Heroes And Villains 07.16.04: The Contender’s Motivation

YOUR EMAIL MAY SPAWN A COLUMN

Enough with Mordecai for a while. He appears to be a dead issue anyway.

Is it too early to get self-referential? Hopefully not, because here’s an excerpt from my first column:

Before kayfabe was broken wide open (whether that happened in 1985, 1994, 1996, 1999, or some other date), fans were quicker to accept that the motivation of every wrestler was to win matches and, hopefully, eventually win one of the titles. Like I mentioned earlier, this meant that characters could be underdeveloped, since the audience’s suspension of disbelief allowed them to view wrestling as real athletic competition (or a reasonable facsimile). Of course not every wrestler was able to rack up the wins or earn a title reign, which is what made the territorial system so crucial. A wrestler could leave a territory before fans branded him a loser. He could then return after a spell, once again fresh in the fans’ eyes. It’s no coincidence, in my opinion, that the man most responsible for destroying the territorial system was also the first to attempt to give all of his wrestlers more distinct personalities. If we were going to see the same faces month after month, we would need something beyond the chase for the belt to keep us entertained, Vince McMahon reckoned. We needed feuds based on clashes of exciting personalities .

The modern wrestling audience demands characters. “I want the belt” is no longer enough to entertain most of us; we want a character whose actions reflect the things we learned about him in previous weeks of television.

And here’s a response I got from reader William Ricks:

It seems if a character is
well-developed enough, he’ll eventually wind up at a level where his main motivation is (or should be) the World belt, or equivalent. Which
sort of runs contrary to your idea of a well-developed character (that he NOT be solely motivated by the belt).

I sent him an email in reply (a loooong email), but there was a lot left unsaid (despite said email’s length). So, I decided to do a whole column on the subject.

I stand by my comments. But, as I hope has been clear to those of you who have read this column regularly (or semi-regularly), my primary concern in this column, Mordecai aside, is not identify what’s good and bad in the WWE from my subjective perspective. I’m more interested in the mechanics of wrestling—trying to take the WWE apart and figure out how it works (or as scholars would call it, deconstructing the WWE). I didn’t necessarily celebrate the death of the belt-centered wrestling universe when I wrote the comments above. However, I also think it’s counterproductive and inherently conservative (in the worst possible sense of the word) to bemoan and rail against this development (and I should point out that I don’t think William Rick was doing this). Like it or not, Vince McMahon has transformed audience expectations; viewers are conditioned to see the chase for the belt as but one of many potential motivations for wrestlers’ actions. Furthermore, WWE storylines that do not involve any championship in any form whatsoever are often more interesting and compelling than storylines which are centered on title runs. For instance, in the weeks leading to Bad Blood, the HHH-HBK storyline was far more interesting and dramatic than the Kane-Benoit title match. This upset many internet fans and pundits, who argued that a world title match should always be the centerpiece of a show.

Well, the Hell in a Cell match, as the alleged blowoff to the interminable HHH-HBK feud, was going to be the main event anyway. The only way to reconcile this with the perceived need to make the title match the main event would be to hotshot the title onto either Triple H or Shawn Michaels—and how would that have been a show of respect for the title? No, the real problem was in how badly the Kane-Benoit title match was booked.

First, the match seemed to be pulled out of thin air (or out of Vince McMahon’s fiber-deprived rear orifice). Most title matches these days are built on a framework of some sort of preexisting issue—the feud precedes the title shot. This means that #1 contender matches tend to have painfully telegraphed endings (i.e., Bradshaw shockingly becomes number one contender a few weeks after he starts feuding with the champ, Eddie Guerrero). The advantage to this approach is the greater heat and fan interest that can result from a preexisting feud. Kane, however, had no issue with Benoit when he won the title match. So, in order to spice up the match, the writers had to rely on whatever natural chemistry there was between the two.

That’s the second problem. There was no charisma between the two characters. Benoit is the first-time champion, who still seems maybe a bit dizzy from rush of finally winning the big one. Kane is a guy who seems to be motivated by uh let’s say unclear designs (in other words, his bizarre actions may or may not be leading up to anything). That’s not a classic battle—scrappy underdog who’s still proving himself (thus the “For Real” gimmick) versus a monster who doesn’t seem to care about wins and losses so much as hurting other people. So, any fan interest in the match would have to be a function of how much they cared about the belt. And that’s where the writers really dropped the ball.

