These two wrestlers say a lot with their bodies. They don't throw shade, or taunt, or boast. We get a lot of heavy breathing and the slap of skin on skin, but almost nothing in the dialogue department, which is, as some of you know, fine by me. Neither is an easy nut to crack, so don't expect any quick tap-outs from either. The winner's going to have to work for that win, and the wrestlers spend most of this 28-minute bout wearing each other down, almost by a process of glacial erosion. I don't mean to suggest that the contest isn't fast paced. Chuck and Max keep moving almost the whole time, their bodies knit together in constantly shifting patterns of stress and strain. But neither is quick to give the other the satisfaction of a submission. These guys don't want to quit--and don't seem to be in any hurry to wrap up the match. Given the oozy, panting fun they're having, who can blame them for wanting to stretch it all out?
In the final minutes, though, the two start trading some testy slaps, indicating that they find the other's resilience and persistence frustrating. We hear the sirens of emergency vehicles on the street as the tension heightens to the match's frenzied, soggy, and agonizing crotch-to-crotch finish. This is great wrestling, more than enough to steam my eyeglasses. And this isn't finished yet. I feel quite certain Max and Chuck will have at each other again, and probably sooner than later.