This interview was originally published on December 22, 2023. We are recirculating it now timed to The Iron Claw’s digital release.
For nearly his entire four-decade career, Holt McCallany has been playing guys you don’t want to cross. His physicality plays into this — his height is imposing and his broad solidity suggests an obstacle; he’s played U.S. marshals, assassins, and a guy named, with no irony, Bullet. But more important is his bearing, his ability to project comfort with other people’s discomfort. When given the opportunity to be more than muscle, McCallany plays characters who can harden in an instant, and whose mercuriality conveys sometimes-complementary, sometimes-contradictory extremes of feeling.
As the patriarch of the Von Erich clan in writer-director Sean Durkin’s The Iron Claw, which tells the tragic story of the Texan wrestling family, McCallany exudes both paternal affection and toxic ambition. His character, Fritz, a former professional wrestler turned promoter (whose real name is Jack Adkisson; he adopted the persona of a Nazi heel in his in-ring days and changed his family’s last name to “Von Erich”), never won the heavyweight-championship belt he coveted. And so he’s engineered his four sons — Kevin (Zac Efron), David (Harris Dickinson), Kerry (Jeremy Allen White), and Mike (Stanley Simons) — to pick up the mantle he’s convinced he deserved.
When he’s with his onscreen sons, McCallany is like quicksilver, moving easily between nurturing, negging, and rigid cruelty. Whether at the breakfast table, a family football game, or ringside, Fritz will find an opportunity to tell his sons the ways they’re good but not great because they could always be better. The Iron Claw unfolds through Kevin’s point of view, but it moves according to the ominous rhythms of Fritz’s obsessions. His expectations cast a shadow over the family, and his approval is his sons’ north star — and their eventual ruin. McCallany spoke to Vulture about trying to find the good intentions within his character’s authoritarianism and the questions he wishes he could have asked Fritz, who died from cancer in 1997.
How did the role of Fritz Von Erich come to you? What were your first thoughts when you received the script?
Sean Durkin sent me the script, and I had a subsequent Zoom call with him. And it’s a real simple thing. My mother was a singer. She was widely considered by her peers and by the critics and by the people who appreciate the Great American Songbook to be one of the finest nightclub singers of her generation. I’d say, “How do you choose your material, Mom? What songs are gonna make it into the act? What songs are just not gonna be part of your act?” And she said, “Holt, you have to be chemically attracted to a song.” I thought about that, and there’s a similarity for an actor choosing a role. No actor is right for every part. If you think you’re right for every part, you’re dreaming, you know? There has to be something within yourself that corresponds to the character. That doesn’t mean that you’re him and he’s you. But there’s gotta be something that you can identify and say, “Ah! I recognize that.” And I knew when I received this particular script that I was the right guy to play Fritz Von Erich. I knew it. And I said to Sean Durkin, “I want to put any fears that you have to rest. You found the right actor and you’re going to be happy with the performance that I deliver to you. I can promise you that.” And I think that it worked out that way.
Sean and I had a great experience on the set. I’m a big fan of his. I won’t pretend that there weren’t a couple of scenes that didn’t make it into the final cut that I would have loved to have seen in the final cut. That’s true. I expressed that to Sean. But at the end of the day, it’s Sean’s film and he has to make tough decisions about what he’s going to include and what he’s not. And as actors, we have to find the way to say, “Okay, well, I would have loved to have seen the scene in the chapel. But the movie is nevertheless a very good movie.” And it is a very good movie, because Sean wrote it from the right place, with the right spirit, and then he had the good sense to hire the right actors and a wonderful cinematographer — a quick shoutout to Mátyás Erdély.
You’ve played figures of authority before. You’ve played father figures before. What did you recognize in the Fritz character that made you want to tackle him?
I did see certain things that Fritz Von Erich had in common with my own father. They were men of the same generation. They were both born in the ’20s and they both had the attitudes toward life and toward the world, and certainly toward families, that were characteristic of men of that era. The way in which they were different is that my father wasn’t a guy who was particularly interested in fatherhood. He was an actor who became a producer on Broadway. He won a Tony Award, and he was always jet-setting around and trying to make deals and set up new projects. He was all over the English-speaking world as a theatrical producer.
