it's the type of narrative that might be better served by the expanded scope of a limited series or documentary. But considering how much is already out there, this still cuts to the heart of it, prompting those completely unfamiliar with Von Erichs to continue digging deeper.