Bringing you a little culture...

Thursday 7pm. Downtown Los Angeles- At sundown, as the count of suits and ties per square foot was rapidly dropping by the minute, an opposite effect was occurring for the count of tattoos and witty t-shirts. From West Hollywood, Venice and parts of the Valley, the hipsters were on the move. Towards an ancient temple made to look like a theater (or vice versa), they came.

They had no choice in the matter. For you see, a soft warcry had been echoing in their heads all week long. In a language foreign to most, the cry was insistent, it was dull in the back of their minds as they trudged through their IT jobs and it pounded fiercely on their temples as they found moments of solitude.

"lucha... lucha... lucha. Lucha. LUCHA! LUCHA!"

All answered the call. As they walked into the temple, nary casting a glance towards the safety of the fading sun, the cry was finally, some say mercilessly, answered: "LUCHA.... VaVoom! Lucha VaVoom! Lucha VaVoom!"

The congregated had come for satisfaction of primal needs. For the night to deliver as promised, it would have to be an evening of unapologetic violence and sex; in other words, a display of the world's finest lucha libre and burlesque.

This is an impossibly arrogant goal, its mere attempt drawing skeptics by the theater-full. But oh, this evening is all about arrogance. It is about showmanship and show-woman-ship taken to professional exquisiteness. It is sweat and sequins and hair and tights bundled into an irresistible package with a foreign label just tempting you to try it once and daring you to stay away after.

It is Lucha VaVoom and it is pure fun.


[My camera phone video. You don't need to see details. Bah, this is not a show about details.]