SGN Page 26

FLYING MARES AND SHORT ARM SCISSOR LIFTS

Lipstick and Dynamite At The Northwest Film Forum, June 17-29
by Maggie Bloodstone - SGN A&E Writer Yeas, I admit, I used to watch the Gorgeous Ladies Of Wrestling back in the day- not for the obvious prurient reasons (though I did entertain fantasies of being carried around in the Amazonian Queen Kongs back pocket at one time), but out of a second- generation feminists primal desire to see snarling, sweaty bad girls kick the estrogen out of the jiggling, giggling good girls. In the dubious, though entertaining, spectacle of wrestling, as in life, the terms good and bad take on a unique character when the owners of those labels are female. Everyone knows what bad girls do- what good girls dont do. In Ruth Leitmans spunky documentary Lipstick and Dynamite, the lady wrestlers are all bad girls, regardless of their role inside the ropes. Amazons like Gladys Killem Gillem, Ida Mae Martinez, The Fabulous Moolah. The Great Mae Young, Penny Banner, and Ella Waldek made their livings on their backs, but only when another gal had them pinned to the canvas. They tolerated, and transcended, the image of the female wrestler as an object of uncomfortable awe normally reserved for the freaks of carnival sideshows- which is where most of these women got their start in the business, often escaping physical and emotional abuse. (One relates how she started physical training as a response to a would-be rapists threats.) Newsreel footage and clips from game shows like Whats My Line? (in which the panel has to determine whether one of the two brawny dudes, or the shapely babe in a leotard is the real Fabulous Moolah) enforce the inherent weirdness of this variety of athlete, while stressing, ad nauseum, the fact that these are, despite the biceps, real women. The implicit message being, of course, theyre not dykes, guys, so uncross your legs. Whether any of the women featured in the film are, you, know those kinds of girls, is not touched upon, no doubt because neither they, or Leitman, figured it was anyones damn business, anyway. This is a refreshingly sleaze-free film about a traditionally sleazy occupation, with enough bitterness to keep it honest, but little in the way of exploitation along the lines of B-minus films like Racket Girls, a grindhouse classic that utilized actual female wrestlers of the 50s as tough, but toothsome eye candy. Likewise, theres a whisper-thin line between vintage glamour shots of Moolah, Ida Mae, et.al, and the mainstream cheesecake of the period- same skimpy ensembles, trowelled-on makeup, and tits-to-the-sky posture (except, perhaps, more obvious muscle tone). Of course, its just another means of defusing the potency- one might say, the virility of these women who, without knowing it at the time, were shaking up some post-war Status Quo on a very basic level. The film interposes 50-year old footage with that of the aforementioned ladies in their golden years. Some, like Moolah, more golden than others, like Gladys Killem Gillem, who apparently took one head-first piledriver too many (she took up lion taming after retiring from wrestling). Whether by luck, business sense, or a willingness to play the game, Moolah emerges as the classic queen bee figure, having attained status as a manager and promoter, besides still being an active participant in her 80s. (Theres a slightly disquieting scene between Moolah and her long-time companion, former midget wrestler Diamond Lil, who, while about the same age, refers to Moolah as Mama.) The present-day footage shows a group of graying and gritty women who epitomize the concept of the tough broad popular in their heyday- hearing an 84-year-old talking nonchalantly about fucking wrestling promoter and all-around asshole Billy Wolfe elicits both giggles and gasps- and would make any woman looking menopause in the face a little less depressed about inevitable cronehood. As for the wrestling itself- yowzah! The grainy, static footage presents a bunch of ferocious, determined dames who make todays crop of inflated party dolls (now that the sexuality of the sport is no longer so subliminated) look like slightly PMS-ing cheerleaders. Its sloppy, its bloody, its- dare I say it- Real. Leitman, interestingly, never asks if what they did was authentic or staged- the answer might well be found in the scene where a hapless 18-year-old wrestler receives a blow from Waldek that ends in her death due to an already aggravated concussion. Still, theres enough all-round realness in this film that renders the most FAQ about the sport almost moot. If these gals can survive abuse, humiliation, betrayal, bullshit, and exploitation, and still keep on keepin on, a few flying dropkicks or body slams arent going to make a dent. While at barely 80 minutes, you get the feeling the film barely scratches the surface of its subject, its still a highly satisfying and valuable tribute to female resiliency and good old-fashioned spunk. These were girls who didnt have to be bad to be bad. Lipstick And Dynamite plays June 17-29, 7:45 and 9:00 p.m. (June 17, 7:45 only, no shows June 23) at the Northwest Film Forum, 1515 12th Ave., Capitol Hill. Plus, following the June 17 screening: live wrestling with the lovely and ferocious Pin Down Girls!