On the top floor of the Swan Dive in Southeast Portland, wrestlers are grappling, slapping, and slamming each other around in a dimly lit room. From a modest stage, comedians crack commentary. The crowd chants together and waves homemade signs. The only thing missing is the overt hetero-performative energy that typically punctuates a wrestling match.
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It’s the latest installment of the House of Danger Queer Wrestling Variety Show, the brainchild project of Clancy Kramer, who wrestles as Clemente Danger.
Kramer was already training locally to learn foundational grappling skills before discovering T-boy Wrestling–a LA-based indie production geared toward trans wrestlers.
“The original thing was I just wanted to find some people to practice with who were sort of at the same level as me, so we could all build up together,” Kramer explains.
T-boy Wrestling has since dissolved its operations, but appetite for the concept lingered. Excitement crystalized into inspiration and before long, Kramer was curating Portland’s very own queer-centered, indie wrestling production.
Kramer was also getting interested in the local stand-up comedy scene. It didn’t take long before she melded the two. Other live performance elements, like “draglesque,” fit nicely under the variety show label.
In early February, House of Danger put on its third show, featuring four matches. Local comics Ben Harkins and Riley McCarthy served as emcees, with an intermission performance from local drag/burlesque performer Ripper. Faith Daniels, from Portland’s heavy pop punk group, Nervous State provided vocal renditions of beloved emo songs between matches.
Kramer took on Kylie Karma in the second half. Karma whizzed around in a hot pink dress and sneakers, long brunette curls whipping around with every kick.
Mid-match, Karma acquired aluminum baking sheets, swatting Kramer in the face with the disposable kitchen goods. Kramer recovered, responding with a powerbomb–a quintessential wrestling move where an athlete hoists an opponent above their head before slamming them down on the mat.
The move looks violent and downright dangerous, particularly for amateur wrestlers working outside the confines of a real ring. But for all the fresh energy and rough-around-the edges production value, House of Danger athletes have clearly been training.
“Our matches are only about seven minutes each, but it’s seven minutes of using your whole body,” Kramer says. “You’re absolutely exhausted, soaking-wet sweaty when you come off the mat.”
The burgeoning group of about eight athletes (10 if you count new recruits) trains at a dojo in North Portland once a week. Outside of practice, they rely on the magic of old wrestling videos on YouTube for guidance on how to execute moves.
For Princesa Payaso (“clown princess”), classic lucha libre matches are a primary source of inspiration. Luchador wrestlers are known for perfecting the art of agility and speed, showcasing acrobatic dives off the top rope.
“For me, what I get out of it is an incredible sense of queer liberation and community,” Payaso explains.
In many ways, pro wrestling is already heavily queer-coded—high-drama story lines and over-the-top theatrics paired with bright, eccentric costumes (for the uninitiated, search “Nature Boy Ric Flair” circa 1987), and the undeniable physicality of the scripted sport that sees people pressed against each other in compromising positions.
But subtext aside, mainstream pro wrestling has yet to fully shed its hypermasculine and gender-normative tropes.
“I definitely feel like a huge part of the reason I wanted to gear it toward the queer community is pro wrestling as a whole is really geared toward a young boys crowd,” Kramer tells the Mercury. “It’s been marketed to straight men for a very long time.”
That’s why Kramer and Payaso say House of Danger transcends Portland’s quirky entertainment space into territory that’s affirmative.
For Payaso, the variety show “just brings a little bit of joy into the chaos of the world.”
House of Danger Queer Wrestling Variety Show takes place at Swan Dive, 727 SE Grand, Thurs March 19, 8 pm, $15, more info @littlebabydanger on Instagram, 21+
