Don’t Think Twice 12.13.08: Both Sides Now

Posted by Scott Slimmer on 12.13.2008

In the world of professional wrestling, kayfabe is the bridge between fact and fiction, between reality and fantasy. And unfortunately, the largest professional wrestling promotion in the world treats it recklessly and carelessly.

I've looked at life from both sides now,
From win and lose, and still some how,
It's life's illusions I recall.
I really don't know life at all.
– Both Sides Now by Joni Mitchell

"You know it's fake, right?" I would assert that you aren't a true fan of professional wrestling until you've mentioned the industry in the company of non-fans and been barraged by that singular retort, often in rapid succession by multiple assailants. Your first trial by the uninitiated serves as a kind of hazing into the fraternity of wrestling fans, and whether or not you can successfully stand your ground and defend your fandom often decides whether or not you will continue to be a fan. Having been through that very trial on multiple occasions, my standard response is now, "Actually, the more accurate the term is ‘scripted.'" I then usually attempt to explain that "real" and "fake" are oversimplified terms that aren't really applicable to professional wrestling, but the fact that I've given so much thought to professional wrestling is usually enough to scare off most people. I suppose the general public still wants to put professional wrestling in a neat little box, but unfortunately the true nature of the industry is much more complex.

Over the course of the past few months, I've attempted to use this column as a vehicle for exploring my understanding of the world of professional wrestling, as a tool for crystallizing the most general beliefs and common opinions of the IWC. Last month I examined the dual nature of professional wrestlers as both fictional characters and real performers, and that lead me quite unexpectedly to a discussion of the dual nature of professional wrestling fans as both marks and smarts, my claim being that every fan is, to one degree or another, both a mark and a smart. My conclusion then was that the duality of professional wrestlers as both fictional characters and real performers was a result of the duality of professional wrestling fans as both marks and smarts, but in the month that has followed I've begun to wonder if both dualities might actually be the result of something deeper, something more fundamental. And I've now come to believe that they both arise from the most fundamental duality in professional wrestling, specifically that the professional wrestling is both real and fake at the same time.

On several occasions I've made the case that professional wrestling is not sport but theatre, but in my effort to understand the industry, I fear that I may have somehow oversimplified it as well. My categorization of professional wrestling as theatre rather than sport is based on two fundamental concepts within the industry. First, the outcomes of the matches are predetermined, scripted in order to convey a compelling story, which is obviously not the case in any legitimate sport. Second, the wrestlers in a match are working with each other cooperatively with the goal of entertaining the fans rather than working against each other competitively with the goal of winning the match, as would be the case in a true sport. These two basic mechanisms of the industry clearly place professional wrestling within the broader category of theatre, and yet I've come to realize that labeling professional wrestling simply as theatre implies a certain disconnection between the fictional wrestlers and the real performers that oversimplifies the true nature of the industry.

In most types of theatre such as stage productions, movies, or television, there is a clear distinction between what the events in the life of a fictional character and the events in the life of the actor that portrays the character, but that simply isn't the case in the world of professional wrestling. For example, the professional success of a fictional character in traditional theatre has no correlation to the professional success of the actor that portrays the character. A character may be lousy at his or her job, may be fired, and may have trouble ever finding a job again, but that is no indication of the skill with which the actor portrays the character. Some of the finest performances in the history of theatre have come in the form of characters that are down on their luck.

But in the world of professional wrestling, the connection between fictional character and real performer is more complex. It would be inaccurate to say that the winner of every match is the fictional character portrayed by the more skilled performer. Quite the contrary, and much to the chagrin of many fans, fictional characters portrayed by less skilled performers are often victorious over fictional characters portrayed by more skilled and more competent performers. But stepping back from the individual matches and looking at more general trends within a performer's career, it is also true that those performers deemed by their promotions to be the most skilled often receive more significant pushes, and receiving a push often means that a performer's fictional character will win more matches than he loses. A fictional character's win / lose record is not a direct measure of the performer's ability, but in some cases it can be an indication of the value placed on that performer by their promotion.

As a second, more concrete example, compare the results of physical injury to fictional characters in traditional theatre to the results of physical injury to fictional characters in professional wresting. Virtually every character in the Saw franchise lost copious amounts of blood, but I would suspect that none of it came from the actors portraying those characters. Lieutenant Dan lost both of his legs in Forrest Gump, but Gary Sinese was mercifully spared the same fate. J.R. Ewing almost died after being shot on Dallas, but Larry Hagman's life was never in danger. In contrast, when Shawn Michaels was thrown onto a casket at Royal Rumble 1998, Michael Hickenbottom needed more than four years for his back to recover. When Triple H tore his quad at New Year's Revolution 2007, Paul Levesque had to spend half a year rehabbing his leg. And when Ric Flair donned a crimson mask countless times over the past four decades, Richard Fliehr had to go backstage and get stitches.

