(Written by Intern, Miranda Zampogna)
Grappling with the glorious true story of wrestling pioneer Mildred Burke, and based on Jeff Leen’s biopic novel, comes a rousing historical sports drama full of heart. An all-star cast of familiar faces adds to the cozy southern charm wrassled up by co-writer/director Ash Avildsen. Perfectly cast as the babyface champion, Emily Bett Rickards flexes her muscles—where her endearing performance and convincing strength are an even match. Though there are a few near-falls with a gruelling runtime, Queen of the Ring is a crowd-pleaser spotlighting a fairly unknown, yet vital, part of wrestling lore.
Flash-forward and record scratch—the audience is immediately introduced to Mildred in the Women’s Wrestling World Champion ring, tantamount to her heart and soul. A formulaic, grainy newsreel rewinds the clock to 1940s Atlanta, when she was a single mom waitressing for her mother (Cara Buono). Inspired after witnessing a bout with renowned heel, Billy Wolfe (Josh Lucas), Mildred impresses her fiery grit upon him, and a rocky love affair ensues. Following a training sequence, he promotes her hand-to-hand prowess all across carnival attractions in the South, gaining traction. Soon, multiple aspiring female fighters, including allies Mae (Francesca Eastwood), Elvira (Marie Avgeropoulos), Galdys (Deborah Ann Woll), and rival June (real-life pro wrestler Kailey Farmer), join the fun. Their she-wolf pack garners the attention of mid-Atlantic tycoon, Jack Pfefer (Walter Goggins), who combats the National Wrestling Alliance’s oppressive ban against women in the arena. Juggling romance and business while raising Joe Jr. (Gavin Casalegno), Mildred strives for the championship title for over a decade.
A packed house, boasting an impressive supporting cast including Tyler Posey and Martin Kove, gives everyone a moment to shine by exploring the stories of legends. Simultaneously complimenting the historical biopic formula, copious characters run the risk of stretching an audience thin. There are compelling relationships that never quite reach their full potential, where a large focus on romantic subplots overshadows a touching mother-son dynamic. The talented, relatable Deborah Ann Woll maximizes her narrative arc with infectious determination, despite a breakneck pace. Josh Lucas supplies a handsome ruggedness and portrays a dramatic turn with believability, even when the central conflict with Mildred loses its focus in favor of routine riffs on sports drama clichés. Nevertheless, Rickards maintains control, so viewers leave sufficiently fulfilled, knowing what a powerhouse forerunner Burke was in women’s athleticism.
Avildsen employs classic stylistic choices of the era, like high-key lighting, black-and-white found footage, and exposition-forward dialogue, to convey character and setting quickly. While paying homage to beloved conventions, its use also becomes a crutch. Mildred’s early declaration, “They’ll know me by my full name,” feels forced, no matter how accurate. A spritely Celtic score, jarringly out of place in 1940s and ‘50s Atlanta, still adds to the energetic atmosphere. An overabundance of montages, each a blur of training, traveling, and matches, sufficiently signifies progress. The fight choreography is the highlight, as the actors and stunt performers realistically display skill and power. With a few eye-wincing beat-downs, moviegoers are sure to appreciate these ladies’ dedication to their craft. Excitement, however, dwindles due to the camera work, often obscured by the rings’ ropes and distanced from the action, preventing a real sense of melee.
Interwoven themes of female empowerment, domestic abuse, and motherhood have poignant moments. Mildred’s decision to treat marriage like a business contract, due to the lack of women’s financial rights of the era, is gripping. This sacrifice leads her to be considered women’s first million-dollar athlete, yet unfortunately, it is a pitfall. Scenes addressing domestic violence possess gravity. However, their motivation on plot and emotional impact competes with tonal shifts between romantic interludes and diverting entertainment. Considering the repeated emphasis on her status as a trailblazing single mother, her challenges in balancing parenting with a career are oddly relegated to the background. Hence, an imperative pep talk between Mildred and Joe Jr. during the finale never digs deep. While there are many vindicating instances throughout, particularly the scene when Mildred addresses an issue of sexual coercion, the technical minutiae of winning decisions feel anticlimactic.
Despite a reliance on clichés, Queen of the Ring’s fighting spirit refuses to give up and powers through the two-hour runtime. An inspirational portrayal of a remarkable woman by the lead actress, who did her homework and bulked up, is ultimately what sets this adaptation apart from being predictable fare. For fans of physical combat and those who appreciate insights into groundbreaking sports history, there is still plenty to celebrate.
Queen of the Ring’s tag team of talent will twist your arm to the theatre on Friday, March 7th.
