Professional wrestling is akin to the narrative fiction; it all hinges on the antagonist. Without the dastardly deeds of the malefactor, the audience, in turn, will lack the connection to the protagonist that commands a reason to root for him or her.
Currently, the WWE product boasts a number of superstars that, in wrestling-speak, don’t “get over” with the crowd. The reason for this: dearth of credible villains. Don’t get me wrong, there are clear competitors such as Seth Rollins that draws the ire of the fans. However, it is the underlying goal of each of these heels to sell merchandise; whether that stems from an edict handed down by the brass or a sense of self-preservation is unclear. The crowd far too often pops for miscreants due to a silly catchphrase or their workrate in the ring. What is lacking, is the commitment, from top to bottom, of someone whose sole job it is to simply make the “good guy” appear to be a much more appealing choice.
The Undertaker’s recent return is a perfect example of the lack of booking direction that is consistent with that of a true hero returning. In his absence, Brock Lesnar, a man who legitimately was despised, became a hero to the masses. As their return match looms, it is difficult to pick who the fans should be rooting for. A man who was pinned cleanly in the center of the ring, returns to serve a frosty dish of revenge against Lesnar or the man who broke the Undertaker’s vaunted undefeated Wrestlemania streak?
So how does this Undertaker deliver Brock’s comeuppance? By kicking him below the belt just before Lesnar reclaimed the title that was stolen from him by the weaselly pipsqueak Seth Rollins. Who is the antagonist here? Lesnar is in the traditional role of the “good guy”, but Taker’s actions buck the trend. Generally, a returning star of the Undertaker’s caliber returns to fanfare and adulation. Based on his actions, he, by definition, should be viewed as the villain. He prevented the handpicked stooge of The Authority from losing the title. As Summerslam rapidly approaches, the question is, who do you root for? Who is so despicable that he should lose this gargantuan rematch? The answer is far from clear. Perhaps we should listen to the opinions of the commentators to help shed some light on this.
Therein lies the WWE’s greatest faux pas, mired in the vagary of those who are supposed to tell us how to feel about the actions of the superstars. On a weekly basis, JBL, a renowned heel ins his own time, cannot seem to perform a subtle, yet vitally important role: that of a heel commentator. During this past week’s RAW main event, Randy Orton, the assumed protagonist, was battling Seth Rollins for the company’s grandest prize. During this bout, JBL’s praise of Orton was effusive. He continually remarked about Orton’s pedigree and his laundry list of accomplishments. Granted, this is par for the course for someone like Michael Cole or Byron Saxon; both men play it “straight” and generally share their opinions and judgements as the voice of the fans at home. Their remarks are supposed to resonate with the outrage the viewer feels at the actions of the heels.
For decades, the other commentator played the role of a blind person, with unwavering allegiance to the heel superstar. From Jesse Ventura to Bobby Heenan, there is a long tradition of men whose responsibility it was to infuriate his commentary partner, and by proxy the audience, with platitudes that embodied a sincere disdain for those who did not break the rules. On Monday’s broadcast, there was no one playing that role. Orton has become stale, and one reason for this fact is that he appears to simply continue to fail in his quest to become champion. JBL should be supporting and elevating Rollins, lauding his shortcuts and exaggerating incidences of luck into displays of skill and prowess. Without this vital nuanced role, the protagonist falls flat.
How does this affect the casual viewer? Surely, I have been jaded by all my years of wrestling, and am incapable of simple enjoyment, but someone with less vested interested would certainly overlook these foibles, no? Well, my wife is saddled with the unenviable task of joining me weekly as I compete in the marathon that is Monday Night Raw. When we first began to watch the product, much to my disdain, she chose Randy Orton as her champion. He is admittedly attractive, which was certainly a draw, but the real reason for her support was that he was pitted against Christian, a character that she believed to be abjectly repulsive in his whininess. As Orton began his interminably slow walk to the ring, she rolled her eyes and lamented, “This boring guy again? Did he just call Kevin Owens fat?” Whilst we engaged in this exchange, I marveled at how the on-screen product drove her from being Orton’s number one fan, to a disinterested party with no rooting interest. There was no one to pull for.
Perhaps the blame does not belong to those on air personalities who are paid to do what they are told, perhaps the fault lies at the feet of those making the decisions. The emotional connection that the audience pays for, the moment of the suspension of belief which allows for the foray into escapism that is central to any work of fiction, especially professional wrestling, is paramount to the success of the product and something that is glaringly absent from the majority of the WWE’s interactions.
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