The moss covered, three-handled family gredunza is the third of Chris Jericho’s 1004 moves, preceeded by an armdrag and armbar, and to be followed by an armbar and the Saskatchewan spinning nerve hold. It is a reference to the Cat in the Hat’s TV special.
Wrestling isn’t a soap opera
Professional wrestling has long been described as a soap opera for men. This metaphor is based around the idea of continuing dramatical story-lines being placed upon brutish alpha-male characters who would not necessarily garner such drama if not for being in an arena where their violence is scripted. In a sense, the only reason that Kane ever had a girlfriend in college (that he then killed) was because he wasn’t fighting HHH for the two-month-old world heavyweight title for real. If he had been, none of that nonsense would have occurred. This is why we, the faceless, anonymous scribes on the internets describe these kinds of horrific insults to our intelligence as “Sportz Entertainment.†It’s a play on what Vince McMahon wanted us to call wrestling in the 80s. The fact is, though, we believed his hype. We do consider it sports entertainment (a wonderful example of the whole not living up to the sum of its parts), and we do consider WWE to host a male soap opera. But we’re completely wrong on both counts.
First of all, let’s talk about why people would liken pro wrestling to soap operas. During this section, I’ll be referring to wrestling as representing every single show from every single company. I’ll be doing the same with soap operas. That, in fact, is my first point. It seems inevitable that no matter how a wrestling company begins, it will inevitably end up as a carbon copy of every other wrestling show. The same goes for soap operas. No matter how many gimmicks you throw in, eventually every innovative six-sided, extreme, and honourable promotion will end up like Monday Nitro. As well, no matter how many leprechauns, possessed psychologists, apologist reverends, transgendered pop stars, and mistaken identities you toss into the pool of a soap opera, eventually everyone will gather around a newborn baby in a hospital and champion the virtues of the conservative, mid-western American family. There is a formula to these things, and it is not easy to escape.
Secondly, WWE and soap operas are the only forms of entertainment that cannot be compressed into a dvd collection. You could never, ever release a season of WWE Raw or General Hospital, because there would be 52 episodes to one and 260 to the other. Because of this, these shows appear to go on forever, limitless in their endmarks, like the universe, like infinity. Because of this, soap opera writers are forced to come up with new material everyday that will keep people watching. They inevitably fail (as do wrestling writers). Because of this, you can walk away from a soap opera for six months, and when you come back, very little has changed. The same can be said for wrestling.
The last similarity for these programs is, of course, it’s audience. That is, the stereotyped audience, anyway. Generally, the people who watch soap operas are the people who stay home during the day and have little to do. Best Week Ever, a show on VH1 and a fantastic pop culture blog, refers to their soap opera section as an “unemployment check.†The stereotypical wrestling viewer is now in his mid-twenties, possibly married to a woman who watches soap operas (and uses the “it’s like a soap opera for me†tagline to justify his enjoyment) and likely with not much to do. I want to point out that few of the people reading this column fall into this category. You have access to the internets, and you’re using it to read words. This is a major step up from the stereotypical wrestling fans’ abilities with this crazy future box. However, it is important to take note that the vast majority of people still wearing Austin 3:16 t-shirts around town are watching the same product you are, and maybe not even as often (these people have largely moved over to UFC).
So, it is easy to see why a simpleton would relate wrestling to a soap opera. But that’s it. There are no other reasons to do so, and the reasons to separate them entirely are vast. For one thing, wrestling isn’t nearly as lax with the space time continuum as soap operas are. Soap operas stay “current†as best they can with vernacular, style, and what their “issues†are (current being at least 4 years behind the times). This stems from the fact that a single day in soap opera-land can easily last a month in real time. On the flipside of that, whenever anyone has a baby in a soap opera, the kid always seems to be shot into a wormhole (or, as they call it, boarding school). When they return from being “away†(a nod, of course, to unmarried pregnant conservative women who “disappear†during their pregnancies) they are 17, in college (but never in school), and really in love with the person that their character will probably spend the rest of his life with (who was also only a baby the year before).
