By Andrea Thompson
There’s no doubt that co-directors Paola Calvo and Patrick Jasim wanted to make a powerful statement with their documentary “Luchadoras,” currently streaming as a part of Milwaukee Film’s Hispanic Heritage Month, which follows three female wrestlers struggling to make a better life in Ciudad Juárez, which has seen so many of its residents disappear it’s come to be known as Murder City.
The roots of such a brutally infamous moniker can be blamed on a familiar culprit - the vicious force we quaintly refer to as global capitalism. It makes the most twisted kind of sense, then, that many of the disappeared are women who worked at assembly factories, which are themselves the result of the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA). All three of the documentary’s subjects, who mostly go by their wrestling alter egos of Lady Candy, Baby Star, and Mini Sirenita, see wrestling both as a source of income and empowerment, a way to fight for a better life in and out of the ring.
They all have many things in common, most of which involve how they cope with the gender limitations in their work and daily lives. The stories, the jokes, the memories they all share, with each other and those around them, are no less horrifying for being normalized. They speak of their memories of women screaming for help who they were too afraid to assist, of others who were abducted and raped by bus drivers, the discovery of mutilated bodies in the desert, and the police corruption and incompetence that enables it all.
Their personal lives are about as healthy as you can expect, as many recount stories of the toxic men in their lives, from those in the ring to their families and their partners, many of whom forbade them from working, and who were generally a source of emotional and physical violence.
The truly remarkable thing is how determined each of them are to have the last word. They may be under siege, but the women in “Luchadoras” have reached the stage where they’ve become very aware that they’re under siege together. Such solidarity, born of their brutal circumstances, has led them to become activists fighting for change in their communities and personal lives, from teaching self defense classes in the ring to using it as a platform to organize and protest against femicide.
No, there are no mere victims here, and no one is helpless by any means. Lady Candy, Baby Star, and Mini Sirenita are pushing back as best as they can, living their lives, and trying to make them better. All of them pin their hopes on their wrestling careers despite the very real dangers, and attempt to provide more stability, for themselves and their families.
Given all that, it’s sometimes frustrating how little context Calvo and Jasim provide, even if their reasoning is obvious. They have a great deal of trust in their audience, and centering their subjects above all, even at the expense of that audience at times, is how they avoid reducing this remarkable trio to victims or invulnerable superwomen.
Candy, the youngest, may have the most painful story of all, one whose twists and turns beg for a little outside guidance. She is the one who works in a funeral home and is grappling most directly with the consequences of not just economics but how the system is stacked against potential immigrants. Candy left her husband due to domestic violence, but he’s still able to keep her children from her in the safety and prosperity of El Paso, Texas, despite the fact that the two cities are separated by a mere fence. To see them, Candy must attempt to get a visa, in spite of the bureaucratic hurdles, and the fact that fewer of them are being granted.
If only Calvo and Jasim were willing to assert themselves into the film, or just more information outside of what people are willing to say aloud, “Luchadoras” would practically be a textbook example of how the unfettered, unchecked, so-called free market wreaks havoc, especially among populations of color. But then, the filmmakers clearly aren’t interested in arguing, merely showing how those who should be helpless can and do resist, even under constant pressure.
