After two documentaries in 2010 and 2018 that did the same, Cassandro tells the story of Saúl Armendaríz, a lucha libre fighter in Mexico in the 1980s, and his transition from being one of masked luchadores to being an altogether rarer creature, an exótico.
As a gay man on the macho lucha libre circuit, Saúl has always felt a little “exótico” among the grapplers and grunters. But he’s a masked fighter like they are, even though he’d probably be better off if he just went along with the locker-room banter and got his full flame on. So far he has resisted the switch from being a masked fighter to being one of the more flamboyant breed because of the simple fact that exóticos never win, and Saúl wants to win.
As the story opens, in an auto shop converted into a makeshift arena, we see the basic flaw in Saúl’s plan. He does not and cannot win. For starters he’s a slight, short guy and his opponents are bruisers like the appropriately named Gigántico. And on top of that, the fights are fixed by the promoters and letting a “homo” win – as the crowd’s chants label exóticos – would be bad for business. He cannot win either in or out of a mask, it seems.
And then, in the best Hollywood tradition, something happens. The worm turns. Saúl meets a trainer, a woman called Sabrina, fight name Lady Anarquía, and has soon learned to embrace his inner queer. By accepting “who he really is”, he becomes a better fighter and a better person.
Cassandro follows Saúl as he drops the old El Topo persona and adopts the new one of the flamboyant, guyliner-ed, bouffant Cassandro. According to this telling of the story, if Saúl wants something, it happens. A new trainer – Sabrina soon on board. A new persona – adopted. A promoter who will start entering him into fights on moneymaking circuits – done. A boyfriend who’ll not be ashamed of their relationship – negotiated. Winning – achieved. The weight of a culture prejudiced against exóticos winning fights – banished. Out with the old, in with the new, just like that.
Roger Ross Williams told Saúl’s story once before, and how he went from being the masked El Topo to exótico Cassandro in a 2016 short for The New Yorker, The Man Without a Mask. He broadens things out here by including tender scenes of the relationship between Saúl and his Oedipally-close fighter mother, Yocasta (Perla De La Rosa), his absent father, trainer Sabrina and downlow boyfriend Gerardo (Raúl Castillo).
It’s all very affirmatory but where’s the grit? You cannot blame Gael García Bernal, who throws himself into the role much as Cassandro throws himself into the ring. Bernal is lithe and limber and, though still slight, has clearly trained for this role enough to take a bit of a pounding from some of the huge wrestlers he’s up against.
It’s an interesting performance, with Bernal more about capturing Saúl’s character than striking sparks. Saúl is plausible. Perhaps Bernal was influenced a touch by Mickey Rourke’s in The Wrestler, not in terms of effect but in approach.
Roberta Colindrez is the film’s discovery. As trainer Sabrina she is a magnetic screen presence who lights up all the scenes she’s in. If only she were in more. But then the whole film feels a bit like that. It’s an “oh, was that it?” kind of affair, too well behaved maybe for its own good. The cinematography by Matias Penachino is evocative and atmospheric and catches the smell of sweat and embrocation backstage and the excitement out front. The soundtrack, by the suddenly-everywhere Marcelo Zarvos, is all wistful muted mariachi sounds. Cassandro’s entry music – Baccara’s Yes Sir, I Can Boogie, Blondie’s Call Me, Celia Cruz’s hispanic version of I Will Survive – catches the era too.
“No knockout” is the standard line on fight films that don’t pin the viewer to the canvas. It’s the verdict here, too. Much as the performances and technicals impressed, it could just do with a bit more grunt.
Cassandro – Watch it/buy it at Amazon
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© Steve Morrissey 2023
