Considering that the film industry and the pro-wrestling business are competitors in the cut-throat world of corporate entertainment, they both seem keen to cash in on whatever friendly rub they can glean from eachother. Movies like ‘Nacho Libre’ and ‘Wrestlemaniac’ borrow heavily from the environment of wrestling with little or no regard for the traditions and culture it inhabits. Conversely, the WWE uses tried and tested action/adventure platforms to promote a specific superstar outside of their established demographic. Regardless of which is your favourite wrestling/wrestler movie (mine being ‘They live’ with Roddy Piper, only ruined by the weak ‘see-you-in-the-sequel’ ending) the connection between the two worlds is increasing, on many different levels.
The biggest detriment to the horror film genre (or, as it is known in wrestling circles, the monster heel) is that pesky psychological phenomenon called the Stockholm syndrome. For those of you that don’t know, the Stockholm syndrome is the likelihood that a hostage will befriend their kidnapper in order to deal better with the situation at hand. This has meant that horror film villains usually have a shelf-life of one, maybe two, movies to scare and repulse audiences before they are adopted as a champion and lauded for their actions. The best example I can think of being the ‘Nightmare on Elm Street’ films in which Freddy Krueger was an effective bugaboo in the first film, only to become a pseudo-cool, anti-hero for the subsequent five movies (until the ‘New Nightmare’) reduced to little more than clichés and self-parody. In pro-wrestling, a similar development can be seen in performers like Undertaker or Kane who started out as vile demons but have become quite sanitised and made more palatable for public acceptance. Despite the fact that, in their babyface guises, Vince has taken great pains to ensure that they are seen as far from normal or decent in their behaviour, it is undeniable that the overall impact of their gimmicks are diminished by them not seeking to be joyously destructive at every opportunity. I personally would much rather see Shane having his gonads electrified or Austin being crucified than watching retarded crotch-chops or Jeff Hardy having his hand raised respectfully after a ladder match. Worse still, this has a knock-on effect that determines the way modern heels are formed. In this contemporary environment of global terrorism and aggressive foreign policies, weakness has replaced evil as the most unattractive personality trait. This has led to a spate of sneaky, cowardly heels that win championships by cheating or aligning themselves with powerful adversaries, much like the current situation with Chavo Guerrero and Edge respectively taking on the Brothers of Destruction. For now, the situation works because there is no logical reason why Taker or Kane should be phased by lesser challengers, not when they’ve fended off bigger and better opponents in matches of more importance. But if this is not undone by the time they move on to another feud or take another sabbatical, we are left with heels stuck in ‘sneaky’ mode against babyfaces they should comfortably be equalling, if not dominating. Over the last six to eight months, Randy Orton has benefited from this type of heel regeneration and stands atop the WWE ranks as the most viable ‘monster’ on the roster, despite being averagely sized for a WWE superstar. The same should happen to Edge. And soon, hopefully.
