The Iron Bowl isn’t just a football game. It’s a battleground of history, pride, and identity, where the stakes reach far beyond the gridiron. Now, Netflix’s latest sports documentary, “Blood Feud: The Iron Bowl,” dives headfirst into the heart of one of college football’s most heated rivalries: the Auburn Tigers versus the Alabama Crimson Tide. With cinematic intensity and emotional storytelling, the documentary unpacks decades of drama, triumph, and pain that have shaped one of the fiercest rivalries in American sports.
The film opens with a slow-motion montage of Iron Bowl footage—Bear Bryant pacing the sidelines, Bo Jackson sprinting through defenders, Nick Saban hoisting trophies, and Jordan-Hare Stadium erupting in chaos after the legendary “Kick Six.” With a thunderous score and archival narration from the likes of Keith Jackson and Verne Lundquist, the documentary sets the tone: this is not just about football. It’s about culture, power, and passion.
Through interviews with former players, coaches, journalists, and die-hard fans, Blood Feud paints a vivid portrait of how the Iron Bowl came to define not just Alabama football, but Alabama itself. As Auburn legend Cam Newton puts it in the film, “It’s not just about beating Alabama. It’s about earning the right to walk around this state with your head held high.”
The documentary devotes considerable time to the origins of the rivalry, which began in 1893 but took a long hiatus after 1907 due to disputes over game rules and finances. When the Iron Bowl resumed in 1948, it was clear that the game had become much more than a mere contest—it was war.
Former Alabama quarterback and NFL star Joe Namath recalls how Bear Bryant instilled the importance of the Iron Bowl into every player’s DNA. “He didn’t have to say much,” Namath explains. “You just knew you better not lose to Auburn, or it was going to be a long year.”
In contrast, Auburn faithful share tales of the underdog spirit that has fueled their side of the rivalry for decades. The film emphasizes the cultural divide between the two programs: Alabama as the traditional powerhouse with a global following, and Auburn as the heartland university fighting for its piece of glory.
Central to Blood Feud are in-depth retellings of the rivalry’s most iconic games. The 1982 “Bo Over the Top” game is revisited through the eyes of Auburn players and fans, who recall the play that symbolized the end of Alabama’s dominance during the Bryant era. The 1994 “Reverse” game, in which Auburn stunned Alabama with a late trick play, is presented as a cinematic turning point for the rivalry.
But the most emotional and cinematic moment comes with the 2013 Iron Bowl—the infamous “Kick Six.” Netflix masterfully interweaves fan reactions, radio calls, and sideline footage to recreate the chaos and shock of Chris Davis returning a missed field goal 109 yards for a game-winning touchdown. The sequence is breathtaking, and even those who know the result will feel their pulse quicken.
“The moment that ball was caught, and he started running,” says former Auburn coach Gus Malzahn, “I knew we were about to make history.”
What sets Blood Feud apart is its exploration of how the rivalry infiltrates everyday life. The documentary includes poignant interviews with families split down the middle—husbands who wear crimson and wives who bleed orange and blue. A barber in Birmingham refuses to cut hair on Iron Bowl Saturday. A pastor in Mobile admits he tweaks sermons based on who wins the game.
Sociologists and historians are brought in to discuss the psychological and cultural significance of the rivalry. Dr. Regina Matthews from the University of Alabama explains, “The Iron Bowl is one of the few events that touches every corner of this state. It’s a class thing, a race thing, a political thing. It’s deeper than most people outside Alabama can comprehend.”
Auburn fan and journalist Paul Finebaum, a central figure in the SEC media landscape, adds gravity with his insight: “This rivalry can make or break political careers. It can determine fundraising success. It can influence how people raise their children. That’s how big it is.”
Blood Feud dives into the personalities who have fueled the fire over the years. From Bear Bryant and Pat Dye to Tommy Tuberville and Nick Saban, the documentary presents a who’s who of SEC royalty. Particularly captivating is the section on Saban, whose dominance at Alabama reignited hatred among Auburn fans but earned begrudging respect from all corners of the football world.
“I wanted to beat Nick so bad,” Tuberville says, smirking. “And when we did, it felt like we won the Super Bowl.”
The film also doesn’t shy away from the dark moments. It recounts the Harvey Updyke tree-poisoning incident in 2010 with the seriousness it deserves, portraying how the rivalry can sometimes cross dangerous lines. Updyke’s infamous call to the Finebaum Show is played over eerie shots of Toomer’s Corner and the devastated Auburn community.
The latter portion of the documentary focuses on the recent era, especially how the rivalry has adapted in the age of social media and NIL deals. The 2021 and 2022 Iron Bowl clashes are examined through the lens of coaching turnover, transfer portal chaos, and evolving expectations.
Fans and analysts discuss the unique challenges and pressures for coaches who enter the Iron Bowl for the first time. “You don’t just inherit a football program,” one former Auburn assistant coach explains. “You inherit a war.”
The final scenes suggest that the rivalry is entering a new phase—one still steeped in tradition but evolving in scope. With both programs frequently competing for national playoff spots and recruiting the same elite talent, the Iron Bowl’s influence continues to grow.
One of the film’s most effective tools is its reliance on everyday fans. A retired coal miner talks about crying when Alabama won in 1992. A mother in Opelika describes how her son switched allegiances from Auburn to Alabama and was “nearly disowned.” The documentary emphasizes that this isn’t just a game between two schools—it’s embedded in birthrights, front porches, and Friday night conversations at the local diner.
A student from Tuscaloosa tearfully recalls attending her first Iron Bowl and realizing the stakes: “It wasn’t about hate. It was about love. Love for your team, your people, your state. You just want your side to win so badly because it means everything.”
From a technical standpoint, Netflix outdoes itself. The drone shots of packed stadiums, slow-motion replays of pivotal plays, and grainy home videos from the 1970s and ’80s give the film a rich, emotional texture. Interviews are shot in high contrast, capturing every smirk, tear, and jaw clench.
The score, composed by Emmy-winner Blake Neely, oscillates between triumphant and haunting, perfectly matching the shifting tones of joy and heartbreak. Directors Carrie Levens and Marcus Firth deserve praise for balancing a high-octane sports documentary with a heartfelt human story.
Blood Feud: The Iron Bowl is more than a sports documentary—it’s a masterclass in storytelling. It captures the highs and lows of a rivalry that transcends athletics. Whether you’re a lifelong Auburn supporter, a Crimson Tide loyalist, or just a fan of compelling narratives, this film is essential viewing.
The final words in the documentary come from former Alabama great Derrick Henry: “The Iron Bowl doesn’t just crown a winner. It tells you who owns Alabama—for that year, at least.”
