Tony Melanson, one of my students in the DocFix, recently sent me a podcast interview that honestly thrilled me.

It features Avry Ryhal and Leyna Rumpler, the two young wrestlers at the centre of "Iron Maidens: Wrestling for Glory",—a documentary Tony and I made together through DocFix…

…and which can watch on Apple TV and Amazon Prime.

The documentary follows their friendship and rivalry during Pennsylvania's historic first sanctioned girls' high school wrestling championship season.

I expected to hear them talk about wrestling.

What I got instead was one of the most articulate descriptions I've ever heard from documentary subjects about what it actually feels like to be filmed, and what they valued about how Tony approached their story.

Tony made this as a self-funded passion project while working through the DocFix programme. He knew nothing about wrestling when he started. He just knew he wanted to tell this story.

I've worked on F1: Drive to Survive and Sunderland 'Til I Die, and what Tony created has that same editorial integrity. Not because he had a big budget or years of experience, but because he understood the process.

That's what I want to share with you. Because if Tony can do this, you can too. It's not about talent. It's about understanding how stories work and having the courage to follow them honestly.

The Gift of Being Pushed

Here's something that surprised Tony: both subjects expressed genuine _gratitude_ for being pushed to vulnerable places.

Listen to what Leyna says:

Tony did a great job capturing that and really digging into us and getting us to be vulnerable, which I'm grateful that we were both able to do that because it is such a hard thing to do, to be vulnerable in front of a camera, in front of someone that's not your best friend or a family member.

That word—grateful.

I see this fear all the time with filmmakers I work with: "Am I pushing too hard? Am I being intrusive? What if I upset them?"

And yes, you need to be sensitive. But here's what Leyna is telling us—she _wanted_ to be pushed. That's why she agreed to do this. She wanted help understanding what she was going through.

Later, reflecting on the finished film, she says:

I'm really glad that Tony was able to question the way things he did and pick and choose what he put in the documentary.

There it is again. Gratitude.

Your subjects are sitting in that chair because they want to tell their story. They want to go deeper. Your job is to create the safety for them to do that. Look at their eyes. If you sense there's more there, there probably is. Ask the next question.

Give them permission to be honest.

Tony did that, and you can hear in their voices how much it mattered to them.

Don't Fall in Love with Your Ending

This one's crucial, and it's where I see filmmakers get stuck all the time.

Early in the filming, Tony captured this beautiful moment where both wrestlers said:

"We're gonna win states together like 148 and 155."

Perfect, right? Two friends, both champions. Fade to black, roll credits.

Except that's not what happened.

Now, I've seen filmmakers absolutely panic in this situation. They've imagined this perfect ending, and when reality doesn't cooperate, they don't know what to do. Some try to force it. Some give up. Some convince themselves the film isn't working.

But Tony—and this is what working through narrative structures in DocFix gave him—understood something vital: real life giving you something unexpected isn't a problem. It's often a gift.

Leyna identifies the Mount Lebo tournament as her favourite part of the documentary.

That's where "things changed and the unexpected happened." She says it "really shows the duality of wrestling because it shows the triumph and the defeat."

The authentic emotional truth of what actually happened was more powerful than the neat resolution Tony might have imagined. He didn't try to manipulate reality to fit his story.

He let the story emerge from reality.

And here's the key: because he understood multiple narrative structures—because we'd worked through different ways stories can unfold—he could recognise the power in what was actually happening. He wasn't afraid. He knew that if he stayed truthful and authentic, he'd find his way to something compelling.

At the start, Tony admitted to them:

"I don't know anything about wrestling, but I wanna do this and I wanna learn."

That humility, that openness? That's not a weakness.

That's how you stay receptive to the story that wants to be told rather than forcing the one you imagined. (It also made him an outstanding student, by the way).

Be There, But Know When to Disappear

Both subjects describe something that tells me Tony really understood documentary craft—he knew when to be present and when to back off.

Leyna describes it beautifully:

He was really off to the distance when I'm getting ready for matches and whatnot. I don't talk to anyone. I don't look at anyone. I'm in my own world. And he just, he knew what to do.

