Intrigued, I decided to explore this alien world in all its myriad forms.
Lucha libre means free wrestling/fighting and its improvisational quality makes it supremely theatrical. The use of masks lends an air of mystery to proceedings. Mexicans notoriously love spectacle, so it is not surprising the sport has proved so popular and that their wrestling heroes are such a source of pride.
One of the most renowned luchadores is Rodolfo Guzmán Huerta, who established himself as a professional wrestler in the early 1940s. Thanks to television, by the 1950s El Santo was a household name. The inscrutability of his silver mask perfectly complemented his physical prowess. His wrestling career lasted for almost fifty years, he appeared in over fifty movies,
Determined to experience this popular pastime for myself, I attended a wrestling fair in Mexico City. It took place in a huge exhibition centre complete with stalls selling memorabilia and mini rings for children to learn the art. People were queuing round the block to have their picture taken with masked, semi-naked men -- usually past heroes.
The central ring was packed to the rafters and the roar of the crowd was infectious. Four women in shiny, brightly coloured latex were wrestling in pairs – the “bad” girls, skimpily clad with peroxide hair, opposed the “good”, more modestly dressed brunettes.
Then it was time for the men who arrived in threes greeted by shouts and jeers from the crowd. One of the most arresting of these was Maximo, a rotund figure with pink Mohican hair and a black and gold leotard.
Maximo is known for his campness – blowing kisses at his opponents and threatening to lick them after he has overpowered them with a powerful kick to the groin. Given Mexico’s notorious machismo, I was surprised by the audience’s enthusiastic response. But Maximo was on the side of the “good guys”, La Sombra (the Shadow) and El Valiente (the Valiant), and, in wrestling, the good guys always win. Although his partners were the muscle-bound heroes of comic books, the audience genuinely seemed to love Maximo the best.
I was reminded of how all this colour and spectacle serves as theatre. The fighting is tightly choreographed and the most revered
The audience never tire of the same story played out again and again. In fact, they seem to gain some sort of catharsis. It made me think of the emotional release experienced by audiences of tragic Greek drama. Like that classic form, destiny plays a crucial part in Lucha libre; it is already determined who will win and lose and yet knowing the ending does not mar one’s appreciation in the slightest. I wonder how much this passion for wrestling serves as an escape for most Mexicans. The country’s soaring crime rate, unpredictable economy, poverty gap and other inequities, the well-publicised battles of the drug cartels, and political corruption inevitably impact on ordinary citizens.
Outside the ring, violence in Mexico is often carried out with impunity. In wrestling, the message is simple and unchanging: The bad are always punished and the good are rewarded. And when the luchadores take off their shirts an erotic element comes into play -- wrestling is as popular with women as it is with men.
Many Mexicans appear to want their national sport to be treated seriously. The T-shirts proclaim “Wrestling is not a circus, it is a passion”. But the dare devil stunts, the over-stated, kitsch costumes (lurid greens, screaming pinks, silver, gold and leopard-skin), the wrestlers’ balancing acts on the ropes, their frequent contortions and back flips all recall the fun and dazzle of the circus Big Top.
There is undoubtedly something liberating about this spectator sport. Sadly, I was not to experience the world of midget wrestling that night, but I was in the front row when “the minis” took to the stage and hollering with the rest of the crowd.
