This is the Philippine Wrestling Revolution
The Philippine Wrestling Revolution is an impressive do-over of the American wrestling we watched on TV growing up: the fictional characters, the story arcs, the drama, the smoke machines, the twists, and a championship belt — they’ve thought it through.
In a dingy boxing arena at the top floor of often-forgotten Makati Cinema Square, behind tiangge stalls selling Louis Vuitton knockoffs, I’m perched on a monobloc chair, sandwiched between rows of random sweaty bodies. The air is running thin and humid. It reeks of testosterone, as around 500 virile geezers stomp on cement floor, turned on by the intrepid but scripted violence taking place onstage.
“Holy s***! Holy s***!” they howl, as an amateur wrestler hurls his body against another, plummeting from eight feet high onto his opponent. A brawl ensues, like a kitschy Fight Club, and things get rowdy and fiery. High-strung boys nurse their Red Horse beers — they’ve become demanding and started heckling. Fans come with homemade placards that are poor art on illustration boards; someone arrives in a luchador mask, but his shirt says Red Hot Chili Peppers; an over- enthused tita is screaming loudly behind me, “Anaaaak
ko yaaaaan!” She says it proudly, referring to the bald, half- naked wrestler entering the ring first.
The shoddy fluorescent lighting and lack of ventilation of this place suggest that this isn’t an apt venue for an entertainment spectacle — but for this one night, it works. I’m watching an underground wrestling match (the first effort, really, after RJ Jacinto’s Pinoy Wrestling Federation back in the late ‘80s). It’s an impressive do- over of the American wrestling we watched on TV growing up. The fictional characters, the story arcs, the drama, the smoke machines, the twists, and a championship belt — they’ve thought it through. And these Pinoy wrestlers can do the moves as well: takedowns, body slams, leg drops, top- rope jumps. During one show, a wrestler known as Mayhem Brannigan, whom they introduce as made of “twisted steel and sex appeal” (and who wears a Hannibal-esque mask), jumped from the second floor of the arena into the ring. No effing joke: the second floor. “Is that safe?” I ask, bewildered. “No, not at all” they all respond, giddy.
Each wrestler has his own costume, persona and back story. The crowd favorite is Jake de Leon, a.k.a “the Senyorito”: a haciendero from Bacolod with the tagline, “Minimum Wage, Maximum Rage.” While another wrestler, known as Kanto Terror, is popular for his lasenggero persona. Comic relief.
PHILIPPINE WRESTLING
REVOLUTION
This is the Philippine Wrestling Revolution. Their logo — a tacky special graphic of fire and metal — symbolizes the spirit of their vision. Just last month, they finished their fourth show. It was an event that paled in comparison to the sold-out stadium shows of World Wrestling Entertainment ( WWE), but what they lacked in production value, they made up for in sheer dedication.
During their first staged show back in 2014, they were only expecting 40 people to show up. Probably friends of friends who were willing to support this small group of fanboys. Funded by money from their own pockets, they used garbage bags as curtains. But by their third show, with a surprisingly growing fan base, 400 people walked in unexpected. It became a standingroom event.
When you meet the wrestlers of PWR in person, they are really just a bunch of very nice guys. If you had that one classmate who was “so into wrestling” back in grade school, chances are, he’s involved here. Without their masks or their costumes, they juggle regular jobs. Some of them are students in medicine; others work in the corporate world. Out of character, and in a coffee shop, they excitedly show me pictures on their smartphones. One of them is proud of his new royal blue glittery robe and boxers. “My mom made my costume,” he says unashamedly. Another chirps in humorously: “Well, mine is from Uniqlo.” They also show me the gory stuff: deep lashes and scars left on their arms after being hit by a bamboo stick repeatedly. Bruises and cuts induced on the head. A bloody ear, because this dude’s earring was accidentally ripped off. So who says wrestling is fake? Maybe it is, to some extent. For the rest, let their scars do the talking.
It’s not so much an excellent show that you come to PWR to see; instead, you go for the experience: the shabby arena, the low production values, the hand- sewn costumes, the tumultuous crowd — you almost can’t believe that something like this is successfully being pulled off. But as you watch one of the wrestlers pass out on the floor just inches away from your feet, while his rival piles a mountain of chairs on top of him — it’s very much thrilling. Before I knew it, I was screaming profanities myself. I was on my feet. It’s mind- blowing to be so into this raucously tawdry show — but hell, it’s so much fun. The spirit of this Wrevolution X — it is so damn infectious.