A TITLE SHOT? WELL, I GUESS, IF I’M NOT TOO BUSY BEATING UP MATT HARDY

Kane in general, has a (needlessly?) convoluted history. As the writer of a column about characterization in wrestling, on some level I feel obligated to try to delve into the Kane character. On another level, I fear that the results wouldn’t be worth the research it would take to try to spark my memory of the countless turns and bizarre revelations in his life. I’m anxious to see the proposed Kane movie (or read its script) because I’m curious to see how the writer has tried to make sense out of a character who seems to have been the repository of more hare-brained, ill-advised ideas than anyone else in the history of wrestling. Still, I feel like I can make one statement with adequate confidence: Kane has never seemed especially motivated to win championships. And that tendency has, if anything, grown more pronounced in the post-mask era. Kane seems like more of a sadist than a pseudo-athlete.

And that, in the end, is why I didn’t care about his title shot. Why would Kane, whose only real projects for calendar year 2004 were (1) running away from his “brother,” and (2) torturing/possibly impregnating Lita, now suddenly express an interest in winning a championship? He gave some promo about living in darkness while Benoit lives in light (lightness?), or something like that. But he never explained why the belt meant so much to him, other than it was something he could take away from Benoit (who, remember, had no history with Kane). So this title feud basically amounted to a big bully who was trying to take away a smaller kid’s toy. Which would be fine, but I’m just speculating here—I’m reading into the writers’ intentions, when the writers’ intentions should be clear. There’s no reason why Kane’s motivation had to be so obscure. And if you don’t think the bully scenario sufficiently explains Kane’s actions, here are a few others possibilities I’ve come up with off the top of my head:

-I’m just trying to impress Lita.
-People fear me, but I also want them to respect me.
-I’ve been a freak too long. It’s time to go back to being a real wrestler. (Note that Kane wouldn’t actually have to go in that direction—he could be lying, or he could get sidetracked in that goal, or any other number of things.)
-As champion, I would have a better chance of hurting other people (since, in theory at least, other wrestlers would be more likely to risk fighting Kane if the reward was a title run).

Any of those would have sufficed. Instead, we got another case of half-assery from the WWE writers. And it’s not like I’m not trying to rag on them in every column—I know they have a hard, high-pressure job. But come on. There’s no excuse for putting out such a dull feud, when it wouldn’t have taken that much more effort to come up with some reason for Kane’s sudden interest in the belt. The way he became the number one contender (via a battle royal with almost 30 other wrestlers) suggests that he stumbled into his title shot, rather than seeking it out. His attitude toward the belt was more “why not” than “I must have it.”

SO, WHY DO YOU WANT THE TITLE?

Unfortunately, this isn’t an isolated case. For every Chris Benoit, who has some clear motivation for winning the title (i.e., he wanted to live down the ignominy of being the best wrestler on roster who had never won the belt), there are plenty of folks like the post-Invasion Steve Austin, who treated title shots as if they were some sort of divine right. Or Kevin Nash, who treated winning the title as an afterthought to his (lame) feud with HHH.

The real problem with how the WWE books world title matches is that these feuds rarely correspond to the rules and laws of its own universe. With the possible exception of Kurt Angle, none of the characters in the WWE wrestle out of sheer love for athletic competition. They do so because they are lifelong wrestling fans, or because they seek fame and glory, or they like to hurt people, or they need wrestling to overcome more serious personal demons, or any number of other possibilities. But, when it comes to the title, the writers often fall back on the supposed prestige of the title—even though someone like Bob Holly was not concerned with his utter failure to win the title (or even come close to winning the title) until the time came to seek revenge on Brock Lesnar. If WWE characters can exist without the need to win titles, then it follows that there should be some explanation for why any given wrestler would suddenly express interest in the title. Ideally, all characters would follow the lead of Nathan Jones. In his first interview with Michael Cole, he immediately cited winning the world title as his ultimate goal. Unfortunately, most wrestlers rarely mention winning a title until they are put in a feud where they compete for one.

