Two Out of Three Falls

Professional wrestling is theatre at its most base form. And that is why people love it. You gather a crowd of strangers to a central location, you put on costumes, and you tell a story. A struggle for power, for fame, for glory, or for love…but with headlocks and suplexes. And as someone who has been watching wrestling for over 30 years, the day I might try to write a wrestling play seemed inevitable. But I wanted the story I told to mean something. And the story that kept coming back to me over and over again was the story of Bruiser Brody.

Brody was killed in the locker room after a show in Puerto Rico. The “who” and the “why” of it all has been hotly debated for as long as I have been alive, and this play tries to reckon with a fictionalized version of this story. But it wasn’t Brody I kept thinking of. I imagined what it might feel like to be his child. To grow up in a world where posters and toys and stories of your dad could be found in all corners of the wrestling world. I imagined what it might feel like to try and make a name for yourself in the same business. The business that he literally died for. I imagined the lengths someone might go to dig themselves out of that shadow. And with that, the story almost literally fell out of me.

Growing up, admitting you liked wrestling felt like a mark of shame. But with this play, what I’ve discovered is that I have always been surrounded by people like me. People who appreciate the wonder and the spectacle of wrestling. People who live vicariously through these titans that put their bodies on the line every night to pop a crowd. My goal with this play was to show wrestling, warts and all, and the toll it takes on a person, mentally and physically.

Pro wrestling’s roots are scrappy and unpolished. It was born out of carnivals and side show attractions. Day one was not fireworks or stadiums packed with thousands of screaming fans. It started in gyms and barns and tents. You could see the sweat and hear the bang of the boards in the ring. That kind of intimate feel made putting this show up at The Factory Theater feel like a no-brainer. Factory has always supported bootstrap theatre, and Factory’s space has been deftly transformed to put people into the center of the action. The core of this play is the kind of revenge story you want to witness up close and personal.

Thank you for joining us on this wild ride

The nature of a two out of three falls match tells a story that mirrors real life in that it shows the importance of taking advantage of second and third chances. This type of match tests the kind of strength and stamina it takes to keep getting up every time you get knocked down. Most of us can relate to Johanna’s story, because we all have needed a second, third (or tenth) chance to come out on top. It’s only through determination that we can scrape ourselves up off the mat and try again.

This story is about legacy and fighting to make a name for yourself. Who doesn’t want to find their place in the world? The idea of legacy in pro-wrestling has become more controversial in recent years. These nepo babies of the wrestling world were born into wrestling families and have often benefited from the established connections and recognition that come with the family name. It often overshadows the hard work of independent wrestlers who have had to start from scratch. This doesn’t mean legacy wrestlers don’t work as hard to be great wrestlers but have been afforded opportunities that other wrestlers didn’t have. In our story, we challenge the perception of legacy wrestlers and the advantages they have. Johanna doesn’t rely on her father’s legacy; she actively rejects it to fiercely fight for her own identity and distance herself from being seen as just the “Baby Bruiser”.

In Two Out of Three Falls, we lean into the perspective that wrestlers’ bodies are not their own. Their worth is measured by marketability over the skill they have worked hard to achieve or the passion they have put into fine tuning that skill. We want to cheer for Johanna and Olympus, because who they are is the result of who they have been told they are. Even Gilda and Quiñones were molded to be tough to the point of immorality. It’s especially hard for female wrestlers, because they are still, to this day, sexualized by the fans as the rest of us continue to wipe away the toxic residue left by Vince McMahon’s era of perversion. It’s important to remember that all wrestlers, regardless of gender, share a common bond. This is a sport that transcends gender and should highlight the shared struggles and triumphs of all athletes that grace us in the ring.

Even though the wrestlers in our show don’t show it, in the real world, wrestlers depend on each other every time they step into the ring much like actors depend on each other every time they step on stage. Through all the kayfabe and spectacle, wins and losses, there is an unrivaled level of respect for each other.

I genuinely hope you enjoy the show and remember, it’s only as real as you want it to be.