Another mainstream genre that has suffered in both WWE and film is comedy. Although the WWE in its early years could never claim to utilise finely-crafted comedy on a par with the likes of Woody Allen or Steve Martin, it is disappointingly true that any pretensions towards meaningful satire were crushed under the sheer volume of slapstick stupidity emanating from the childish minds of the McMahon family. Much like motion pictures, the WWE has become increasingly reliant on gross-out comedy (Dreamer, Miz), grown men acting like sophomore teenagers (DX, Spirit Squad) and a stream of crowd-pleasing one-liners usually relating to toilet humour or insinuations of homosexuality (Cena, HHH). In Hollywood, studios are unwilling to place prime importance on writing, for fear of writers striking and holding the industry to ransom, so depth has been replaced by a repeatable, recognisable formula that is assigned as vehicles to whichever SNL regular gets more hits on youtube than his contemporaries. The ensuing films are shallow, bastardised morality tales containing little more than fair-trade product placement and tasteful tastelessness. Even romantic comedy has taken a downturn in recent years, especially in the WWE. Gone are the likeable partnerships (Test/Stephanie, Eddie/Chyna, Matt/Lita) that are logically developed over time, albeit only so that the eventual dissolution and subsequent feud carries some meaningful baggage onto the next chapter. Instead, we are left with irksome, tweener relationships (Maria/Santino, Deuce/Cherry) bereft of any charm that ultimately fail to create sufficient respective heel or face heat when the split occurs. Weirdly, the odds of a romantic WWE storyline being accorded the time and space to grow are INCREASED depending on how socially unusual the relationship is (Billy/Chuck, Torrie/Al, Mae/Henry). Unfortunately this is probably more a product of Vince’s desire to shock and offend than any genuine attempt to promote an inclusive, liberal ethos. The only area in which the WWE has remained comedically consistent is its dependence on cultural and racial stereotyping (Frenchy Martin, ‘Lo Down’, Carlito, Santino, ‘Cryme Tyme’ … the list is VERY long). The real shame being that this is definitely the one aesthetic consideration that could have been comfortably abandoned at the end of the 1980’s at least. With Undertaker as the lead face on Smackdown and Orton dominating Raw, comedy has been in short supply in the upper tier of late. Which makes it all the more bewildering that Vince has only called upon Santino and Cryme Tyme to be his resident comic relief down the card and resisted the temptation to embellish characters like London, Kendrick, Highlanders, Noble, Deuce, Domino or Super Crazy with a more prominent comedic tone. In the end, the WWE’s sense of humour is merely an amplification of what makes Vince laugh and, short of Googling the words ‘grapefruits’, ‘puppies’ and ‘cock’, I have no idea how a sane person would go about trying to rationalise such a perverse concept.
Ironically, the movie genre to which the WWE is most frequently compared is the only one where it has not mirrored its movie counterpart … pornography. Despite some furtive, occasional nudity (Sable, Kitty, Jacqueline, Lita, Candice, William Regal … anyone spot the odd one out?) and some awkward giggling pretending to be sexual congress (Sunny/Elmo, Mae/Henry, Edge/Lita) the WWE has failed to match the mainstream acceptance of the Hollywood adult film industry. If pornography really is defined by the term “no artistic merit, causes sexual thought” then the WWE is only guilty of succumbing to the same promotional lows as all commercials, most music videos and an alarming amount of modern kids television. Even the WWE’s annual recourse to the pages of Playboy magazine can’t be viewed as a concession to the pornographic, seeing as the images captured are inoffensively sexless cartoons depicting a romanticism of the American female nude. Trust me on this, until Vince releases a dvd entitled ‘WWE Divas: Taking it in the ring’ … the WWE isn’t porn.
It will be interesting to see how a WWE film would fare in the open market if it ventured outside of its comfort zone and tried something a little more challenging than the action/adventure ‘hero’ movie. But with many more foreign dictators inexplicably flanked by hordes of kamikaze minions ready to be dispatched by flag-waving patriots then the WWE’s chosen genre looks set to continue. With the advent of huge Raw and Smackdown sets looking more like stadium rock than bingo hall chic, WWE superstars will be required to fill arenas with their mere presence at a level previously only attainable by guitar gods and theatre legends. The drawback being that, in order to protect his product, Vince will have to keep the meatier storylines circulating around his main event players, for fear of good writing being ruined by inexperienced performance. Leaving his under-card and mid-card seeming like the former cast of the sitcom ‘Friends’, accomplished TV favourites but routinely incapable of drawing large audiences when payment is required. The way round this is to pair up the old and the new (Eastwood/Sheen in the 1990 film ‘The Rookie’) and let the fans make the comparable association for themselves. The trouble with pro-wrestling is, the newer protagonists will need to be seen as being better than their elders (Newman/Cruise in the 1986 film ‘The Colour of money’) and that is one eight-ball Vince McMahon seems unwilling to sink at this time. No, for now at least, the distinction between wrestling and the movies is intact and it is easy to discern between the two … wrestling is where the wrestlers are and the movies are where The Rock is.
(I don’t have an ending, so I’m going to ‘Pearl & Dean’ my way out of here … B-ba b-ba b-ba b-ba b-b-ba, b-ba b-ba b-ba ba baaaaaaa ba.)
Lee
 |
 |
 |
||
 |
 |
 |