Welcome back to the new series of articles we’re calling “Must See,” for a collection of TV shows, movies, or anything you watch that we’re suggesting you see. Reviews would fit a single episode, but some shows or movies require a broader discussion. Let’s say there’s a TV show you must see (pun intended), but one episode doesn’t do it justice, or a movie with one scene with one descriptor that can only be: fantabulous or dreck.

Today I want to talk about the Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling, or GLOW. A fairly small Netflix show about women wrestling in the 1980s, based on the real-life wrestling promotion and show of the time G.L.O.W. As far as a wrestling promotion it is/was gimmicky, fairly bad, and short-lived in terms of the leading promotions in wrestling at the moment. To put it short, it was wrestling at its most commonly known point as the lasting flake of the carnival show giving women a place outside of WWF’s (now WWE) eye candy, object to be won, or ring valet.

This isn’t to say GLOW isn’t shying away from wrestling’s history of playing on tropes that are 20 years out of date. I’m sure fans of WWE can tell everyone and their mother about how Vince McMahon is 20 years out of date with his tropes of black men, women, couples, gay men, and everyone with a pulse. That’s not my point, wrestling is a stupid thing with characters that use their skin tone, sexual orientation, or gender in storylines because that’s simple writing to get to the action. Neither am I saying that’s not a valid argument against some gimmicks, I’m saying to lie and say wrestling isn’t built on that is stupid.

So with that, let’s talk about a show that deconstructs this closed-door carny trash act through the eyes of young women of all colors and sexual orientations. GLOW is not a show about wrestling, it is a show about those who put on a wrestling show and their problems in doing so in the 80s: when being gay is viewed as bad, being a single woman is laughed at, Russians are the villains, and women’s wrestling isn’t the biggest selling point. That’s the core of GLOW, a show about wannabe wrestlers putting on a wrestling show when it is hard to. If I didn’t know about some people’s aversion to the word, I’d call it feminist.

Though the question still stands, why should you watch it? You may not be a wrestling fan, or you think a show of mostly women (with two male leads) isn’t for you. That’s the thing, it is one of the few wrestling-based shows or movies I’d recommend to anyone as it is a good feeder into someone’s wrestling passion. I won’t lie, the show is geared towards wrestling fans with former WWE talent wrestling the women on occasion. However, that’s for them.

For non-wrestling fans, GLOW takes actresses and women off the street and puts them into a wrestling show: they are audience surrogates. In the entire cast, there are three characters with wrestling knowledge, and one actual wrestler in the cast. As the women learn the ropes, the audience gets that curtain pulled back on the business idea that wrestling fans often love and hate. This is what I think would show non-fans what wrestling really is, a bunch of humans doing stupid stunts to each other, while protecting one another.

“It’s fake!” is often said about wrestling. Yeah, that’s my point; GLOW isn’t about what WWE write or the “cuck” storylines thereof. It is about the wrestlers dealing with racial stereotypes, learning the “heal” and “face” dynamic, and everything wrestling is built on and about. It isn’t the true story of any single wrestler as The Wrestler tried to play on, or as Fighting With My Family does. It is a dramatized comedy about women and two men learning who they are, what they want, and how to survive but through the scope of trying to put on a wrestling show. A wrestling show that’s as popular as a wet fart in a swimming pool.

Now that I may have pulled you in with the tease of exploring wrestling from an insider’s view, let’s talk about the sexism, racism, and Russian bit I spoke about a moment ago. Yes, there is a lot of this, delivered beautifully by the wonderful cast. Each episode has a single character to focus on for the most part. Given it is a cast of wrestlers, it is as colorful as the flags in June.

Season one, for the most part, focuses around Alison Brie’s Ruth “Zoya the Destroya” Wilder, Betty Gilpin’s Debbie “Liberty Belle” Eagan, and Marc Maron’s Sam Sylvia. Sam is the sleazy drug-addicted director of exploitation horror dreck of the 70s, hired to direct GLOW. Ruth is a struggling plucky young actress who can’t land her dream casting and takes on GLOW as an experimental role. Meanwhile, Debbie is a new mother, former daytime soap star, and wanting to get back in the limelight.

Admittedly, season one is laughably bad with Ruth’s hyperactive wannabe actress nonsense getting in the way of what she’s hired to do. It fits her character, though makes watching back after finishing season three very strange and may put doubts in some heads. Believe me when I say that drops like a wrestler with a concussion off the top rope, and other useless chaff is dropped soon enough as well.

One thing that doesn’t relent is the never-ending onslaught of the risky and outlandish bits. Season one is a miscarriage set up. Season two revolves around a black woman embarrassed about wrestling because her son sees the character as racist, and in season three, Ruth makes fun of American astronauts live during the challenger explosion dressed a Russian. GLOW includes very strong language, sex, and violence, who says wrestling is for kids? This doesn’t even factor in the male leads exploring sexuality and one discovering he had a child he didn’t know about. It is a show that goes places others don’t.

GLOW is what it needs to be: light and fun, dark and realistic, with a colorful cast of idealists and cynics. It’s what many other female-led pieces (that claim to be feminist,) aren’t. It puts women upfront and doesn’t try to emulate Bridesmaids. Put aside the early issues of building the entire cast and show. The long-running stories between Liberty Belle and Zoya as best-friends playing America Vs Russia hating each other, Kia Stevens (AEW‘s Awesome Kong) playing Welfare Queen building to be more about her as Tammé, and Sanita Mani being more than just “Beirut” a middle eastern stereotype. It is a character piece that uses wrestling to show interesting people.

Though the key character piece culminates in season three with Gayle Rankin’s Sheila “The She-Wolf.” This performance makes the whole show worth every minute, including Ruth’s purposefully annoying actress that enjoys the smell of her own farts. All of it is worth it, because unlike a wrestling promotion that’s dominated for 30 plus years, the three-season and three years of building that were required make it. If character pieces such as Sheila or Tammé were capped off in season one, it would devalue the whole show.

GLOW is wonderfully written not only for wrestling fans, but also for those looking for a show that’s driven by women, is character-focused, and is a bit weird. I think it is the best thing Netflix has done in a couple of years; yes, better than Stranger Things because I don’t like children trying to act. If you aren’t put off by the wrestling backdrop and occasional dark pieces, I recommend giving GLOW a chance. It might also help that there is a great 80s soundtrack throughout.

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