WSU and The Art Of The Hard Sell (Daily S.P.O.T. for 6/9/09)

Pro wrestling is, at its basest level, a form of pantomime: telling a story with body movements rather than words, and doing so in a way that everyone in the arena, from ringside to the last row of the cheap seats, knows what is going on. Oh, words would come later, to advance story lines or verbally castrate your opponent (those things called "promos"), but from its carny-sideshow roots, long before microphones -- much less telephoto lenses -- were even available, the grapplers had to communicate triumph and tragedy with nothing more than facial expressions. Used in the right place and at the right time, a grimace, a grin, or a wordless, agonized shriek clued EVERYBODY in the audience into what was going on in the squared circle.

This is the art of the "sell." In 90% of pro wrestling -- where punches, kicks, and pretzel-logic holds LOOK more devastating than they really are -- the way the wrestler on the receiving end of all this scripted abuse reacts will determine how convincing their opponent's offense appears.

Hard selling of the best sort was on display this past Saturday when Women's Superstars Uncensored (WSU for short), an all-female indy wrestling federation, held one of their quarterly live shows/videotapings in a funky old theater in Boonton, NJ. By now, you're probably looking at the first picture and asking "'All-female?' Then who's the bloke getting his spine rearranged?" Ah, that would be Sean Hanson, nominally a referee for various NY/NJ promotions as well as WSU's play-by-play man. For reasons too convoluted to recap, Hanson and the far more flamboyant Rick Cataldo were tag-teaming against Cataldo's old cohorts Roxie Cotton and Annie Social, a/k/a "The Beatdown Betties," as to who would remain in the Betties. That's Social, by the way, delivering a rather antisocial boot to Hanson's C5 vertebrae. (We'll see more of her shortly.) Now, Annie's a tough little slugger from South Philly who doesn't suffer fools gladly in real life, much less the ring; her MySpace blog is littered with "Pervert of the Week" entries in which she puts clueless, wannabe mack daddy playaz on blast. Point is, she's probably putting just enough mustard into her swing to make it look convincing in the balcony, but Hanson's reactions make it look like he's getting kicked by the entire chorus line at Minsky's, as it were.

Here's a great example of "double-team" selling, as Rain (a/k/a Peyton Banks of TNA fame) tries to rip the nostrils and upper lip off of Nikki Roxx (a/k/a Roxxie Laveaux of etc. -- and TNA's all the worse for letting both ladies go). Now Rain is a classic, old-school Southern-style heel (or bad-guy wrestler), alternately cocky, chicken-shit, and psycho; cheat to win and make Machiavelli proud of ya in the process. Nikki is playing vintage babyface (i.e. good-guy): Mom, apple pie, Girl Scout oath and Sunday school all rolled into one. Again, Rain's probably not applying enough pressure to crack an egg, much less tear hair and skin, but both ladies have cranked their personalities up to 11, and there should be no question who the average wrestling mark should be cheering or booing. ('Cept for me -- I like heels, of either gender, and Rain's been one of my favorites since debuting in WSU within the last year.)

One of the highlights of the WSU show was the "Uncensored Rumble" -- in other words, a battle royale in which twenty wrestlers collide and try to throw each other out of the ring. From a photographic standpoint, I'm generally not a fan of battle royales: between the all-over-the-place action and random bodies flying past your ears, it's tough to stay at ringside, camera at the ready, and not feel like you're walked into the latest Israel-Palestine brouhaha. Fortunately, WSU staggered the contestants' entries (instead of starting with all twenty ladies in the ring), so it was easier to track the action and not worry for my health and well-being. Here's Trixie Lynn, not too happy about taking a random suplex from one of the other nineteen entrants.

Remember Annie Social? Yeah, she was the one putting the boot to the zebra at the top o' the page. Well, Annie sells her wrestling "injuries" better than a lot of people you see on TV. Here she is recovering from a chop to the clavicle in the Rumble...

