"Quien quiere violencia? Quien quiere sangre?" the announcer yells. Who wants violence? Who wants blood? The audience cheers. They do. Of course they do. Because this is lucha libre.

In the cuadrilátero (the ring), El Mariachi Loco, in a red mask, faces Calavera, a skeleton in a blue mask — those iconic lucha libre masks. Lucha is like American professional wrestling, only a little more acrobatic and a lot more odd. In the ring tonight are fighters in neon chicken costumes, a man who goes by the name Dirty Sanchez and several little people.

The action starts with what appears to be a dance-off, all gyrating waists and thrusting hips, before the inevitable first punch to the face. "I don't like the looks of this!" the announcer says, as El Mariachi Loco executes a perfect triple spin off the turnbuckle and lands on his opponent's midriff. The crowd oohs appreciatively.

The L.A. audience at Lucha VaVoom is mostly non-Hispanic. (Kim Brunhuber/CBC)

Of course, this is all fake and the audience knows it. The audience for lucha is normally Mexican or Mexican-American. But on this night in Los Angeles, the crowd at this sold-out show is mostly hipsters like Lucas Melberg.

"It's an opportunity to see some of the local culture," Melberg says.

The American producer who organized this show says she saw her first lucha show in L.A. about 15 years ago.

"When we were introduced to lucha libre, it was happening in kind of the bad neighbourhoods," Rita D'Albert says. She says she was drawn to the strong characters, the good-vs-evil narrative and, of course, the showmanship. So she helped put together a spectacle called Lucha VaVoom: traditional lucha punctuated by interstitials of hypnagogic burlesque.

One of the two Calaveras (skeletons) who use their guitars as instruments, and weapons. (Kim Brunhuber/CBC)

"When we first started, it was the art crowd... They were really drawn to it because it's a surreal kind of spectacle," D'Albert says.

"And then came the bohemians. And then the next thing you know, a few years down the line, we're finally OK with the Hispanic crowd. We had to kind of win them over. And I get it, they wanted to make sure we weren't being disrespectful."

Chava Morales, one of the many queued outside for this sold-out show, feels that at first it smacked of a cultural sell-out. But, he says, he's come around.

Lucha VaVoom producer Rita D'Albert says her mainstream version of lucha has been accepted by many of L.A.'s Latinos. (Kim Brunhuber/CBC)

"It took off," Morales says. "It's just like one of those trendy things. But for us, it's our culture. That's really what it is. I grew up watching this. But it's cool because you expose it to more people that wouldn't be aware of it.... So to see it mainstream like this is pretty cool."

This is how mainstream it's become: Lucha Underground — a TV show created by one of the producers of Survivor and The Apprentice — now presents lucha in English, proof that the sport can no longer be considered "opera for the poor."

Thanks to the growing American market, luchadores can now get much better-paying gigs in the United States. But one of the stars who helped bring in this new audience won't be around long to cash in.

A short man in a black-and-pink leotard is alone in a dressing room putting on eyeliner. In 10 minutes, Saul Armendariz will become Cassandro el Exotico. He's a rarity in lucha for two reasons: he doesn't wear a mask, and he's openly gay.

Mainstream audiences for lucha — in the ring and on TV — have grown in the U.S. (Kim Brunhuber/CBC)

I'm the Liberace of lucha libre," Armendariz says. "I'm the queen of the ring, I'm the diva, and people just love me."

The 45-year-old was born in Texas and has been wrestling since he was 17, mostly in Mexico. He started off his career as the masked "Mister Romano," but friends finally convinced him to come out of the closet and fight as an exotico: a flamboyant, campy class of fighter common in the lucha canon. Except Armendariz faced ostracism inside and outside the ring because his gay character wasn't an act.

"It's such a macho sport, so I had to break a lot of walls and prove myself to a lot of people," Armendariz says, "but it was all worth it."

These days, he's a headline act in the world of lucha and has travelled the world to show off his glamorous, high-flying style.

Now, eyes done, hair coiffed, "Cassandro" is finally ready to fight. His opponent: a man with arms the size of legs wearing a feline mask, the Puma King.

Saul Armendariz, aka Cassandro el Exotico, has faced ostracism inside and outside the ring. (Kim Brunhuber/CBC)

Cassandro leaps off the ropes, twisting the Puma King into a paquetito, a little packet. In the dressing room, Armendariz told me he was scared but grateful. This is probably his last fight.

"I've been wrestling for 27 years. I have four surgeries on my knee. There's a surgery coming up on my right hand..."

The list is too long to print. His body's paying the consequences, he says, but the sport has never been in better shape. And now, nearly three decades since he first stepped into the ring, it's possible for an American luchador to make a living without even crossing the border.

"Lucha libre is huge now," Armendáriz says. "It's amazing what the transformation has done. People have really embraced lucha libre."