NO GOOD INTRODUCTION TO THIS WEEK’S COLUMN
At least I haven’t thought of one yet. If you’re reading these words, you can take it as a sign that there’s nothing in particular upsetting me (actually there is, but I figure I should probably avoid long discussions of ways that fellow teaching assistants annoy me). I guess my immune system is finally earning its keep. Good thing–I was considering outsourcing that job overseas, and that would have been a nightmare come April 15.
As for the real column this week–how about another split column? Part one will be that long-promised look at breaking kayfabe. For the second half of the column, I’d like to return to the subject of Randy Orton.
THIS IS NOT A WRESTLING SHOW
There seems to be a great deal of confusion about what constitutes a breach of kayfabe, which I think stems from a larger misunderstanding of what exactly kayfabe is. Kayfabe is, at heart, all the steps that wrestlers take to maintain the illusion that matches and promos (and, these days, backstage segments) all reflect the reality that pro wrestling is trying to create. In the old days this included interviews with the media in which wrestlers would stay in character, but such interviews are far less common these days.
The value of maintaining kayfabe is comparable to the benefits of maintaining the illusion of reality in any narrative form. For instance, the appearance of a boom mike in a television show would break the spell of the story, and remind you that you’re watching a production with actors, a crew, and a director. An actor forgetting his or her lines will have a similar effect. There are times, of course, when certain narrative forms intentionally break kayfabe. The most famous (and, arguably, the most successful) example is probably old Loony Toons, where Bugs Bunny (or whoever) would turn to the “camera” and make comments directly to the audience. Bugs was acknowledging that he was in a cartoon; this was usually done to amp up the anarchic spirit that permeated these cartoons. A more subdued, “artsy” example would be Steven Soderbergh’s Full Frontal, which is an exploration of the very act of making movies and creating narratives (I think; I’ve never seen it, though I’d certainly be willing to do so). While breaking kayfabe is done frequently in other media, wrestling is too early in its development to have reached this stage of sophistication.*
What I’m going to do here is examine four instances which are frequently construed as breaches of kayfabe. All have been cited as problematic incidents that should have been avoided; I tend to disagree, at least in some instances.
Scenario 1: The WWE decides to give Shawn Michaels some time off for the birth of his second child. The solution arrived at is an injury angle. Kane comes out on Raw and stomps on a folding chair placed over HBK’s throat. Blood pours out of the mouth of Michaels (who was presumably biting on the legendary blood-filled condom). He’s taken out on a stretcher, as JR and Lawler adopt the “this is serious business, folks” demeanor. The announcers’ message: wrestling is wrestling, but we aren’t kidding around with you here, people. We’re all worried, and we’ll update you as the situation progresses. And so somber tone is cast over the rest of the show.
This sort of thing happens on WWE television maybe two or three times a year. The archetype was a very unintentional breach of kayfabe: the death of Owen Hart. Critics of this story element (David Meltzer probably the most prominent among them) argue that it makes everything else on the show seem fake in comparison, as everything else on the show is treated with levity or irreverence.
Critics’ major gripe, however, is that this is little more than a cruel reenactment of the night of Owen Hart’s death. I can understand where they’re coming from, but I tend to think that this is a technique the WWE would have eventually adopted anyway. I think the model isn’t so much that night in Kansas City, but more the way that NFL announcers deal with a serious injury. Just as football players get hurt all the time, so do wrestlers. But there is a clear difference in announcers’ tone depending on how serious the injury is (especially in the post-Dennis Byrd NFL). You might argue that this is still tasteless, but I don’t think you can argue that it’s unrealistic. If anything, I think it’s an attempt to mimic the realistic announcing one would expect from professional sports broadcasters.
Scenario 2: After several years of wrestling as Goldust, Dustin Runnels burns his costume and blames Vince McMahon for making him submit to a gimmick which drove a wedge between himself and his family. Of course, he would return to the gimmick before the summer was over, but for those few moments in May 1998, the WWF revealed that wrestlers actually portray characters on television.
This one’s a little less controversial. Runnels/Goldust had already hinted that the gimmick was more about psyching out the opponent than actual personal lifestyle choice. That makes sense within the world of kayfabe, though it was certainly on the cutting edge for 1996/7. Runnels’ castigation of Vince McMahon for forcing the gimmick on him, however, was something different. This was the first mainstream exposure of the idea that gimmicks were just characters played by real people. The implication was that other ridiculous characters might also be gimmicks that didn’t reflect the reality of the men who portrayed them (especially since Runnel’s first feud after this incident was with Val Venis, who played a ridiculous stripper character).