That’s not Fritz. Fritz was a family man. Fritz was a Texan. He found a way to make his own sons the stars of his organization. If he had been a little different — a little less provincial, perhaps, and with a little bit more foresight — he might have become Vince McMahon. But he was happy being the king of Texas wrestling, and that was never more true than when his sons Kevin and Kerry and David became the absolute rock stars of that sport in that state at that time. What is very sad about our film — and it is a tragedy of Shakespearean proportions — is that that dynasty was very short-lived. Fritz made some questionable decisions as he was trying to maintain control of something that was going off the rails. But I always saw him as a guy who was a real family man, a man who was in love with one woman his whole life, who took tremendous pride in the success of his sons and would do anything to help them achieve that success.
In talking to other people who have seen this film, we keep coming back to the question of, “Was Fritz a monster?” Which could be a simplistic way of looking at a controlling-but-loving father figure. I was curious how you felt about the way he expresses that love.
I respect the man himself. He’s a legend in the sport of wrestling. I don’t question the man in terms of, “Did he really love his family? Did he really take pride in his sons? Was he really devoted to his wife? Was he a genuinely religious man?” I believe all of those things are true. When things became very stressful, particularly in the aftermath of the death of his son David in Tokyo, which set in motion a series of events that ultimately led to the demise of not only the organization that he owned, but the family itself — he made some bad decisions. But who among us haven’t made some bad decisions?
This notion that he was a monster — even Kevin Von Erich said to me, “I think too much has been made of that.” He goes, “Yes, he was controlling, but it came from a place of love.” And I can’t tell you how many accounts I’ve read of Fritz sitting ringside, watching his boys wrestle, saying, [slips into Fritz’s voice] “Did you see what Kevin just did? Did you see that move? Look at Kerry up there. He’s a superstar, if ever there was one.” His sons’ success was his success. Everything they accomplished — he took not only pride, but it made him happy. And it made him believe in this extraordinary and unlikely thing, where these young guys became so beloved. They were so clean-cut, all-American, God-loving, handsome, chiseled, Texas athletes, that they were even able to sell their wrestling show to the Christian network. The Christians had never bought professional wrestling! But they could buy it if it was the Von Erichs, because that is how those young men were perceived.
But that people would try to suggest that he was somehow supplying wrestlers with illicit substances I think is absolutely preposterous. Fritz was born in the ’20s. He never did cocaine in his life. Now, covering up for his sons if they got in trouble? Yes, because not only would he do that anyway because he loves his sons, but it can also damage the franchise. We don’t want that. But Fritz was not a juicer. He wanted the boys in the gym. You gotta be strong, you gotta be athletic, you gotta have endurance for this game.
This game is no joke. People want to say it’s fake. Go try it, and see how fake it feels to you after a 15-minute match. I came away from my training and my experience as a wrestler — and I did quite a bit of it in the lead up to the shoot — with tremendous respect and admiration for professional wrestlers. You not only have to have athleticism and endurance, but also the charisma and the personality, the imagination, to create a character that the wrestling fans would respond to. It is sports entertainment.
What unlocked my empathy for Fritz is remembering he has already lost a child when the film begins. In your portrayal, is Fritz thinking about that loss all the time?
So much has been written about the tragic death of David in Tokyo, about the suicides of Mike Von Erich, and Kerry Von Erich, and Chris Von Erich. It’s just like a tragic parade, you know? But the first horrific tragedy was Jack Jr., who was only 5 and a half years old and was electrocuted in a trailer park. He fell unconscious and drowned in a little puddle of water. Just the worst possible luck that you could ever, ever imagine. And I think it really affected Fritz, but he did manage to recover from that. I’m not sure he ever fully recovered from losing David, because David was the one who had been anointed to be the big star, to be the NWA Heavyweight Champion, to get his hands on that belt that Fritz never got. And trust me, once one of Fritz’s sons had the belt, he intended to keep it. I think a lot of the decisions that Fritz made subsequent to that were to try to recapture that glorious moment when David and Kevin and Kerry were on top of the world. And they never quite got it back.
You mentioned your wrestling training for this film. I’m wondering how much that process took you back to filming Lights Out.
