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Words From the World Of Pro Wrestling #2: ECW, WrestleMania 24 |
» Reported by Adam Martin of WrestleView.com
» On Tuesday, April 15, 2008 at 12:32 AM EST
A Word From the World of Professional Wrestling #2
More On ECW & Wrestlemania 24 Thoughts
April 14, 2008
Reported By: Ben Hagen of WrestleView.com
As my readers could probably tell from last month’s column, I’ve been obsessed a great deal lately by ECW (mostly Heyman’s ECW as opposed to the “Sci-Fi” form, of course). So here’s my thinking: in the first part of this month’s column, I’d like to expand or at the very least clarify/re-articulate some of my thoughts from last month. In the second part, I’d like to comment a bit on this year’s very entertaining Wrestlemania 24. Sound good?
Thinking (again) about the “Extreme”
My current graduate seminar paper (that I mentioned last month) interrogates the revolution ECW brought to (or rather the exit ECW attempted from) the previous models of professional wrestling as well as reverberations one can observe in popular culture: from the mass proliferation of reality television programming to the strange “revolutions” continuing in other independent territories around the country (and world!). Since this is a wrestling site, of course, I’d like to focus on the second item: some of our current independents. Whether we listen to Ring of Honor’s claim to be “pro-wrestling as a sport” (an exact echo of Shane Douglas after throwing down the NWA World Title back in 1994) or laugh at Pro Wrestling Guerrilla’s ridiculous show names (among them “Card Subject to Change” and “Based on a True Story”) or shudder at Combat Zone Wrestling’s representations of “ultra violence,” they all—in one way or another—continue the revolution that ECW started: all “underground promotions” that self-consciously jettison themselves from “popular” wrestling (re: sports entertainment).
ECW has done something to those of us who remember it, who cherish it, who hate it, who live for memories of it, who wish we were fans in the 1990s, who wish that Vince McMahon would let ECW be ECW again, who are glad to see it gone—ECW has marked us, marked this industry from Bingo Halls and Ballrooms, has committed something, has completed something that—like Hulk Hogan claimed of Hulkamania—has lived and will continue to live . . . not on the Sci-Fi Channel, however, but in independent wrestling—for good or for ill.
I don’t want to spend much time with PWG or CZW (not because I dislike them, but for issues of space (I don’t want to bore you guys too much) and time (I have plenty of other stuff I need to be working on)), but let’s suffice it to say that they both seem to be very strange mutations of ECW. CZW, of course, though not a fully “ultra-violent” federation, still markets itself as “combat,” a word we might better associate with something like the UFC or other shoot-fighting organization. I haven’t seen a great deal of CZW, but I’ve seen enough ridiculous falls, head drops, and usages of sharp objects (including staple guns, barbed wire, light tubes, nails, spikes, weed wackers, and the like) to know that it isn’t quite my cup of tea. In my opinion (and here I perhaps stray a bit from any sort of clear argumentation), CZW emphasizes and “takes to the extreme” everything about ECW that did not need further extremification (not a word, of course, but useful for my purposes). ECW, as an organization that exemplified what Jean Baudrillard calls “Panic-stricken production of the real and of the referential, . . . of the neoreal and the hyperreal,” often used the cutting of flesh as a way to appeal to its rabid fans: “See! These guys are bleeding from actual cuts . . . this is real! This is hardcore! This is . . . wrestling?” That last jump still confuses me as a fan, and yet I still fall into the trap of enjoying a great deal of matches that participate in their own share of gore-production. CZW capitalizes on the fanbase that enjoyed this sadistic (or is it masochistic) display of cutting, of violence that attempted to capture something qua authentic, true, real. It never denies to be professional wrestling, to be a participant in something “scripted” (they don’t need to deny it since everyone already knows it), but they still produce something (or at least market themselves as producers of something) I find at once both interesting and disturbing. For those interested in researching the development of the “violent” side of ECW (or the parallel development of “violent” wrestling in Japan), check out Big Japan Pro Wrestling. Personally, I don’t have the stomach for it.
As for PWG (and other promotions like Chikara), we see an almost diametrical development: pro-wrestling comedy. Certainly these events are also athletic and also contain a great deal of “serious” wrestling as well (check PWG’s title history to see that Bryan Danielson and Low Ki are both recent champions there); nevertheless, one has trouble taking a company seriously that gives its shows punny titles like “Based on a True Story” (get it!), “Album of the Year,” and “Roger Dorn Night” (all from last year). PWG, however, works better as an example of a self-conscious wrestling that includes stuff like mid-match strut-offs (youtube Larry Sweeney to see what I mean), dance contests, spots performed in slow motion, matches including guys in “dragon costumes” (research the wrestler “Dragon Dragon” to see what I mean), moments where two wrestlers argue about how a spot went bad, etc. Most interesting, we see a similar sort of thing happening in Japan with promotions like HUSTLE (where Toshiaki Kawada sings and dances rather than committing murder-by-kick-to-the-face) and DDT (where a ladder managed to win a title belt . . . yeah, a ladder . . . a baseball bat won once too). Anyway, I guess I don’t have much to offer on this front in terms of analysis, but I thought I’d point out that—even in their ridiculousness—these companies still strive, whether consciously or no, for something that is “authentic.” What better way to give fans something “real” than to make them laugh, than to rend the imaginary “veil” that keeps the “business” from “being exposed” (phrases some idiots still use) in a way that lets them in on something “real,” on something “authentic,” on something flat-out entertainingly funny (well, funny to wrestling nerds like me anyway). But to ROH . . .
