Rating: PG-13 | Runtime: 140 minutes
Release Date: March 7th, 2025 (USA)
Studio: SUMERIAN
Director(s): Ash Avildsen
Writer(s): Ash Avildsen and Alston Ramsay / Jeff Leen (book The Queen of the Ring: Sex, Muscles, Diamonds, and the Making of an American Legend)

It’ll be lipstick and dynamite.

Widely regarded as the first million-dollar woman athlete in history, pro wrestling star Mildred Burke’s (Emily Bett Rickards) story within that sport has all the dramatic, misogynistic earmarks you can imagine. The abusive husband/manager (Josh Lucas’ Billy Wolfe) riding her coattails to the bank until he can cut her loose. The bureaucratic boys club refusing to allow women inside by maintaining bans on woman-on-woman wrestling within their states. The athletes she took under her wing being forced to wonder if their only shot at success is keeping Wolfe happy rather than the audiences they sacrifice they bodies for every night. It’s wall-to-wall barrier breaking heroics.

And that’s the narrative at the center of Ash Avildsen’s Queen of the Ring. Yes, it’s billed as a biopic with Mildred as star, but don’t assume the script delves deep into who she was beyond her influence to wrestling. Avildsen and Alston Ramsay’s adaptation of Jeff Leen’s book loves to remind us how Burke did it all as a single mother (with help from her own single mother Bertha, played by Cara Buono), but Joe’s presence (eventually played by Gavin Casalegno as a teenager and adult) is more to show the passing of time than anything else. He tethers the story to family, but it’s her found family with Mae Young (Francesca Eastwood), Elvira Snodgrass (Marie Avgeropoulos), Gladys Gillem (Deborah Ann Woll), and Babs Wingo (Damaris Lewis) that carries the film.

Mildred’s life is the backdrop of pioneering change. Her tenacity and showmanship supply fans and media the intrigue to make her a household name alongside the injustice to overcome being a woman in a man’s sport paid for by a man’s world. Because the unfortunate reality is that Wolfe holds all the cards. Avildsen can’t rewrite truth, so the many times Wolfe flies off the handle (his shifts to remorse growing more obnoxiously false as they go) carry zero consequences. Not only does the industry deem his position more important than hers (that hasn’t changed with most leagues treating athletes like property), but society does too. This is the 1940s and 50s, after all. Mildred knows any public display of being “the fool” will damage her quest to empower young girls.

So, as Mildred endures physical, emotional, and economic violence, so too must we. Eventually there will need to be a climactic “face” vs. “heel” match that figuratively pits her against Wolfe, but the journey there is ultimately about the evolution of wrestling from carnival sideshow to televised soap opera. Mildred plays her part in that—a very important one considering her advice to Gorgeous George (Adam Demos) before his aesthetic transformation. But her presence as a three-dimensional character suffers as a result of that performance being solely in service of the bigger picture. The real lesson then is seeing her treatment of her peers and understanding the chasm separating Mildred’s business acumen from Wolfe’s greed.

As such, the character driven bits can feel very rushed—even with a 140-minute runtime. We’re pushing through decades of history from Mildred challenging yokels on the carnival circuit to booking major venues wrestling women they pick up along the way after she inspires them. The potential romance with Wolfe’s son G. Bill (Tyler Posey) can never therefore pop as more than another necessary plot point further driving a wedge between Mildred and Billy. The desire to position Joe as a storyteller also falls flat since the scene before he receives his first major kudos from Jack Pfefer (Walton Goggins) ends with Mae Young telling him she has an idea. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn the third act fell victim to massive streamlining edits.

That said, Queen of the Ring plays well to its audience. It’s obviously a little fish in a big pond despite its wide national rollout, but whatever it lacks in production quality is surely gained in heart. Rickards is great in the lead role, carrying this thing with the perfect blend of swagger and strength to do Mildred proud. Eastwood and Posey are memorable too as the allies in her corner opposite Wolfe—albeit with varying success. And it’s nice to see Lucas get a meaty role, even if it proves a bit one-note upon us realizing the actor’s genuine looks of horror after each cruel act aren’t to be trusted. He may actually give Wolfe too much empathy, leading us to believe an evolutionary metamorphosis is coming when its the full force of his evil that proves most captivating.

Thankfully, while we realize the drama between Mildred and Wolfe is nothing but the superficial repetition of cliché spousal abuse, the drama behind the sport never stalls. The return of June Byers (Kailey Farmer). An inevitably tragic end to one of the athlete’s lives. The ability to provide an outlet for women of all colors against the patriarchy showing the importance of sports to political and social change. The Mildred Burke story truly has it all. You would be forgiven then for forgetting that the action is pretty well-orchestrated too. It’s not all quick cuts and stunt doubles. These women are going to war and flipping each other around the ring to remind people that the result of these matches being scripted doesn’t stop the physicality from being real.

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Emily Bett Rickards, Francesca Eastwood, Marie Avgeropoulos, and Deborah Ann Woll in QUEEN OF THE RING; photo by Steve Squall, courtesy of SUMERIAN.