Nobody told him that. He read the situation. He understood her process.

She goes on:

He did a great job of letting nature run its course and not trying to interfere or play with any sort of outcome or probe in the middle of any tournament and causing me to go off balance.

This is it. This is the craft. In interviews, you push. You dig. You help them articulate what they're feeling. But in the moments you are documenting—the competitions, the preparations, the real life—you step back. You observe. You let things happen.

Eventually, Leyna says:

As the season went on, it was like he wasn't even there.

That's what you're aiming for. Present enough to capture truth. Invisible enough not to distort it.

Tony learned this through the programme, through understanding the different modes of documentary work. You can learn it too.

Questions That Help People Understand Themselves

Something really struck me in this interview—both subjects show this sophisticated self-awareness about their own journey. That doesn't just happen. That comes from the kind of questions Tony was asking.

Listen to Leyna's reflection:

Especially towards the end, it's really heartbreaking for me just listening back on how I felt because I knew, I don't know how to word it. I knew that things, certain things weren't true, but it was how I felt, and it truly does break my heart because I know other people feel that way too when they lose a match or when something happens that wasn't supposed to.

She's separating emotional truth from objective reality. She's recognising that both matter. She's extending empathy to others who feel the same way.

And, coincidentally, she is subconsciously recognising the essence of a beautifully structured narrative...

An overall objective story combined with a subjective experience of that story.

That level of insight?

That emerges from thoughtful questioning. From someone taking the time to really understand what she was experiencing and helping her articulate it.

This is what good documentary work does—it doesn't just capture people, it helps them understand themselves better. And when they feel that happening, they trust you. They open up more. They go deeper.

It's the Process, Not Some Special Talent

I want to be really clear about this because it matters to me: Tony didn't make this film because he has some innate gift that others lack.

He made it because he learned a process.

A way of understanding how stories work. A framework for recognising different narrative structures. An approach to building trust with subjects and staying open to what emerges.

This was a self-funded passion project by someone who admitted he knew nothing about wrestling. And it's having real impact.

At screenings, young wrestlers come up to Avery and Leyna, inspired by what they saw.

Avery says it's "such an inspirational film I feel like, and it brings courage to other little girls and other even teenagers or grown young adults wanting to wrestle."

The film captures a genuinely historic moment—Pennsylvania's first sanctioned girls' wrestling championship—with the kind of editorial integrity you'd expect from a major streaming documentary.

That's not magic. That's understanding structure, building trust, staying open to truth, and having the craft to capture it.

I teach this process through DocFix because I believe anyone can learn it.

You don't need a massive budget. You don't need years of experience. You need to understand how stories work, and you need the courage to follow them honestly wherever they lead.

Tony did that. My other students are doing it. You can too.

What Your Subjects Actually Want

If there's one thing I want you to take from hearing Avery and Leyna's perspective, it's this: your subjects want you to help them tell their truth.

They don't want you to manipulate them toward some false narrative…

…but they _do_ want you to push them toward honesty. They want you to know when to be present and when to disappear. They want you to capture what actually happens, not what you hoped would happen.

And if you do all this well—if you create that trust and follow that truth—they'll be grateful. Not just for the film you made, but for helping them understand their own story.

Avery puts it simply when talking about their friendship versus their rivalry:

"Wrestling's gonna be in the present, but a friendship's gonna be forever."

Tony didn't force that insight. He created the conditions for it to emerge, recognised it when it did, and trusted it would resonate.

That's documentary filmmaking at its best. At any budget. At any scale.

And honestly? It's incredibly exciting to see a student grasp this and run with it. Because it means the process works. It means this can be taught, learned, and practised.

Tony forwarded me this interview, and I could hear the pride in his message. He should be proud. But more than that, he should know that what he's learned—this way of seeing stories, this understanding of structure and trust and authenticity—can take him anywhere he wants to go.

And if you're reading this thinking,

"I could never do that",—you're wrong. You absolutely can.