My point in these examples is not to imply that the fates of the fictional characters and the performers who portray them are always directly connected in the world of professional wrestling, but rather simply to illustrate that line between fact and fiction is a bit blurrier that it may be in traditional forms of theatre. And given that that professional wrestling is still misunderstood by much of the general public, I would hope that professional wrestling promotions would do all they could to help fans and non-fans alike begin to truly understand the nature of this most unique form of art. But recently, WWE has made decisions and instituted policies that only serve to further obscure the line between fantasy and reality in the world of professional wrestling.

I'd first like to examine a few new guidelines that WWE has set forth for it's commentators. The most basic role of a professional wrestling commentator is to describe the action in the ring, explain its significance, and guide the viewers through the storyline of a match. Implicit to this role is the necessity of the commentator to adhere to kayfabe, to the conceit that professional wrestling is a competitive sport. As far as I'm concerned, professional wrestling commentators should break kayfabe in only the most rare and extreme situations, such as was the case after the deaths of Brian Pillman, Owen Hart, Eddie Guerrero, and Chris Benoit. Given that position, it should be no surprise that I disagree with WWE's continually changing directives as to how their commentators should refer to the performers in the ring. If the commentators were to strictly adhere to kayfabe, then they would consistently refer to the performers in the ring as "wrestlers." The performers are portraying competitive wrestlers, and the commentators would stay within the guidelines of the stories and refer to the performers as wrestlers if they were intent on playing a purely kayfabe role.

Unfortunately, for a number of years now, WWE has specifically instructed their commentators to refrain from referring to the performers as "wrestlers" in favor of other non-kayfabe terms. First there was a push to use the term "Superstar," and more recently we've seen a trend towards the term "performer." It seems as though this peculiar and vexing phenomenon arose as a result of WWE's attempt to establish itself as an entertainment company and not a sports promotion. When WWE bought WCW and acquired ECW in 2001, it established a virtual monopoly over the professional wrestling industry in the United States. After the fall of WCW and ECW, and before the rise of TNA and ROH, WWE had virtually no competition from other professional wrestling promotions within the United States.

This raised the question of whether or not WWE could be vulnerable to antitrust legislation, so WWE attempted to market itself as an entertainment company in order to justify its claim that it was actually in competition with other entertainment companies such as movie studios and television networks. More recently, WWE has again attempted to be categorized as an entertainment company in order to avoid regulation by various state athletics commissions, specifically the pesky Georgia State Athletic Commission. To the extent that WWE was attempting to foster a deeper understanding of professional wrestling by marketing itself as an entertainment company rather than a sports promotion, I completely support their decisions. Professional wresting is about entertainment and storytelling, not athletic competition, and so I applaud WWE's attempt to gain a more widespread acceptance of this distinction.

However, what I fervently disagree with is one of the methods by which WWE has attempted to accomplish this goal, namely the aforementioned changes in the way their commentators refer to their performers. There is a time and place to discuss the true nature of professional wrestling performers, but it certainly should not take place on-air in the midst of a match. To do so only harms the quality of the televised product by needlessly and senselessly jarring the suspension of disbelief that fans adopt while viewing a match. Imagine how confusing it would have been if the commentators during the climactic fight in Rocky has referred to Rocky Balboa and Apollo Creed as "actors" or "performers." Sylvester Stallone and Carl Weathers are no more competitive boxers than Adam Copeland and Mark Calloway are competitive wrestlers, and yet it would have been ludicrous to refer to Balboa and Creed as anything other than boxers within the context of the movie. Balboa and Creed were described as boxers during the course of the movie in order to tell a story, and that same principle should hold true for professional wrestling matches.

The absurdity of WWE's policy regarding the term "wrestler" can be brought into even sharper focus by looking at the other performers within the company. The performers portraying general managers, assistants, referees, and security guards are also playing on-screen roles, and yet I doubt that the commentators would ever refer to any of them as merely "performers." Would Vickie Guerrero seem like nearly as much of a power-hungry bitch if she was simply referred to as a "performer?" Would Charles Robinson and Scott Armstrong still maintain any semblance of authority in the ring if they were simply referred to as "performers?" And would the Druids that occasionally accompany the Undertaker to the ring be nearly as mysterious and ominous if they were simply referred to as "independent performers who work cheap because they desperately want to be on WWE programming in any capacity?" I think not.

But this "performer" policy becomes even more confusing when examined in conjunction with another new trend among WWE commentators. One could argue that WWE is now favoring the term "performer" over the term "wrestler" in order to allow their commentators to more accurately portray that true nature of the professional wrestling industry. However, if that were actually the case, then why have WWE commentators also recently begun making increasingly frequent references to the winner's share and the loser's share of the purse for a match? It's true that competitive sports such as boxing and MMA usually pay the winner of a match more than the loser of the match, but as far as I know, no such system is actually in place in WWE. WWE performers are paid based on their position within the company, television and pay-per-view appearances, merchandise sales, and a number of other factors, but I have never heard of a performer being paid more or less based solely on the outcome of individual matches. The commentators are simply mentioning those types of incentives in order to add an additional element to the story being told in the match, and I certainly approve of that much of the plan. But why would WWE ask their commentators to add a new, completely kayfabe aspect to their commentary while at the same time asking them to break kayfabe by refraining from referring to the performers as "wrestlers?"

