Jay Rohr
Professional wrestling inhabits a reality that Tinsel Town secretly wishes it could. That’s partly due to kayfabe, the thin veil obfuscating fact from fiction. The word has no precise origin. It could be the product of carny slang, pig Latin, or medieval French sentries. Whatever the etymology, the meaning is a borderline method acting approach to maintaining the illusion of a theatrical performance regardless of how false it may be. This goes well beyond suspension of disbelief.
Imagine if performers like Karl Urban, slated to portray Johnny Cage later this yearmin the upcoming Mortal Kombat II, remained in character outside the film. Imagine the whole publicity tour where he remains in the role. Not only is every interaction that identity, but the film is composed of action scenes Urban actually performed — no wire effects or CGI assists. See, professional wrestling as a form of entertainment is oddly closer to the Mission: Impossible franchise than any other action flicks given the fact, not unlike Tom Cruise, everyone performs their own stunts.
That’s why there’s a weird authenticity to it Hollywood can’t really emulate. For all its grandeur, the silver screen is always composed of intricate fakery. The fiction in wrestling, however, is simply the story. The rest is real, albeit choreographed. As such, cinema can, on occasion, use that authenticity to its advantage.
Sports have always been an excellent source for dramatic stories. The very nature of games lends itself to various plotlines which probe the depths of the human condition. While folks in the United States may argue nothing does this better than baseball, that national pastime pales in comparison to professional wrestling. After all, I’ve personally never heard of anyone “baseballing” with a difficult decision.
Over cinema’s long history wrestling has been a curious constant. Perhaps not prominent but present. One of the earliest films is a short reel from 1895 entitled Ringkämpfer. The director, Max Skladanowsky, was a film pioneer, developing the Bioskop projector with his brother Emil.
Early motion picture efforts sought to show off the capabilities of the technology. Nothing accomplished this better than dynamic movements. It may feel like an obvious observation, but this is why so many early film reels feature things moving. Not only did it distinguish the burgeoning field from still photography, but these initial experiments paved the way for pioneers who followed. The brief grappling between John Greiner and Eugene Sandow may not have the charming narrative qualities of the Lumière Brothers’ early efforts, such as L’Arroseur Arrosé (1895), but it does hint at what people thought would be compelling when projected on screen.
Even today Ringkämpfer still oddly says something about our society. Consider that some people, if only for the sad sake of sarcastic irony, feel compelled to give snarky reviews on Letterbox for a short film clip from over a hundred years ago. There isn’t a sadder, more pathetic indication of our collective media appreciation than people compelled to leave sardonic shitposts about historical artifacts. Still, it begs the question of how someone arrived there in the first place.
The most likely explanation is a curiosity about the presence of professional wrestling in film. Thanks to the internet, fans have unprecedented access to such info. It doesn’t take more than a glance to realize this form of entertainment has been along for the whole ride in ways other sports have never touched.
Professional wrestling appeared in films like The Sport Parade (1932) and Requiem for a Heavyweight (1962). Both flicks feature segments with era accurate displays of bouts between beefy men. However, they tend to be plot elements rather than the films’ focus. Still, their wrestling depictions allowed for pivotal points. Requiem for a Heavy Weight had Anthony Quinn as an aging boxer embarrassed to become a wrestler to pay off gambling debts, while The Sport Parade largely commented on corruption in rigged athletic competitions.
The two movies use the audience’s understanding of professional wrestling as, for lack of a better term, fake, to tell larger stories about corruption and falling from grace. Such preconceived notions have often been at the core of how the industry is presented in a film. The purpose of the picture shapes the representation of professional wrestling.
Nowhere is this more enjoyably observed than in the subgenre of lucha libre films. The luchador tradition of Mexican wrestling is a vibrant style all its own. From the colorful aesthetics, especially masks — which Dan Madigan ties to Aztec history in the book Mondo Lucha a Go-Go: The Bizarre and Honorable World of Mexican Wrestling — to the arial acrobatics, it’s easy to make comic book comparisons. As such, there’s little surprise luchadors inspired a whole wave of grindhouse flicks featuring prominent performers such as El Santo, Blue Demon, and Mil Máscaras.
Starting in 1952 with Huracán Ramírez, the first lucha libre inspired film is primarily a drama. It follows the son of a washed-up wrestler who becomes a rousing success as a luchador. Themes of poverty, family, romance, and triumph over tragedy abound in this grounded aspirational tale. Oddly enough, the success of Huracán Ramírez would inspire a tsunami of more pulp driven films.
