Director’s Statement - Bryn Chainey

One day I came home to find my partner sewing gold spandex pants on our kitchen table. This sort of thing isn't completely out of the ordinary in our household, but naturally I asked, ever so politely, "da fuk?" She told me they were for a new friend of hers called Rat Daddy. So far, so normal. It turns out this spandex-lovin' papa is a cheese-smoking mute from Adelaide who is trying to make a living by jumping off balconies and kicking men in the face. So far, so wtf. Since first encountering those dazzling golden tights, I've got to know more about Rat Daddy and his mischief of buddies (* I had to google the collective noun for rat and it's "mischief").

Most of them work full-time jobs while pouring their sweat, blood and tears into their true passion: wrestling. Most do it for free; some even run at a loss. As a filmmaker I've also spent most of my life doing my passion for free or at a loss, so I could relate. But as a nerd/loner/physical coward I've always been distrustful of men who move in packs, especially violent-looking ones. However, the more I got to know about indie wrestlers, the more my expectations were flipped upside-down and tombstoned into the canvas. Sure, these guys are built like condoms full of walnuts, and sure they've had more concussions than I've had dates, but they're also artists. They might use different words for it but wrestlers are just trying to make something beautiful and, ideally, make a living from it (or die trying). Beyond that, I see in indie wrestling a rare sort of tender masculine connection. It's a community built on violence and bravado but also on myth-making, role-play, hi-jinks, camaraderie, and trust. It's an oddball world that I can't help but admire.