31 Days of Halloween: One! Two! Scream!

Dark Match (2024)

****** (6 out of 10 stars)

Directors: Lowell Dean

Producers: Lowell Dean

Starring: Ayisha Issa, Steven Ogg, Mo Adan

“Step into the ring and see if you last the night.” – Unknown Wrestler

The Review:

Dear reader, there are certain cinematic outings that one does not anticipate, nor does one expect them to linger—neither for their virtues nor their faults. Dark Match (2024), directed by Lowell Dean, is precisely such an escapade. It crept into my viewing lineup as one of those fringe offerings, a surreal blending of wrestling pageantry and horror’s creeping dread. And yet, what a curious little beast it turned out to be.

Allow me to confess, I did not expect memorable art, or coherence, or precision, but rather a fleeting diversion. Imagine my surprise when I found myself, against all odds, grinning in appreciation—not for what the film accomplished as a polished piece, but for its sheer audacity and the madcap joy it inspired. Yes, friends, this is not a good movie in the classical or critical sense. But it is a pulpy, unapologetic romp that, when approached with sanguine neutrality of expectations, can indeed be quite delightful.

From the outset, the mere concept whisked me to a childhood nestled in the Appalachian mountains, where memorable times spent with my Pa-Pa imbued me with a love for flamboyant wrestling legends like Ric Flair and Blackjack Mulligan. Those wild, larger-than-life characters ruled the screens, the epitomes of camp and vigor. Such memories are the lens I brought to Dark Match, and through it, I felt a palpable connection to that bygone era of spectacle and absurdity. Though the story itself falters in moments—leaning too heavily into the haze of disconnected absurdity—I could not resist the nostalgia it conjured or the film’s grindhouse charm.

Lowell Dean’s wrestlers are exaggerated archetypes, swaggering comedic gladiators who blur the line between protagonist and caricature. Their persona is deliberately over-the-top, grounded in the same theatrical tradition that birthed hero-luchadors like El Santo—a genre where werewolves, time travelers, and every manner of madness cavort alongside men in capes and masks. The performances are ridiculous, the dialogue perfunctory, and the pacing erratic. But in a film like this, such things feel less like faults and more like flourishes, essential threads in its well-worn, grindhouse tapestry.

The film’s production, too, knows its limits and embraces them. The shadowed arenas, the pools of eerie, flickering light illuminating the frayed ropes of the wrestling ring—these evoke the grime and charm of old pulp cinema. One does not expect sleek polish in this domain; one craves the imperfections, the grain, the grit, and in that regard, Dark Match delivers just enough to feel authentic.

Of course, there are missteps. The narrative occasionally veers too far from its inherent absurdity, dabbling halfheartedly in cosmic horror. While some may applaud the ambition of this tonal pivot, I found it an unwelcome distraction. Tethering wrestling lore to grindhouse gore is one thing; anchoring it to existential dread is quite another, and the cohesion of the story suffers as a result. It is as though the scriptwriters reached for forbidden territories, hoping to expand beyond their skillful chaos, and the endeavor left an aftertaste both muddled and unnecessary.

But, dear readers, this is not a film to dissect with serious eyes. It is a carnival; a pulp-grindhouse love letter written in absurdities. It asks little more of its audience than to park their better judgment at the door and buckle in for the lurid chaos of the ride. For those with the right temperament—or perhaps simply the right childhood memories—the result can be something unexpected, a peculiar ligature between absurdity and affection.

Would I recommend Dark Match to the highbrow cinephile or the stoic critic? Certainly not. But for those souls who yearn for campy, melodramatic revelry to help escape the mundane, here lies an odd little gem capable of raising a smile. Approach it as I did—with a smirk and a heart yearning for a flash of nostalgic absurdity—and you may just find yourself cheering from the sidelines.