Given this situation, it seems to me that the most successful title feuds are the ones where the wrestlers give the most specific reasons for wanting to win the belt. Benoit is probably the best recent example. Benoit had nothing against Shawn Michaels or Triple H coming into the feud—he just wanted the belt. HHH belittled Benoit in an attempt to psyche him out, while HBK sought to deprive Benoit of his opportunity. Thus, Benoit developed heated rivalries with both guys, while the desire to win the belt remained his primary motivation. In contrast, Brock Lesnar’s 2003 feud with Kurt Angle was driven as much by betrayal as the title. It was a good feud, but it wasn’t nearly as enthralling as Benoit-HHH-HBK. The title essentially served as a prop—something for the two to hold over each other’s heads. Here’s a football analogy. In the Benoit storyline, the belt was treated like the national championship—a symbol of excellence. In the Angle-Lesnar feud, the belt seemed more like one of those trophies exchanged between two teams with a storied rivalry. Kind of like how Southern Cal and UCLA fight over the Victory Bell. Having the title on the line made the feud more heated, but it wasn’t the main attraction. And that kind of makes the belt seem a little less important, if you ask me.

So, do I have any potential solutions? If there’s anything you can count on in this column, it’s that I will propose some potential solutions. Here are some possible motivations for seeking a title, with a few caveats sprinkled in here and there:

Fulfilling a childhood dream
Benoit, Jericho, the Rock, Edge . We’ve seen this a lot. Maybe too much, in fact. If the WWE relies on this to explain everyone’s motivation, it runs the risk of desensitizing fans. Still, on it’s own terms this is a good motivation for going after the belt.

Making up for a checkered past
Or the Eddie Guerrero motive. Chemical addiction or a criminal record are the major possibilities here. I’m really surprised that the Booker T-HHH feud didn’t focus on this more, especially since Jerry Lawler yakked about Booker’s criminal record every time we saw him in 2003. The downside is (1) a wrestler might not want to publicize his private demons; (2) it would be in really poor taste to do this as a completely worked angle, where in reality the wrestler did not have these personal problems; and (3) even if it is legitimate, this borders on exploitation. Still, I think this is what made Eddie Guerrero a compelling champion. Here’s hoping the writers refrain from doing an “off the wagon” storyline with him. However, having a backstage segment where Eddie stares at a bottle of booze might work. Having him feign drunkenness in order to gain an advantage over his opponent (á la Jake Roberts) would be pushing it.

Honoring the dead
If Charlie Haas ever gets to the world title level, the writers will almost certainly exploit his brother’s death. Expect the same sort of thing regarding Harry Smith, if he is ever hired. Not my favorite of the possibilities, as it’s rather tacky, but there’s a lot of potential for a very emotional in-ring celebration. And it’s one of the rare occasions where wrestlers’ display of emotion is authentic (again, because they are being exploited—just like WCW exploited Bret Hart).

Ego
Terrell Owens—is he motivated by love of athletic competition, or by the opportunity to supply himself with more ammunition in his ongoing campaign of self-deification? This is something like what we saw with the early Kurt Angle character, and it would work with Shelton Benjamin as well, I think.

Moving on up
Anyone remember Jamie Noble’s early WWE vignettes? Where he told Nidia that the Cruiserweight Belt was their ticket out of the trailer park? Pro sports are one of the most attractive avenues for class mobility in modern America (which is a crying shame). And Americans are always hungry for rags to riches stories, since so many of us fantasize about experiencing such a story first-hand.

Resume padding
The early weeks of the JBL push were pretty dire, but the writers got this part right. Bradshaw’s explanation for why he suddenly cared about the belt made his motivation totally credible, from my perspective.

Is it worth it?
What do you do with someone who constantly loses in his title shots? You could go with a “choker” gimmick (Benoit again). Another possibility is this: a wrestler gets so frustrated with his record of futility that he ponders quitting the business—unless he can prove to himself that he’s legit by winning a belt.

Once isn’t enough
Okay, then what about the guy who’s won the title multiple times? Or what about the champion—what motivates him to stay on top? One of the things about the 2003 vintage of HHH that made him so annoying was that none of his title reigns meant anything anymore, because there was nothing left for his character to prove. This is part of a larger concern—how to deal with established characters in risk of going stale. It’s an important topic—so important that I’ll have to devote an entire column to it at some point in the future.

At one time a title match was a draw in and of itself. That’s not true anymore, and it may never be true again. Title matches draw best when there is a compelling storyline behind them, or the promise of a good match. The latter depends upon the wrestlers involved, but the former can be accomplished with a minimum of changes to the current product. All it would take is a few vignettes, interviews, or promos for the audience to get a sense of characters’ motivation to win championships. Then maybe title matches will seem special again.

Thanks as always to all who have written. I’m going to be back home in South Carolina for a month, but the columns will keep a-coming. To wit:

Next week: Rethinking the Fake Diesel and Razor Ramon: Can Different People Play the Same Character? Plus: Another Interactive Question.