"I've been a wrestling fan, big-time, since the days of Hulk Hogan, but when I saw this — there's nothing like this," said Adalid Sanchez, an elementary-school teacher who arrived an hour early to a recent show to stake out a prime spot in the second row of the VIP section.
New York has Broadway. Las Vegas has Cirque du Soleil. Mexico has Lucha Libre wrestling. Only Los Angeles mashes the whole thing together, then leavens it with ample doses of loud, blaring rock music, flashing lights, a celebrity guest performer and a cadre of burlesque-style comedians, said Diane Christensen of Los Angeles.
"This is everything about LA that you love," said Christensen, adding, "People get dressed up to come here."
Some people maybe, but not Christensen. At the moment, the Lucha VaVoom ring girl is wearing a pushup bra, a short slip, thong and pretty much nothing else, having just finished a night of escorting big, beefy wrestlers into the ring and posing for photos with fans.
"What do I do when I'm not ring-girling?" she asked with a giggle. "I'm in film production."
She came to a show as a fan more than a year ago and was instantly hooked.
The audience, meanwhile, is a group as wildly divergent as LA itself: Film editors, schoolteachers, a construction contractor, factory workers and the occasional celebrity.
"There's no show that's funnier, sillier or more entertaining than this one," said Eric Idle, a regular at Lucha VaVoom shows and, as one of the members of Monty Python, someone who knows something about silly.
All of this madness was born about a dozen years ago on the set of a movie about genetically enhanced baboons that was filmed in Mexico.
"It was a really bad film," recalled Liz Fairbairn, who was the movie's costumer. But it did introduce her to a luchador who became her boyfriend.
The love affair with the wrestler didn't last, but the one with wrestling did.
Soon Fairbairn decided she wanted to put on traditional Lucha Libra matches for gringos like herself. But she wondered if the hipster crowd of LA artists and film people she hangs with would buy that.
"Nobody ever went broke presenting lovely girls," said her friend Rita D'Albert, a choreographer who joined her as co-producer.
Overnight, Lucha VaVoom was a hit, selling out a dozen or so shows a year at the Mayan, a majestically restored old theater in a seedy section of downtown.
Now it's gone on the road.