Like a pro wrestler without a script, Ruth Leitman's Lipstick and Dynamite seems oblivious as to its own purpose. Or perhaps it's just that this hurried, unfocused documentary about pioneering female wrestlers is so blinded by its colorful cast of girl grapplers that it unintentionally places their stories in a vacuum. Leitman's film traces the bruising careers of some of the "sport's" trailblazing ladies, whose eventful lives - filled with rape, adultery, back-stabbing, and a regular dose of eye gouges and crotch kicks - are recounted through archival wrestling footage, glossy glamour pictures of the towering, muscular athletes, and foul-mouthed interviews with the now-geriatric women. Yet though the director would apparently have us gaze upon these former brawny beauties as early feminists, there's scant evidence supplied by this paper-thin portrait of pro wrestling's inception to make such a case conceivable, much less compelling.

Gladys "Killem" Gillem, Ella Waldek, Ida May Martinez, Penny Banner, Lillian Ellison, Judy Grable, and The Great Mae Young all reached the squared circle during the '40s and '50s via divergent paths, yet Lipstick and Dynamite's subjects share common experiences with parental and spousal abuse, cheating husbands and exploitive managers. Unfortunately, Leitman's objectives don't include examining the motivating forces behind these women's unusual careers; she's so taken with humorous anecdotes about their experiences on the road and in the ring that the film quickly reveals itself as simply a collection of similar war stories. Female wrestlers operated on the industry's fringe, mostly working for one promoter (an authoritarian womanizer named Billy Wolfe) and little money or fame, and the director fawns over their rough exteriors - now in their seventies and eighties, they still cuss like barroom drunks and egotistically boast about their once-formidable toughness - with only skin-deep interest in tying their stories together with a coherent narrative thread. And when it comes to investigating the link between wrestling's choreographed reality and these ladies' desire to escape their unpleasant lives through extravagant personas (like so many performers, the first thing many did was change their immigrant names), the film falls flat on its face.

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