Here’s the thing, though: sometimes gimmicks don’t work. Here’s another thing: just cause a wrestler’s gimmick has failed doesn’t mean that said wrestler is now useless. This wasn’t such a big deal back when there were two or three major promotions; today’s Oz was tomorrow’s Diesel. But now that we’re down to just one promotion, there are going to be plenty of cases like Dustin Runnel’s. The Goldust renunciation was, in the end, just a (needlessly?) elaborate setup for another angle. In the future, however, there are likely to be more pressing needs for wrestlers to disavow earlier characters.
Does this make the product less watchable? I don’t think so. The Mr. McMahon character pretty firmly set the precedent that powerful figures are apt to manipulate the wrestlers who they oversee. Would anybody really object if Eugene were to come out and reveal that he was only feigning mental disability at Eric Bischoff’s behest? Of course not; we expect a certain level of deceit in wrestling. I don’t see this as a serious breach of kayfabe.
Scenario 3: With a weak lineup of developmental prospects, the powers that be at the WWE decide to make a stronger push for the types of wrestlers they want (i.e., ex-athletes, particularly amateur wrestlers, football players, and MMA fighters). Resurrecting Tough Enough seems like a good way to attract a better grade of prospect–everyone likes being on television, and there would be a ton of publicity for the contest. But Tough Enough gets fewer viewers than the A-shows, thus dampening the impact of the contest as a way to introduce new faces (see, for instance, the less-than-thrilling debut of John, aka “Johnny Nitro,” from season three). So Tough Enough IV goes to Smackdown. Pundits argue that this arrangement will expose the art of training wrestlers (especially learning to take bumps, the real center of the previous three Tough Enoughs) on a regular wrestling show. And then, right on cue, there’s an incident in which underscores these doubts. In the second week of the contest, several contestants no-sell bodyslams from the Big Show. But in the fantasy world of wrestling, an unseasoned trainee should be half-dead from any sort of offensive maneuver from the big man. This leads to a debate between Stephanie and Vince McMahon, as Vince actually wants to air footage of the no-selling. In the end, however, Stephanie’s more cautious decision to air a severely edited version of the segment wins out.
Okay, now we’re starting to get into things which even I, Mr. Open-Minded, find problematic. I’ve thought it over several times, and I just can’t see what good would come of airing footage of the no-selling. The only way I could see this working would be if they completely quarantined the segment from the rest of the show–never mention it again except in the context of future Tough Enough segments.
But if you take this path, why do you need an in-ring segment anyway? Why not just air a pre-taped segment involving the contestants and the Big Show? Probably because they wanted the live crowd reaction. Here’s the thing, though–the ring is the sacred inner sanctum of kayfabe. Break kayfabe it in the ring, and you pretty much kill the one illusion that pro wrestling can’t afford to lose: the illusion that, however over-the-top everything else is, what happens in the ring is a “real” fight. Once you start introducing kayfabe-breaking elements into this environment, you break the spell that the ring holds over the audience. The physical nature of the Tough Enough incident only exacerbates the situation. You absolutely must treat all in-ring violence as real. The moment you allow some doubt to creep into people’s perception of in-ring violence is the moment you plant the seed of apathy in your audience. That’s why blown spots matter. That’s why fake looking offense is such a big deal. That’s why no-selling hurts the product. Blown spots, unrealistic offense, and no-selling are, to some extent, uncontrollable entities, dependent on wrestlers’ skill levels. But the Big Show/Tough Enough deal was an example of Vince McMahon actually making a conscious decision to reduce the realism of his product. Why borrow trouble?
Having said all that, I don’t see any problem in airing Tough Enough segments during Smackdown. I just think that they should be pre-taped vignettes, with maybe a few moments in the ring when they’re pimping the voting (a la the Diva search). There’s already an established precedent that pre-taped segments can violate kayfabe–the most notable example being footage of wrestlers, heel and face alike, visiting military bases or hospitals or whatever. Wrestlers routinely break kayfabe in these segments, but it doesn’t affect my suspension of disbelief for what’s going on in the ring. I think that the audience views pre-taped segments differently than the live show; the taped segments are less immediate, and almost seem to take place in a different world. This, by the way, is why I think that vignettes frequently don’t work as well as interviews, promos, or backstage skits. The immediacy of the live (or “live”) product lends a sort of manic energy to the proceedings. Pro wrestling depends upon this sort of energy. Take it away the characters seem smaller and more mundane. Happily, this is exactly the tone that Tough Enough needs.
Scenario 4: No specifics here, because this incident could have occurred during any given Nitro during the Russo era. Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that Corporal Cajun is wrestling Elix Skipper. Suddenly, oh, let’s say Scott Steiner comes over the rail through the crowd. He storms the ring, lays out everyone with his steel pipe, and grabs the mike. He then launches into a worked shoot promo about whoever’s in charge that week–let’s say it’s Ernest Miller. The announcers are flustered. Tony Schiavone in particular; he exclaims, “Folks, this is not on our program for tonight! This is real!”