...and a few moments later, after being unceremoniously dumped through the ring ropes. A textbook definition of "pissed off."

Then again, Annie's fellow Beatdown Bettie didn't do much better. But by contrast, Roxxie -- who's gimmick is an 80's style mall rat, and yes, she's come out to the Zappas' "Valley Girl" -- greeted her elimination from the Rumble not with anger, but with pouting and tears.

Which brings us to the headlining match: current champion Mercedes Martinez and former champ Angel Orsini slugging it out in a sixty-minute, anything-goes Ironman...er, Ironwoman Match. Lots of brawling all over the building (including the box seats above the stage and the ring-rental trailer outside!), plus copious use of chairs, ladders, tables, and kendo sticks. Just for reference, that's Martinez in the foreground, getting "stretched on the rack" by Orsini; while she may bill herself as the "Latina Sensation," I'm pretty sure Mercedes was NOT expecting the Spanish Inquisition.

(This would also be a good time to point out that, whereas in boxing or MMA, long hair is a decided disadvantage, in wrestling photography it can make for some great visuals. Orsini in particular has hair that goes flying when she's on the attack...)

Bottom line: The better the wrestlers sell, the more the wrestling audience will buy. And I don't care if you're a stone smart-mark who knows it's a con but enjoys it anyway, or if you're Mr. "It's Still Real To Me, Dammit!" There is real pain in pro wrestling, no doubt, but the magic occurs when the "fake" pain looks even worse. Sell, sell, sell!

To find out more about WSU, click here.

To see the entire gallery from the 6/6/09 show, click here.

Banned! (Daily S.P.O.T. for 6/3/09)

"Censorship is an ugly thing in this country." - Mike Binkley, Bloom County

In January of this year, I was attending a meeting of one of the photo clubs I belong to (Snapshot Syndicate). The meeting, it turned out, included a photo shoot with guest models: a pair of classically trained dancers, who graced us with a series of holds, lifts, and leaps. (Interestingly, two of the shutterbugs working alongside of me had trouble snapping the action shots at the right moment; on the other hand, all my years capturing wrestlers in midair definitely paid off!) At the suggestion of the choreographer, I immediately processed all the dance pictures in black and white.

Here's one of my favorite shots from the session (the complete set can be seen at the Snapshot Syndicate site). It went right into my portfolio. A few months later, my canvas-printing vendor decided to give me credit for ANOTHER free enlargement, so this photo was chosen to get the gallery treatment, a la "The Remains of the Martian Complex." And just like that print, my day job's department director liked it so much that he ordered it prominently displayed in our main area.

Where it stayed...for all of one day.

The next morning, I came in to discover it gone from the wall. Security was called, and I went back to my desk in a snit...only to discover the print had been surreptitiously tucked next to my printer. It was then that my manager revealed she'd taken the picture down herself, after someone voiced the opinion that it might be "inappropriate."

What...the...fuck?!?

I'm sorry, I don't recall David Duke taking control of my company. And the last time I checked CNN, we had an African-American commander in chief, not to mention celebrities like Heidi Klum and David Bowie with non-Caucasian spouses.

However, in all fairness, my department does share a floor with Human Resources, and while many of us (including yours truly and the aforementioned director) don't exactly worship at the altar of political correctness, we certainly try to hew to corporate guidelines/"discretion is the better part of employment." (In all honesty, some years back I blithely posted some of my early wrestling shots in my cubicle, including shots of Jasmin St. Claire and other provocatively-clad divas, and a female co-worker lodged a complaint. So I'm not insensitive to the feelings of others, and I do learn from my mistakes...)

Luckily, this story has a happy ending. The picture was recently re-hung, albeit in a downstairs satellite office away from disapproving eyes. More importantly, both the department director and another co-worker promptly ordered their own canvases from this set, and a third cubicle-head is mulling over an order even as we speak. (Ca-ching!)

Who was it who said "cash from controversy?" Oh, yeah: the guy who gave us the Sex Pistols.