Mexican wrestling, mass appeal

Carrie D'Amour sits on the floor of the Rock City Body Pilates Studio in Allston, pulling out the memorabilia she's collected over the past 10 years that celebrate her love of the Mexican form of wrestling: lucha libre.

The sport, which began enchanting Mexican fans in the 1930s, has developed a small but fervid following among Americans who've fallen in love with legendary wrestlers such as Santo , Blue Demon , Mil Mascaras (``1,000 Masks"), and Fray Tormenta (``Friar Storm"). Mexican audiences enthusiastically blow horns and shake noisemakers as masked pugilists perform in a wrestling style that depends on high-flying acrobatic moves. The action often spills out of the ring and into the first few rows of the audience.

Locals embrace the sport in a variety of ways. Almost 10 years ago, Whitinsville native Keith Rainville began introducing lucha to English-speaking audiences worldwide through his self-published magazine, From Parts Unknown. After becoming a passionate lucha fan through From Parts Unknown, D'Amour recruited four other women almost two years ago to participate in La Gata Negra: League of Masked Lady Wrestlers , an alternative wrestling group heavily inspired by lucha that has performed at T.T. the Bear's , the Coolidge Corner Theatre , and Mass. College of Art . (Catch them live Thursday at 8 p.m. at the Paradise.) Then there are professional local wrestlers such as Nikki Roxx and Ariel who travel to Mexico, where they fight for Lucha Libre Feminil , Mexico's female wrestling league.

Lucha's reach extends nationally as well. The Los Angeles-based ``Lucha VaVoom" offers a mixture of burlesque and lucha featuring top fighters from Mexico. Fans in St. Louis, Chicago, and Los Angeles can savor authentic fights starring luchadores, the Spanish term for Mexican wrestlers.

Now lucha is attempting to put its moves on the mainstream with ``Nacho Libre," opening Friday, a film loosely based on the story of Fray Tormenta. The Mexican priest moonlighted as a popular wrestler for 23 years to raise money for his orphanage. Some think the film -- which unites Jared Hess , director of ``Napoleon Dynamite," with Mike White, screenwriter of `` School of Rock" -- could push lucha out of the subculture and make it a pop phenomenon.

As usual in such cases, the transition has not gone smoothly. Some fans gossip about the filmmakers' insensitively casting a white man (actor Jack Black stars as a battling cook who wrestles to raise money to feed the orphans at his monastery) as a Mexican; in fact, says Hess, who directed ``Nacho Libre" and co-wrote the screenplay, Black's character is the orphaned son of a Scandinavian missionary and Mexican deacon.

Other fans fear they will loose their grip on their beloved sport as it becomes more popular.

``You know," says D'Amour, a 25-year-old resident of Pawtucket, R.I., ``I think with any . . . sort of underground cult thing, you have mixed feelings about it. You want the people who perform [lucha] to get their dues and make their money and be more accessible, even to you. But at the same time, it does run the risk of oversaturation and overcommercialization."

Hess, 26, who first became aware of lucha culture about 10 years ago as a high school student when he stumbled upon a Santo movie on Galavision, doesn't share D'Amour's fears. He's collected about 25 DVDs of films starring luchadores, B-movies from a lucha filmmaking heyday that began about 50 years ago, and speaks as passionately as any other fan.

Lucha, says Hess, ``is something that in Mexico will forever be what it is. . . . However popular it gets [in the United States], I don't think it can be touched or changed a whole lot."

Back at the Pilates studio, D'Amour surrounds herself with her collection of lucha memorabilia. A tiny Mil Mascaras figure standing in his red cape and white mask. A small stack of From Parts Unknown magazines. Programs from ``Lucha VaVoom" performances. A handful of vintage lucha DVDs.

From Parts Unknown focused heavily on the movies, which, according to Rainville, Mexicans consider ``a trashy genre." Between 1996 and 2000, the magazine sold between 3,000 to 5,000 issues three times a year (it's now online at www.frompartsunknown.net ). The creators of the cartoon ``¡Mucha Lucha!" read From Parts Unknown; Rainville became influential enough that the group that developed the first ``Lucha VaVoom" hired him as a consultant.

``Vintage cinema -- that was half of what we covered," says Rainville, who now lives in Los Angeles. ``There are over 140 to 150 or so B-movies made between the mid-'50s and 1980 or so in Mexico. These were the most wonderful things I've ever seen."

With their visual images of wrestlers dressed in crisp business suits and candy-colored lucha masks, the films are high camp mixed with impressive physicality. But don't confuse lucha with popular American wrestling, which Rainville believes has been in a downturn since reaching its apex in the 1990s. Lucha is something entire families can enjoy, unlike World Wrestling Entertainment, which D'Amour and her cohorts complain oversexualize s women.

``I hope people don't look at `Nacho Libre' and say, `What is this, like Hulk Hogan?' " says Rainville. ``Lucha libre is a whole different thing. It's not about steroids and giant cable ratings and corporate sponsors. It's about six guys in a ring at a flea market in Juarez entertaining 150 people while they're eating churros and drinking Coronas."

These days you don't have to be Mexican to become a lucha wrestler.

Nicole Raczynski , who fights under the name Nikki Roxx , traveled to Mexico from 2004 to 2005 to fight for Lucha Libre Feminil. She would spend a few weeks at home in New Hampshire, then fly to Monterrey, Mexico, where the organizers paid for her apartment. Raczynski didn't speak Spanish, so after taking the physical required to get her license, she learned the mechanics of lucha in the ring.

``It's a lot faster pace" than American wrestling, says Raczynski, ``a lot more high flying . . . much higher impact. We [Americans] are so surprised when [the Mexican fighters] hit [us] because they're so little. `This won't hurt.' It so did."

The floors of the rings are also harder than those in the States.

``It's, like, just the ground," says Raczyncki. ``Concrete. There were some [rings] that were so bad that you wouldn't want to fall; you would fight as hard as you could so you wouldn't get pushed down."

The five-member crew of La Gata Negra does its fighting on mats. The ladies' tongues are firmly stuck in their cheeks as they create battles for their kooky collection of lucha characters. They've pitted a pair of nuns called the Bad Habits against two Southie schoolgirls they call the Irish Twins . For another show, the foreign fighters St. Brawley Girl and Swiss Fist wrestled for their green cards against the Americans GI Jane Doe and Missy America . They provide character bios on their website: www.lagatanegra.com .

The women create their moves by studying vintage lucha movies. Ama Allara , 35, La Gata Negra member and owner of the Allston Pilates studio where the group practices, makes sure that they do the moves safely. But her presence hasn't stopped the women from suffering their share of breaks and bruises. D'Amour broke her ankle during one performance; Lisa Magnani , 26, a recruit from Allara's classes, once split open her chin.

Then there's the occasional wardrobe malfunction. During one battle, Allara's Mistress Cheetah outfit slid down, giving the audience a view of her naked chest.

``Carrie had me in a hold with my arms over my head," says Allara, ``so there was nothing that I could do."

What brings the women back to the mat for more?

``You feel really strong," says Allston resident Alissa Grenman , 25, another recruit from Allara's classes. ``You're like, `Oh my God, I can be this amazing, strong woman and put on these really cool shows and all my friends can see me.' . . . It's empowering."