Wrestling, however, for being a redneck, conservative, and backwards operation, is exceptionally modern, at least when it comes to referencing other popular culture. If soap operas are an escape from real life, wrestling is almost a reflection of it, albeit through a mangled lens. Republicans and Democrats faced off constantly during the 2004 election period, culminating in a debate with Mick Foley and John Layfeild. The metrosexual angle played out with Christian, Chris Jericho, and Trish Stratus. Finally, the idea of one-upping other dramas like the Sopranos ended up with McMahon being exploded in a limousine. Few of these attempts at being a reflection of the zeitgeist ended particularly well, but that’s wrestling for you. All hype, little payoff.
Soap operas, for all their character development braggarty, basically have a cast of 2. One is essentially good, but can travel down the evil path from time to time. The other is essentially evil, but has small spouts of righteousness (not the same as being good). there isn’t a single soap opera character who doesn’t fit into one of these two categories. Wrestling is, surprisingly, more complex with its character palette. Let’s just take the current world champions. Kurt Angle is a zealot to his own shrine, regardless if people are behind him or not. His actions are considered good or evil because of where the fans judge him. This is why he’s capable of being a good and bad guy six times a year. John Cena is an emotionless, plastic action figure who respects everyone around him and never sweats, rendering him a psuedo-Hulk Hogan (but without the christianity) figure that polarizes the audience. The Great Khali is the epitome of the foreign, misunderstood evil, but his actions have never struck me as anything that his “good guy†rival Batista wouldn’t do in the same circumstance. He is left with both the boos of the racists for his inability to speak english and the spite of the journalistic elite for his inability to wrestle the style they enjoy, and that gives him a prospective sadness he will hopefully someday embody.
Wrestling isn’t a soap opera, it’s a variety show. These two genres may seem similar, but in fact there’s very little tethering them together. A variety show encapsulates different forms of entertainment, a slew of ill-placed character duets and triads, and a general idea of aimless showboating for no particular reason or cause (or uneducated showboating for ill-garnered causes). That, in a nutshell is professional wrestling. So if wrestling isn’t a soap opera and is a variety show, what variety show is it?
It’s the Muppet Show.
The Muppet Show was a half-hour variety show featuring skits, songs, dancing, and special guests. There was a “stage†a “backstage†and a “host†in Kermit the Frog. Kermit was just about always on the verge of a nervous breakdown, because his “cast†was always trying to hijack the show to suit their own needs. These hijackings would take place over a running gag throughout the show, and would feature Kermit being less and less stable of the course of time. This was all in the subtleties, of course. They wouldn’t put a flagrant nervous wreck in front of children as a role model. However, The Muppet Show gave a formula to the world that works in just about any environment. NBC’s The Office and, to a lesser extent Arrested Development, used it to a wonderful effect, and so does professional wrestling.
Any pro wrestling program has a series of matches, all framed around a running gag featuring a character trying to hijack the show in a selfish way, and this usually features the “general manager†of the show slowly turning into a nervous wreck (or a southern minister). A great example of this was a few weeks ago when Kurt Angle had his clothes stolen by Samoa Joe. Kurt paraded himself in front of the locker room, the writers lounge, and finally the “main stage†looking for his clothes. The best part was when Kurt looked at Shark Boy and asked him why he was smiling (Shark Boy, for those not in the know, wears a mask depicting a smiling shark), and then promptly punched him to the ground. It reminded me of the time when Grover had an old bear that he was going to throw out, and was talking about how musty and ugly it was, only for the cameras to pick up Fozzy in the background, depressed that he’d heard that the bear was being tossed.
William Regal makes an excellent Kermit, because we know that wrestlers will constantly make his hair grey. He’ll allow them to get to him, making it far more entertaining than if the authorial figure is stoic (like Coach).
Wrestling isn’t a soap opera. It’s a variety show. It stays relatively current, strives to entertain a fickle, judgmental audience full of Statler’s and Waldorfs’, and repeats itself ad nauseam until people get sick of the schtick and move onto other pastures.