This, on the surface, is the dumbest breach of kayfabe. The same criticisms that pundits level against the “serious injury” scenario apply here: it makes the rest of the show seem fake and insignificant in comparison. Only it’s worse in this case, because Schiavone’s comment doesn’t imply that wrestling is fake–it outright says so. Kayfabe isn’t just broken, but shattered into countless pieces.
But remember what I said about Loony Tunes or art house movies? Why not apply this to wrestling? After all, Russo-era WCW was all about creating an air of anarchy, and breaking kayfabe is as good a way as any to create such an air. There is, however, one really good reason to avoid stuff like this: cause there’s going to be another show next week with the exact same cast of characters. Are they supposed to acknowledge these kayfabe breaches next week? Probably not. It’s just like the Big Show thing mentioned above; it would only work if it happened one week and was never mentioned again.
Hell, I say try it anyway, even if it is never mention it again. Do it around Christmas or New Year’s, when the stakes are lower anyway. It would be a fun (or at least memorable) episode.
Any conclusions? Well, I think that kayfabe is a lot more flexible than people think. There’s plenty of room to bend and stretch it without threatening the suspension of disbelief necessary to enjoy pro wrestling. I’m even willing to accept a few experiments in deliberate kayfabe breaking. Just make sure that the audience never loses its belief in the “reality” of what happens in the ring.
* The one exception to this, to my knowledge, is the avant-garde Japanese promotion SPWC. I’ve never seen any of their stuff, but I would love to. In fact, any purveyors of Japanese tapes who might be interested in having me review any SPWC stuff should contact me–there are very few wrestling videos/DVDs that I’d rather review.
A GUN TO MY HEAD
Back when I lived in Columbia, SC, I used to go to a little record store right near campus. The guy who owned it was a dumbass, but there’s at least one cool thing he did. The place was covered in promotional posters–mostly punk stuff, but a few major label posters too. One was for Hootie and the Blowfish. You might not remember (in fact, you might have made a conscious effort to expunge the memory from your brain), but Hootie was pretty close to being the most popular band in America in 1995. The poster in question was in promotion for their huuuuge 1994 album Cracked Rear View. The poster read something like this:
16 million albums sold
4 top five singles
1 American Music Award
2 Grammies
What are you waiting for?
Underneath this line, the owner of the store wrote, “A GUN TO MY HEAD.”
Now I’ve got to say, if you live in Columbia long enough, you’re bound to meet at least a few Blowfish. I’ve met the guitarist and the drummer, and they were pretty cool, laid back folks (the singer, however, is an asshole from what I hear). But I’ve always loved that line about a gun to the head, and often thought of it when people tried to argue that I should like something just because it was popular.
That phrase, “a gun to my head,” is coming to mind again as I watch Randy Orton on Raw every week. Yes, the fans are cheering for him. Yes, I might as well get used to seeing him in a prominent role. But I haven’t liked him ever since he turned face, and I’ve never heard anyone give me a good reason to change my mind. Most defenses of Randy Orton seem to be tortured attempts to convince the reader that Orton deserves his push. The latest one comes in Matt Nute’s newest column at 411 (and let me just say that I consider Nute to be one of the best columnists on that or any other site on the net, and I highly recommend you read his column every week). Nute clearly likes Orton, which is cool by me; but I’m not convinced by his argument that we all should feel this way: …much like the Rock, Orton can be the charismatic hero to bring pride and luster to the World Heavyweight Championship. He has the presence, he has the in-ring talent, and he has this — this aura about him that practically screams “champion.”
This seems to be the most common argument re: Orton’s greatness–he just seems to have a superstar aura to him. Somehow this aura has escaped my notice. To me, Orton seems more goofy and oblivious than anything. He looks like a frat boy who’s just turned 21 out on his first night of legal drinking. I’d say he has a shit-eating grin, but that’s probably giving him too much credit; it’s more like the grin of somebody’s who’s secretly been given shit to eat, but hasn’t figured it out yet. That was fine back when Orton played the clueless heel to perfection, but his current character (such as it is) is that of a crafty badass. Unfortunately, he comes off as neither crafty nor bad-assed, but rather simple-minded and goonish. As far as aura goes, I think Edge comes off as much more ready for prime time, which only makes sense, honestly, since he’s been in the big leagues for much longer. But then again, I also think Batista also has more of an aura about him, and he and Orton are both from the class of 2002.