Flicks with titles such as 1962’s Santo vs. Las Mujeres Vampiro, Doctor of Doom a.k.a. Las luchadoras contra el médico asesino (1963), and El castillo de las momias de Guanajuato a.k.a. The Castle of the Guanajuato Mummies (1973). These typically featured hyper masculine luchadors as heroes struggling against vampires and mummies. Ripped from the plots of pulp fiction, men were always flanked by pinup beauties such as Zulma Faiad, Lorena Velázquez, Altia Michel, and Isela Vega. Or beefcakes as arm candy for luchadoras when female wrestlers took center stage in films like The Wrestling Women vs. the Aztec Mummy a.k.a. Las luchadoras contra la momia (1964).
These types of wrestling films leaned in a B-movie direction, but they embraced the outlandish potential of their performers. This meant making flicks which fully embraced the silver screen’s ability to be total fiction. The limits of reality no longer applied.
Meanwhile, the legacy of luchador movies lives on in Japanese pictures like the 1999 action crime film Silver (Shirubaa) directed by Takashi Miike. In it, an undercover operative foils criminals while a member of Ladies Legend Pro-Wrestling. Then there’s The Calamari Wrestler (2004), an absurdist comedy about a Japanese wrestler turned into a giant squid. Not to mention Mil Máscaras made another lucha libre trilogy not too long ago — Mil Máscaras vs. The Aztec Mummy (2007), Academy of Doom (2008), and Aztec Revenge (2015).
This essentially sets up the spectrum of potential professional wrestling movies. Setting aside exploitation flicks such as Blood Games (1990), about a women’s baseball team getting into “a forest battle between backwoods predators and female prey”, sports movies tend to stay grounded. Sure, outliers like Angels in the Outfield (1951/1994) exist. They aren’t the norm. That’s because even lighthearted films like Bingo Long and The Travelling All-Stars (1977) address serious issues.
Baseball movies, for instance, cover a lot of bases. They can be poetic meditations on life such as Eephus (2024) or The Natural (1984). They can be zany comedies like Major League (1989). Yet, the themes they explore aren’t unique to baseball.
The struggle between siblings in the same sport can be seen in Fighting with My Family (2019), and the same as it can in A League of Their Own (1992). Comedy legend Carl Reiner directed Henry Winkler in The One and Only (1978), the comedic tale of a conceited young man rising in the world of professional wrestling before becoming a Gorgeous George inspired heel, his persona is a ridiculous hypnotist who defeats opponents by mesmerizing them. It has the same flavor of dealing with ego and fame as movies like Mr. 3000 (2004) or Bull Durham (1989). Then, The Wrester (2008), The Iron Claw (2023), and Queen of the Ring (2024) all explore the human condition in their own way.
What none of the other sports can do though is embrace a reality outside their own. At least without heavy metaphorical implication. On the one hand there are wrestling movies such as No Holds Barred (1989), starring Hulk Hogan and Tiny Lister, wherein this form of entertainment is portrayed as an actual bloodsport rather than athletic theater. More so, pro wrestling contains the potential to connect with other industries because it is more than one industry.
Films like …All the Marbles (1981) and Body Slam (1987) are life on the road flicks closer in content to movies about aspiring musicians than purely wresting films. They both feature wrestling promoters on the road with aspiring acts. Bull Durham may come close with its minor league storyline, or Any Given Sunday (1999) which aimed to explore the exploitative business side of football, but the point is that wrestling movies are directly about theater.
Wrestling movies, in a weird way, can be about the entertainment industry, the desire to express something, and the difficulties inherent in gaining attention for one’s art in a way that a sport movie simply can’t. That’s because as athletic as it is, professional wrestling is more entertainment than sport. Call it a stretch, but the AEW (All Elite Wrestling) has more in common with Shakespeare than any football flick. If you’re doubtful, just check out Coriolanus (2011). The story of a triumphant Roman general turned into a vengeful villain is an amazing heel turn.
Entertainment has always been at the heart of cinema’s evolution. Whatever utility motion pictures have dispensing information, such as newsreels, there’s always been a sidewise connection to captivating audiences. Any point that’s being made onscreen has to be compelling. Movies inspired by professional wrestling inherently have that potential due to natural presumptions about them.
Looked at as fake, they reveal people struggling in brutal circumstances to achieve a faint taste of freedom or fame or fortune. In that same light, they make sharp metaphorical points about the overall entertainment industry full of struggling artists desperate to be seen, searching for the gimmick that sets them apart. When viewed as true bloodsport, wrestling movies can depict bizarre action heroes. Either they battle each other brutally in the ring, or their bareknuckle brawler talents can defeat vampires, mummies, and all manner of horror adjacent evils.
Whichever way, there’s an authenticity that comes with professional wrestling as a storytelling tool because of how the audience is already primed to regard it. Perhaps that’s why it’s been there since the beginning of film. Wrestling can be grounded reality or the wildest flight of fantasy, and it loses nothing in the process.
