Even within waves of tragedy, moments of grace can shine through | MARK HUGHES COBB

Based on premise (a troubled wrestling family) and stars (a former "High School Musical" kid, mopey Gene Wilder from "The Bear," another bland dude from at least two stiflingly dull things) — I'd have ducked "The Iron Claw," had it not been for rave reviews.

This may be the sleeper … hold … I don't really know wrestling … flick of the season. On a pleasant evening in Tuscaloosa, there were only a dozen folks viewing, in one of the Hollywood 16's smaller rooms.

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Why you may wish to watch "Iron Claw":

• It's mythic, yet so quietly devastating it's a Johnny Cash ballad.

• It's based on a true story that's EVEN MORE HORRIFYING. Yes, Hollywood toned a tale down. Don't look it up before going.

• Writer-director Sean Durkin ("Martha Marcy May Marlene," TV's "Dead Ringers") smartly stakes it on the oldest of the Von Erich (their name was Adkinsson, but the entertainers followed their dad's lead: Fritz Von Erich began as a Nazi character, a heel) brotherhood. Durkin crafted a film from Kevin's personality: staid but kind, and repressed, by an overbearing dad, and depressed, by a hands-off, If-god-wills-it mom.

When conflicts arise, they tell the boys to work it out among themselves. Helluva thing to tell kids, some still in their teens, who believe the family's under a curse.

Some reviewers thought Durkin — a long-time wrestling fan — pulled punches. They're wrong.

He just doesn't ogle horrors, or festishize bloodshed, even with copious opportunities. Durkin cut at least one real-life tragedy; to recount it all would be piling on.

The film takes a green-golden sheen when Kevin is at a form of peace; when terrors occur, they're at a distance, muffled, visuals blanked or pulled away from, much as sincerely empathetic people ― like sub-dad Kevin ― recoil, create space, to cope.

Kevin's dialogue is sometimes so soft it's a hard to hear. I don't think that's a recording goof, but a choice, to urge us to lean in to this bronzed clump of vascularity, the kind you might shy away from, IRL. He looks, if not dangerous, at the least grim.

He's played by Zac Efron, who I hope didn't use steroids, though his jaw seems to have expanded like Barry Bonds' noggin … maybe prosthetics? Or maybe it's the period-appropriate mullet that frames his face that way.

I've not yet seen Efron be great, but I get the feeling he's got McConaughey-ish potential, once he grows past beefcake. Ironically — beefy here as an Angus steer — this could be his second wind.

Kevin hasn't got a whole lot of there there: what-you-see/what-you-get.

When Pam (His eventual wife, played by Lily James, who as usual makes more of her character than is written) asks what he wants, that could be cue to a "The Natural" declamation:

"And then when I walked down the street, people would've looked and they would've said 'There goes Roy Hobbs, the best there ever was in this game.' "

Much as I love that Levinson-Redford-Newman (Randy Newman gets at LEAST one-third credit for the magic) myth, this ain't that, and not just because it's about a more brutish, circus-like sport.

All Kevin wants is to hang with his sibs, and make his dad (Holt McCallany) proud.

Give Efron credit: You'll believe. Probably Kevin also wants to get with Lily James, but that should be understood.

The boys ― Efron/Kevin, Jeremy Allen White/Kerry, Harris Dickinson/David, and Stanley Simons/Michael ― have believable chemistry. As someone who grew up with four brothers, albeit more spread ― these guys, all real, were born within a seven-year span ― I can attest.

Though Scotty, Jimbo and I were competitively athletic, we were never what you'd call obsessed, as you must be to reach pinnacles. Our father was driven only to make us gentler, smarter, more thoughtful people.

You may never have hurled iron with your sibs in an elaborate home gym, but those scenes are spare. Just the requisite amount of "one more" crap — the kind that breaks, not builds ― and a smarter mix of bolstering. We see pain, and the stupid things folks do to alleviate, but again, it's not hammered. We see it, we get it; we move on.

Veteran actors McCallany and Maura Tierney (Mom) feel like a lived-in couple. The former wears the classic crewcut you could set your watch by naturally as his leathery skin, and the latter gives a master class in emoting between the lines. It'd be too cliched to have iron-Dad overbearing all 2.5 hours. This ain't that movie.

It's neither an uplifting overcome-the-odds paint-by-numbers, nor a pure weeper. Even with a Greek tragedy's worth of problems, Durkin gives it, and us, breath.

Survivors move on, not the same, but limping ahead. The "bad guys" aren't as clownish as those played in the ring. Dad and Mom evince depth, give love how they can.

I've lost brothers. One was nearly 10 years older; much as I loved and admired him, I knew him less well. That didn't stop tears from erupting when I got the phone call.

The other, just two years older, we probably knew each other TOO well, having shared rooms, cars, books, sports and most everything else ― I sometimes got hand-me-downs before he was done with 'em ― for so long that, indie souls at heart, we didn't grow a lot closer with age.

Something I regret, but how were we to know? There was no curse on our family, far as I recall.

Like Kevin, I had visions of hanging with fam well into senility.

How do you deal? The grace of this nightmare is there is, ultimately, a bit of grace. Hope.

There may come clear days with kids throwing a football on the lawn, sloppy goofy dogs trying to tackle the runner. Others who love you unreservedly? They're around. Those around, we're moving into new years.

If that's pulling punches, I'd gladly cop to fixing that match.

Mark Hughes Cobb is the editor of Tusk. Reach him at mark.cobb@tuscaloosanews.com.

This article originally appeared on The Tuscaloosa News: 'Iron Claw': Wrestling with Greek tragedy | MARK HUGHES COBB