Jeff Leen’s excellent 2007 biography, The Queen of the Ring: Sex, Muscles, Diamonds, and the Making of an American Legend, tells the story of Mildred Burke, a world champion wrestler from the 1930s to the ’50s who helped to popularize women’s professional wrestling worldwide. She faced many troubles in her life, most of them related to her her abusive, philandering husband and manager, Billy Wolfe. Leen’s book is the basis for Queen of the Ring, an ambitious new biopic directed and co-written by Ash Avildsen and starring Arrow’s Emily Bett Rickards. It chronicles not only Burke’s fascinating story but also the early days of what would become a wildly popular, multibillion-dollar entertainment industry. It premieres in theaters on March 7.

In 1934, Millie Bliss was a 19-year-old single mother waiting tables at her mother’s diner, where she met Wolfe, a pro wrestler at the end of his own career. She was a big wrestling fan, and she wanted Wolfe, who was nearly two decades her senior, to teach her its techniques. Leen recounts her telling him, “I have this feeling inside that I can do it. I want to do it more than anything else in the world. I’ve been to the matches and I know I can do it.” Wolfe reluctantly agreed, despite Bliss’ small size; she showed natural talent from the first tryout, handily defeating a male wrestler who was bigger than she was. Soon, Bliss and Wolfe were working the carnival circuit—one of the few paying venues for female wrestlers at the time—with Wolfe offering $25 to “anyone who can beat the little lady in ten minutes—pin or submission!” Over 150 men would try and, she’d later claim, only one ever beat her. Around this time, Wolfe changed her stage name to the tougher-sounding Mildred Burke, which she retained for her entire career. The pair would marry in 1936.

As her popularity increased, she began taking part in “worked exhibitions”—matches with other women in which it was agreed beforehand who the victor would be (usually, the more popular competitor). The staged quality of such matches allowed for more theatrical moves; these became staples of pro wrestling and made it more popular than ever. Burke was a natural entertainer, whose skills captivated audiences nationwide. As a result, she made a very good living—as did Wolfe, who was managing an ever increasing number of female wrestlers, many inspired to take up the career after seeing Burke in action. (“Sex with [Wolfe] appeared to be the initiation fee for any woman who wanted to wrestle for him,” writes Leen.) One of his young protégés, Janet Boyer, died of a brain hemorrhage during a match from an injury she likely sustained during training.

Things became more complicated when Burke and George William “G. Bill” Wolfe, Billy’s adult son from another relationship, began an affair; a later argument between Burke and her husband resulted in terrible violence. It ultimately led to a divorce, which resulted in the ex-spouses competing against each other with rival promotions. The rivalry culminated in a “shooting” match—a wrestling contest in which the winner was not pre-arranged—between Burke and Wolfe’s new champion, June Byers.

It’s a lively story, and one that makes Leen’s astonishingly well-researched book a true page-turner. Indeed, such an eventful narrative could easily fill a miniseries’ worth of episodes, and Queen of the Ring packs an awful lot of incident, and an awful lot of characters, into its two-hour-plus runtime. Rickards, as Burke, is magnetic in an intensely physical role—compelling during the well-staged wrestling scenes but equally convincing during quieter moments as a woman who never, ever let life’s setbacks keep her down. Josh Lucas is also engaging as the loathsome Wolfe without ever making him feel cartoonish, and real-life pro wrestler Kailey Farmer (aka Kamille) is chilling as the tough-as-nails Byers.

Unfortunately, few other members of the extensive supporting cast get time to shine. Francesca Eastwood is excellent as the uncompromising wrestler Mae Young, but she only appears in a handful of scenes; Daredevil’s Deborah Ann Woll is similarly memorable as Gladys “Kill ’Em” Gillum, although wrestling aficionados may be puzzled by her character’s ultimate fate. The 100’s Marie Avgeropoulos and Heels’ Kelli Berglund as wrestlers Wilma “Babe” Gordon and Nell Stewart, respectively, also have far too little to do. Entertaining turns by Justified’s Walton Goggins and Cobra Kai’s Martin Kove as powerful promoters, and by Adam Demos as legendary showman Gorgeous George, also feel too brief.

Nonetheless, it’s a compulsively watchable film. There certainly has been no shortage of movies and shows about pro wrestling over the past several years, but only a few, such as the aforementioned Starz show Heels, manage to capture its grandeur and spectacle—and Queen of the Ring does, too. It has the feel of old-school biopics, which understood the sublime importance of entertaining the audience—something that Burke, and all her fellow wrestlers, knew all too well.

David Rapp is the senior Indie editor.