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Yahoo!When challenged with whether to experience The Wrestler (Mickey Rourke) onstage or actual wrestling in Ventucky (Santa Barbarans’ affectionate term for our sister city to the south), the choice was obvious: See the “real” deal, and make Mickey proud. And after three hours of lucha libre-laden smash bang-a-dang and lusty ladies getting tastefully less clothed between each battle, it’s safe to say that even Mickey may have in fact missed the South Coast’s main event.
Jim Scolari
Lucha VaVoom
After a cheesy yet informative video and some lewd, druggy opening commentary by announcers Blaine Capatch and Dana Gould, the sexo y violencia affair started off with the former, personified in one Lucy Fur, whose coconut-bra, lamp-lit imitation of a dashboard hula girl got everyone’s juices flowing. And then, hefty portions of semi-scripted violence ensued, featuring such luchadore luminaries as Los Paramedicos, El Presidente, Solar, and, to everyone’s smiling applause, the Crazy Chickens, who showed off wing-flapping dance moves as they moved in and out through the sold-out crowd. The good guys (aka “Technicos”) usually beat the bad guys (aka “Rudos”), but not always, and, though theatrical, there’s no way that some of those body slams and leg-twisting flip-a-roos didn’t inject some legitimate pain into the afflicted. Oh, and if you happened to pick up the pricey seats on the side of the ring, you probably should have upped your medical insurance too, because the sweaty hombres landed in your lap with a vengeance more than once.
Particularly crowd pleasing were the bad guys we all hate to love, like Dirty Sanchez, whose poopy-pants routine managed to accidentally snafu his El Chollo comrade, and the Prince-impersonating dancer Lux LaCroix, who left us all wondering if we’d just watched a man shake his thang, or merely a mustached muchacha. And of course there was the midget (but aren’t they technically dwarves?) wrestling extravaganza, which made those $9 Sierras and $6 El Jimador shots worth it. For the finale, we got a cross-dressing goon named Cassandro as our hero, pitted against the spike-ily costumed Chupacabra (both had partners too, as did everyone in this tag-team-only affair). As the hoorays battled the boos, we all watched astutely, communally assured that the world will certainly be a safer place when a man-chica can dismantle a monster. Lucha? Vavoom!
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