None of this changes the fact that Orton’s getting some pretty respectable pops. Why? I think it has more to do with his push than anything. The fans will cheer for anyone who seems to have a good chance of challenging HHH’s dominance. Really now, compare Orton’s chants to Benoit’s form earlier this summer–they’re similar. Now compare them to those of Austin, Hogan, or the Rock–much, much smaller. (Of course that probably has something to do with the much smaller crowds Orton plays to–which in itself doesn’t really say that much for him, does it?)
Orton’s success is just a function of HHH’s work as champ. That’s what it all comes down to, if you ask me. The fans hate HHH so much that they’ll pull for anyone who seems halfway likely to challenge his dominance. Orton, as the beneficiary of a huge push, seems like that guy. He’s an okay worker, especially given his age and relative lack of experience. His promos are okay, and will probably get better. In short, don’t have any doubt that Orton will adequately fill the role of main eventer. I can’t help but think, however, that a more talented and dynamic personality will eventually come along–someone who will relegate Orton to second banana status. I’m not saying it’s going to be Batista, but I’ll tell you what: when he finally turns on HHH, the reaction’s going to be huge. I’ll even go out on a limb and say that their feud will have more heat than the current Orton-HHH feud. And I’ll gladly acknowledge Batista’s greatness without any the need for a firearm to do some additional persuading.
STABBING ISSUES
I really dug the tag match between Benoit/Benjamin and the reunited Edge and Christian on Raw last night. Edge and Christian’s new entrances are terrific; Edge’s in particular really sets him apart from the rest of the upper midcard. It was great to see the two together again, even if it was for just one night (though I suspect that Christian and Edge will somehow end up in a stable together somewhere down the line).
But the thing that really stood out in that match was Chris Benoit. Yeah, I know that praise for Benoit is a staple of internet columns, but I had an epiphany as he was laying in forearm shots on Edge. The usual knock on Benoit is that he lacks the speaking or acting skills necessary to portray a really compelling character. As a result, he’s forced to play a fairly generic character like “crazy killer who doesn’t say much.” But it now occurs to me that this is all right. Most would-be killing machines don’t realistically come off as killing machines; they move too “methodically,” or just don’t lay in their offense with the kind of gusto you’d expect from someone who lives to hurt other people. Not so with Benoit. Every move in his arsenal, from the diving headbutt to the simplest kick or forearm shiver, looks incredibly painful. He actually looks like he’s killing people out there–and, frankly, it has more to do with his offense than with his opponents’ selling. So, unlike all the other killing machines out there, Benoit actually seems to fit the role. I just don’t see how any wrestling fan can watch Benoit kick Edge in the head and not smile.
What is with Maven’s eyebrows? When did he start sculpting them? He looked weird on Raw. I like Maven okay, but doesn’t Shelton Benjamin seem like a better fit for this upper midcard role? Hell, even Rhyno would be preferable.
Speaking of Rhyno….I don’t think he’s getting nearly enough credit on the net for being as over as he is. He’s been pretty much buried since his return in 2003, his only pushes coming in pretty meaningless tag teams. But he’s still giving 100%, and the Gore still looks great. He’s still a model of intensity, and the fans appreciate it. I really hope that someone like Johnny Ace is paying attention to this. Rhyno deserves another shot at a singles push based on his work in the tag division. Not many people could do as much with the meager opportunities he’s been given. (Of course, the same is also true for Tajiri, but he’s a lot less likely to get a singles push.)
NON-WRESTLING INTRUSION
After the abortion that was Squidbillies and a fairly weak fourth season for Aqua Teen Hunger Force, I was starting to worry about Adult Swim. But there are two fairly new series that are really very good, and totally deserve your attention. The Venture Brothers just finished its first season and is now being re-run every day of the week save Friday. This is a great show; don’t let it fall through the cracks. Former and current comic book fans in particular will love it. The newest comedy show on Adult Swim is Tom Goes to the Mayor. I can’t precisely describe the humor, but the tone of the show is kind of like a much more absurd Dr. Katz. Bob Odenkirk is one of the producers, and Tenacious D appeared in the first episode (playing brothers who owned rival bear trap stores). It’s a major departure from the other 15 minute shows, and also deserves a viewing. If these two shows actually catch on, I think the future of late night programming on Cartoon Network is pretty bright.
PLUGGAGE
Gordi tries to teach you heathens about jazz. Good to know we share similar opinions regarding Wynton Marsalis, though as usual Gordi is more diplomatic than I would be.
Nyogtha. Good to know Lucard and I share similar opinions regarding emo, though Lucard’s probably less diplomatic than I would be. The column’s not actually about music, but I thought it was an observation worth sharing.
The Nintendo DS launch guide. Useful info, to be sure.
NOTHING LEFT AT ALL
See you next week.
