Last week, I decided to lock up the hooch in my desk and do a little investigative reporting. The location: one of my favorite Sundance Square-area hang-outs, the Pour House.

An independently owned sports-y bar in a swollen sea of chain establishments, the clean, well-lighted place has been in business for more than 10 years and, judging by dozens of visits, probably will be for another decade if not longer. (People love the joint.) I was there to catch the premiere of Ultimate Jelly Wrestling, Vol. 1, a nature documentary on the sacred nightlife art of Jell-O wrestling.

My mission: to find out if “jelly” or Jell-O wrestling is real.

Billed as “60 minutes of hot jiggling action,” the film undoubtedly contains a lot of jiggling, a lot of action, and a lot of hotness. But wrestling?


I asked local Brazilian jiu-jitsu fighter Travis Lutter what he thought. “What we’re trying to do in the ring is hurt each other,” he said. “But I don’t think anybody’s trying to hurt anybody in Jell-O wrestling.”

Real wrestling involves moves like the Boston Crab, the Figure-Four Leg-Lock, and the always deadly Suplex. Real wrestling has stars, like Hulk Hogan, Jimmy “Superfly” Snuka, and The Rock. Where are the Jell-O wrestling stars? What kinds of moves do they have?

Looks like just a hot, really, really hot slumber party to me. Certainly nothing I would call “athletic.”

Vol. 1 was shot on location at the Pour House, which until the night of the screening was for months the only place downtown to see the bikini-riffic athletic endeavor. I asked PH barkeep Zack Marshall if he thought “jelly” wrestling was real.

“It’s definitely more like a sexual thing than wanting to see people get bruised,” he said. “Most of the girls weren’t serious. They just showed each other off.”

After about 10 minutes of extensive research, I ultimately came to the conclusion that “jelly” or Jell-O wrestling is kind of like porn – you know it when you see it. But whatever it is, baths-slash-battles could represent the future of all sports. Who cares if the most skilled, smartest, or best-coached team or player wins. Wouldn’t we rather see Shaquille O’Neal and Brett Favre vie for a supporting role in a Hollywood blockbuster about a talking Volkswagen? Or Joey Porter and Ray Lewis arm rassle? Or Anna Kournikova and Maria Sharapova show each other off in a kiddie pool filled with sticky crap?

To some people – like the local high school 95-lb. division girls’ champion and Hulk Hogan – the Pour House turned back the clock on Women’s Lib while denigrating an ancient sport. But to other folks, especially those of you with tv’s in every room (all tuned to ESPN), the only apparent difference between an Olympic activity like curling and Jell-O wrestling is a few articles of clothing, a few degrees, and a whole lotta sweetness.

You can conduct your own research. Shot by the mononymic Lewisville-based filmmaker Fish, Ultimate Jelly Wrestling, Vol. 1 is available for $10 at

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