I can only speculate as to what the answer to that question may be. I can find no rational, defendable reason why WWE would require their commentators to simultaneously alter their commentary in two contradictory ways, one reinforcing kayfabe while the other denigrates it. In fact, the only explanation that quickly springs to mind is that WWE instituted both policies without really giving any consideration to their effect on kayfabe or their relationship to each other. Professional wrestling is an industry steeped in confusion and misunderstanding based on the fact that fact and fiction are so intimately connected in the industry. I would hope that the largest professional wrestling company in the world would be mindful of that dichotomy and carefully consider how they portray the duality of reality and fantasy in their product. But now I'm beginning to wonder if they even consider it at all.

This concern of mine was only heightened last month at Survivor Series when WWE.com posted a story that Jeff Hardy had been found unconscious in the stairwell of his hotel. The internet has grown to be a powerful force in the world of professional wrestling, and it is the internet wrestling community that has played a significant role in exposing the difference between fact and fiction in the industry. As such, WWE.com has the difficult task of addressing the kayfabe storylines within the company while at the same time also providing some information about the real lives of the performers employed by the company. No clear distinction is made from story to story and item to item; there are no KAYFABE or NON-KAYFABE indicators at the top of each page. And yet, for the most part, each story and video seems to be quite obviously either kayfabe or not. There are in-character interviews with wrestlers putting the bad mouth to their opponents, and there are out-of-character videos in which the performers discuss everything from their cars to their worst injuries. And possibly most importantly, WWE.com has usually shied away from stories, items, or videos whose placement in kayfabe was unclear.

But that changed when WWE.com posted the Jeff Hardy story on the morning of Survivor Series. We now know that the story was entirely kayfabe. We now know that the story was meant to play a role in the WWE Championship Match that night. But the story seemed much different when it was first posted. First, the posted story stated that Jeff Hardy had been found unconscious, not that he had been attacked as was later revealed during the pay-per-view. Had the story initially stated that Hardy had been attacked, then it would have been much more obvious that this was a kayfabe event. But the fact that the story only stated that Hardy had been found unconscious now seems specifically designed to trigger fans' memories of far more tragic events.

In addition, the story was not built around just any WWE performer, but rather Jeff Hardy, a man with a history of drug abuse, a man with two Wellness Policy violations already on his record. The story would have had an entirely different connotation if it had involved CM Punk, or even Jeff's brother, Matt Hardy. But the story was posted about Jeff Hardy, about Jeff Hardy being found unconscious in a hotel. And like so many WWE fans, my first thoughts were of a very similar story on WWE.com three years ago, in November 2005. That story was not kayfabe. It was completely real. That story changed WWE and the industry forever. That story devastated the fans and the performers. Some fans never recovered. Some performers never recovered. The effects of that story are still being felt today. And yet WWE seemingly felt no compunction about posting such a disarmingly similar story about Jeff Hardy just to further a storyline.

Some will say that working the fans is a fundamental part of the professional wrestling industry and that WWE was simply experimenting with new methods of working an increasingly knowledgeable fan base. However, while that may have been WWE's goal, it's also impossible to overlook the careless manner in which they once again toyed with the increasingly fragile notion of kayfabe. They posted a story about the fictional character Jeff Hardy in such a manner that the story seemed to pertain to the real performer Jeff Hardy. Then, during Survivor Series, they said that it was uncertain whether or not Jeff Hardy would be able to "perform," by which they meant "wrestle," which is a bizarre statement given that it was the fictional wrestler Jeff Hardy that had been attacked, not the real performer Jeff Hardy. The Jeff Hardy that they referenced during the show, the fictional character Jeff Hardy, is a wrestler. He wrestles for a living. But WWE questioned his ability to perform, which is ultimately then an almost nonsensical inquiry. Jeff Hardy the fictional wrestler did not wrestle that night, but Jeff Hardy the real performer did perform. And the fact that he was going to perform was never in question. But WWE seemingly had no interest in getting their stories straight.

I will be the first to admit that these are complex issues and delicate distinctions, but they are nonetheless important issues and distinctions to anyone that really loves this great industry, this most fascinating form of art. Professional wrestling bridges the gap between fact and fiction, between reality and fantasy, in a way that may not be possible in any other form of entertainment, expression, or art. In this capacity it is uniquely equipped to explore the relationship between art and artifice, between artist and audience, and even between the lives we live and the dreams we dream. But in order to reach the full potential of the medium, the duality inherent to the industry must be treated carefully and respectfully. There is a time to adhere to kayfabe, and there is a time to break kayfabe. Used thoughtfully and cautiously, each can be a powerful method of storytelling. But mixed carelessly and recklessly, kayfabe can become a confusing, contrived device that only serves to alienate both loyal fans and the general public. WWE, as the largest professional wrestling company in the world, has an obligation to its employees, its fans, and the industry as a whole to treat kayfabe responsibly. There are two sides to the kayfabe equation, and WWE must look at both sides now if their brand of professional wrestling is ever going to reach it's true potential.