The Death Tour: A Snowy Road Where Wrestlers Find Reasons to Live

By Jim Slotek

Rating: B-plus

So far down the pro wrestling food chain that it’s essentially a handful of people in a van putting on a show, the legendary Death Tour might be expected to be a depressing tale of grapplers on their way out, or newbies whose dreams are too far up to see.

But, as we discover in Stephan Peterson and Sonya Ballantyne’s documentaryThe Death Tour, there is a human and uplifting aspect to bringing the show of wrestling to places desperate for entertainment, and hope in general.

The Matriarch salutes her young Indigenous fans.

Strip away the arenas, pyrotechnics and TV cameras, and you’ve got shows in school gyms in Native reserves in Northern Manitoba, Chicoutimi and Nunavut, for two-digit audiences of insanely happy children, “crowds” that you can group hug post-event.

Also known, only somewhat hyperbolically, as the Northern Hell Tour, the almost ad hoc circuit has been going on for 30 years, under the aegis of Tony Condello, a wrestling “lifer” whose tale has been told before in the 2014 doc The Promoter: The Tony Condello Story.

Plenty of “names” have paid their dues on lonely ice roads and in sleeping bags. Two figure here in interviews, Kenny Omega and Chris Jericho (the latter of whom is an executive producer of The Death Tour).

But The Death Tour is not the kind of documentary that gives you much of a history lesson. It exists almost entirely in the present (and mostly in the desolate communities of Northern Manitoba) with a ragtag group of performers who all seem to find some sort of fulfillment on the bottom rung.

They include Sage Morin – a.k.a. “The Matriarch” – who’s suffered, and talked publicly about her young boy’s death by automobile, and who quickly becomes a favourite with the mostly Indigenous girls who look up to her and mob her in town after town.

Sean Dunster is one who almost had a career in his time as “Massive Damage,” getting as far as the WCW before substance abuse derailed his career. Dunster finds a role as a mentor for Inuit rookie Dez Loreen – a.k.a. “The Eskimofo” – showing him how to “sell” holds, hits and falls.

Particularly endearing is Sarah McNicholl, a small-town Quebec woman who gave up an early chance to achieve in speed skating, was waylaid by drugs and partying, and has found a new mission as The Scottish Warrior (despite the fact she barely speaks English).

And of course, there’s the senior Condello, who drives the van, sells tickets and lays down the law on things like drinking and drugs. Grumpy as hell, he’s the soul of this impossible (and sometimes impassable) tour.

And hovering over this road trip is a reality that sadly turns it into a real “death tour.” Deaths of young Indigenous people – eight in all – seem to follow their route. In one case, they are turned away for the sake of mourning. In another, the grief-stricken show up in sell-out numbers to feed their spirit with the enthusiasm of this cartoon entertainment.

There’s a part of me that wishes Peterson and Ballantine had some archival material to work with, considering the stories you can read just by googling the actual Death Tour.

But then, the Indigenous communities for whom they perform are followers of oral tradition. So, if the Death Tour is to be remembered, it is in the telling.

The Death Tour. Directed by Stephan Peterson and Sonya Ballantine. Starring Chris Jericho, Tony Condello, Sarah McNicholl, Sage Morin and Sean Dunster. Playing at the Carlton Cinema in Toronto, Aug. 2-9, Edmonton’s Metro Cinema, Aug. 6 and 7, Winnipeg’s David Barber Cinematheque, Aug. August 9, 10, 11, 15 and 18, and Vancouver’s Rio Theatre, Aug. 21.