Nothing ever broke my heart the way that the cancellation of Lights Out broke my heart. It was deeply sad for me when Mindhunter didn’t continue because that was certainly the best show that I ever did, and because I really enjoyed working for David. But Lights Out was virtually built around me, my strengths as an actor, and the things that really interested me. It got a very positive reaction from the critics, and I knew that John Landgraf was really behind the show. But at the end of the day, television is about advertising, and depending on who you talk to, we were either 25 or 30 percent lower in viewership than we needed to be to have a chance to be renewed. When John called me — and he called me personally, and I was grateful for that — to say, “I’m sorry. Holt. I love the show. I love you in the show. But I can’t renew the show,” that was devastating for me.
I had done a huge amount of training for the character of Lights Leary, most of it at a place called Gleason’s Gym in Brooklyn, New York. It’s one of the most famous boxing gyms in America, and has been there for many, many decades. But there’s also a wrestling club at Gleason’s. They have their own ring and none of the boxers are allowed to go in. I had noticed those guys out of the corner of my eye during training, and it never, never occurred to me that I would one day walk into the office of the gentleman that ran that wrestling club, an 83-year-old guy called “the Unpredictable” Johnny Rodz. He worked for Vince McMahon Sr. and had wrestled every major wrestler from Hulk Hogan to Bruno Sammartino to Andre the Giant. He even wrestled Kevin Von Erich in Madison Square Garden. I walked into his office and I said “Mr. Rodz, I’m an actor, and in a film, I’m going to play the character of Fritz Von Erich.” And he went, “The Iron Claw!” He goes, “First thing to do is wipe that smile off your face. Because when Fritz got in the ring, Fritz was a heel. Fritz was scary. There were many wrestlers who refused to wrestle with Fritz because they would say, ‘He’s just too rough in there.’”
How the Iron Claw maneuver actually looks is very important in the film. How did you find the way your hand would look as that curled claw?
What you’re really trying to find is a fighter’s identity. To use a boxing analogy, because we were talking about Lights Out, Mike Tyson has a different ring identity than Floyd Mayweather. Tyson is a seek-and-destroy kind of a guy. Whereas Floyd is the ultimate technician. He’s gonna wait for you to make a mistake and then make you pay for that mistake. So what you’re asking is, what is the in-ring identity of Fritz Von Erich? I’m playing a very specific professional wrestler who had a very specific ring demeanor. Fritz began his career in the ’50s and was a heel. He used to impersonate a Nazi; I know that sounds the way that it sounds. But there was a tremendous amount of anti-German sentiment in our country after the war.
I’m Iranian, so I’m very aware of the heel — like how the Iron Sheik was used post-Iranian Revolution as a figure for people to pour their hatred into, because that’s what national sentiment was at that time.
Well, listen, I know how to say one thing in Farsi. So may I say?
Sure, yeah.
Shomah khali khoshkeli.
Oh, thank you. That’s so nice!
That’s the only thing I know how to say in Farsi. I had a few dates years ago with a very, very beautiful Iranian woman, and she taught me a few phrases. But sadly, the only one that really sticks in my memory is “Shomah khali khoshkeli.”
That one’s gonna get you far, though.
Thank you. It’s a good one.
So we were talking about Fritz’s heel identity …
Right. The claw was an innovation. This is a finishing move. And what do you do? Well, you go to wrestling school and you ask Johnny Rodz if he’ll teach you. Then you try and watch as many of Fritz’s old matches as you can. A lot of people don’t appreciate that there’s a tremendous amount of technique in professional wrestling. You either know it or you don’t. And if you don’t, somebody’s getting injured. I’m so grateful to Johnny because he would keep his wrestlers until one in the morning and throw guys in front of me. “Now, wrestle Adam. Now, wrestle Teddy. Now, wrestle Ivan. Now, wrestle Christian. Again, again, again, again.” Until I slowly began to feel like I had earned the right, with some degree of authenticity and credibility, to walk out in front of the cameras and be a professional wrestler. And not only that — be Fritz Von Erich, the master of the Iron Claw.
How many weeks of training was this?
It was about six weeks of training before I got to Baton Rouge, and then we had a couple of weeks with Chavo Guerrero Jr., our wrestling choreographer. It was every Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday night. I must give credit to the other wrestlers. These are all guys that are going to wrestle in the WWE. But they defer to Johnny. I would bring in a camera crew, we would shoot my matches, then we would screen them. He would then break them down: “This is what you’re doing wrong here. This is what you’re doing wrong here.”
The highest compliment that I’ve been given about the performance was when Kevin Von Erich was interviewed after the first time that he saw the film. He said, “I can’t believe they found an actor to play Fritz. I thought it was impossible, but they found him.” And I thought, “You know what? That means more than anything any critic could say, because he knew Fritz.” My one regret was that I never got to meet Fritz. He died in 1997. If he was still alive, I’d have been knocking on his door, whether he was 90 years old or not, to say, “I’m a big fan. I’m gonna play you in a movie, sir. And I would love to have a little bit of your time and ask you some questions, if you’d be open to it.” The only guy that ever turned down an interview with me was David Berkowitz, the Son of Sam. Because you can’t trust serial killers.
But everybody else has always said yes, even if you’re not playing them. I very much wanted to meet Kevin Von Erich when we were shooting because I had some specific questions for him about later on when his father got cancer. In the original script, there were some scenes where Fritz is dying. Anyway, they didn’t want me to meet with Kevin for legal reasons at the studio, and I don’t have to go into all that. But that’s what you want to do. You want to get inside the guy’s head to try to understand what he was thinking when he made certain decisions at certain moments in his life.
Which scene in the film are you proudest of, and which was the most difficult?
They’re probably the same scene, which is the opening wrestling sequence. It took more time and more preparation for that part of the shoot than for any other part. When Fritz began his wrestling career in the 1950s, he was in tremendous physical condition. But then later on, in the ’70s and ’80s, he put on a lot of weight. I think his last wrestling match might have been in 1982. Then at the end of his life in the ’90s, he started wasting away from brain cancer and lung cancer. I had to be thin and lean and in shape, and then put on weight, and then be wasting away again at the end. That was a challenge, and I have to really give credit to my wonderful costume designer, Jen Starzyk, who was also my costume designer on Mindhunter. I was talking to her about this issue and she came up with the idea of a prosthetic belly. I could take it off when I’m wrestling in that early sequence, but then put it on by the time we get to the ’80s, and then we could lose it again when we’re in 1997 and Fritz is at death’s door.
There’s this moment during a family dinner where the sons learn that their father is musical, which they had no idea about. Do you personally have any secret skills or hobbies that we would be surprised by?
Well, two. I’m a singer. When I’m not shooting, I do vocal coaching every morning at 9 a.m. via Zoom, and then I do in-person vocal coaching every Saturday with my coach, the wonderful and talented Judith Farris, who was my mother’s vocal coach. I grew up with a particular kind of music, and some people will say it’s old hat. I don’t buy it. But it’s Cole Porter and Harold Arlen and it’s George Gershwin and it’s Stephen Sondheim. I’m a crooner, and I don’t get asked often to sing. But when I do get asked, I always accept. And then the other thing is that even though I speak fluent conversational French and went to college in France, I still do French classes twice a week, because I want my French to be as perfect as it can be. It’s a complicated language with the passé composé and le subjonctif and the conjugation of the verbs and the rules, and then there are exceptions to rules, and everything is masculine or feminine, and there’s no rhyme or reason.
I think there will be more French movies in my future. I sang in one film, Gangster Squad, with Sean Penn, and the singing got cut out. I was a hit man. And do you know the famous scene from A Clockwork Orange, where Malcolm McDowell sang [sings in British accent and pantomimes kicking and hitting] “I’m singin’ in the rain, just singin’ in the rain!” I thought, That’s a hit, man. And as I’m strangling Giovanni Ribisi, I started singing, “Forget your troubles, come on, get happy / Get ready for the Judgment Day.” I thought that would be funny and unexpected. Director Ruben Fleischer indulged me a little bit when we were shooting. But sadly, in the cut, there was no evidence of my sparkling singing voice. But that’s okay.
What I’ve realized from this conversation is that I need a DVD called Holt, the Deleted Scenes, including those from The Iron Claw.
I wish they would release it to you. My fear with Fritz was that he would be perceived as a one-dimensional kind of a character, and what I tried to deliver to Sean was a multidimensional guy. Yes, he could be stoic, but I think there were private moments when Fritz really did feel emotion and feel regret.
This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.