On August 27, 1994, Shane Douglas threw down the NWA World Heavyweight Title after winning a tournament, proclaiming himself the ECW World Heavyweight Champion and ECW the company that would dawn a new era: “the era of the sport of professional wrestling.” An odd beginning to a company that we tend to identify more with barbed wire, but a legacy that remains alive nonetheless in the modern day “underground” and “revolutionary” (keep these quotation marks in mind) Ring of Honor. I give the founders and current bookers of ROH a lot of credit for building its own cult following, for ditching something like the word “extreme” for something like “honor.” But “honor” in the cultural phenomenon of pro-wrestling is a type of extremity, because—as it did effectively for a few years in ROH—it erases the typical structure of heel and face . . . the only way to “make” a heel in the early days of ROH was to “script” a wrestler to refuse following the “Code of Honor”: (1) mandatory hand shakes before and after matches, (2) no outside interference, (3) no sneak attacks, (4) no harming officials, and (5) no intentional disqualifications. All five of these caveats meant to signify, again, a “real-er” alternative to World Wrestling Entertainment (and we might say TNA). One that generated a quasi-authentic atmosphere of sportsmanship.
A strange thing has happened to ROH, however, as it has developed over the years. It has rejected the mandatory “code of honor,” has shaped up a better heel-face roster, and—in a large way—has abandoned it initial method of booking “dream” matches as its major draws. As it seeks to expand the territory over which it runs regular shows, as it seeks to broaden its fanbase through PPV, it interestingly has adapted, has shifted, but even so, it still claims (as I saw on a recent online “advertisement” for Ring of Honor), that is “pro wrestling as a sport.” What the heck (I’d use stronger language if I could), I ask, does this even mean? Does it mean offering us tag matches that magically morph into “tornado matches” in the final ten minutes? Does it mean giving us slight hints of the “other” two “revolutions” I mentioned earlier (we have, after all, seen barbed wire and slow-motion in Ring of Honor)? Does it mean abandoning selling? I’m being a little snide, perhaps, but my question remains serious: What does it mean? What does it mean for professional wrestling to be a sport—a truth that is, ultimately, based on a lie? To take in-ring action more seriously? To respect tradition? To insult “sports entertainment”? To copy All Japan Pro Wrestling? To claim a “strong style” that has its roots with Antonio Inoki (a style that has apparently come to mean “stiff”)?
To concuss each other as much as possible? Again, I’m being snide when I don’t necessarily intend to be, primarily because ROH’s marketing strategies annoy the hell out of me. Still, Ring of Honor is (as is Chikara, PWG, and other independents) a great way to explore other options of pro wrestling out there, and actually good avenues into the explorations of puroresu or other international brands. Perhaps I’ll leave my thoughts on the independents at that. I’m not entirely sure what I’ve accomplished, but perhaps it has been interesting nonetheless. I’ll leave it up to my readers to decide these things, but it should be noted that none of these promotions (at least from what I’ve seen) have managed to maintain the same rabid atmosphere that ECW was blessed with, an atmosphere that was most nearly replicated on the first two versions of ECW: One Night Stand in 2005 and 2006, respectively. On to Wrestlemania . . .
Wrestlemania 24: Outdoor Edition
I rarely see WWE matches live, and this year’s Wrestlemania was no exception since I just recently (re: in the last couple days) watched every match. This, of course, limits my response since none of the outcomes catch me by surprise (my reviews always lack that initial “wow” factor), but nevertheless I like to think that I can respond with a clear head to these matches and in a fashion that I believe to be credible even if never objective. I won’t go into each match exhaustively, but I might mention most of them.
Belfast Brawl: JBL vs. Finlay—First off, I thought this match was extremely fun, definitely more fun than I think a lot of live reviews made it out to be. The match opened with fantastic brawling on the floor as Bradshaw just laid in shots before Finlay tossed him into the steps. I’ll admit, I’m not a huge fan of garbage cans and lids, but for all that is good and lovely, if I didn’t know better, I’d say that Bradshaw knocked out Finlay with that first can-shot. Leave it to that lovely Irishman to sell a shot from something so obviously fragile as if it nearly killed him. Just beautiful. The only criticism I have of this match, and I’m certainly not the first to come up with it, is that—when you get right down to it—this Brawl is really only a better version of Brian Knobbs vs. Norman Smiley for the WCW Hardcore Title. That Finlay would leave the ring to get trash cans when he has his little stick with him seems a tad silly. Hell, he even leaves his shillelagh lying in the ring, walking over it several times. Still, they do a great job pulling off a short garbage match, and Bradshaw warms my heart with his slap to the little Hornswoggle, but more importantly blindsiding him with that over-the-top garbage can toss. Poor leprechaun. This was, in short, awesome (the Finlay roll and Clothesline from Hell both looked fantastic) . . . but it should have been great. If you get rid of the garbage silliness, these two could have put on the best match on the card. A Singapore Cane in a Belfast Brawl? Oh, you silly, silly writers. ***
Money in the Bank Ladder Match: I think these matches are okay, but for some reason I always rate them way lower than a lot of people. None of the ladder matches since Wrestlemania 21 have really delivered a great match in my opinion, but they’re all fun . . . is mere “fun” worth the risks these guys are taking? *taps foot*
What’s to like? What’s to hate? Plenty on both fronts, really, but I think what one should really take away from this match is the fact that WWE now uses ladders that collapse way too easily. Poor Shelton. **1/2
Shawn Michaels vs. Ric Flair: Again, what’s to say here? The match, for all its emotion, didn’t suck. For this, I’m grateful. I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed match ups between these two until this match, but even my enjoyment came at the expense of Michaels’s poor ribcage (that moonsault was nasty) and was enhanced all the more by a few nerdy reversals to common spots that usually catch Flair (anyone else notice that Flair reversed the whip-to-the-corner-backdrop spot that ALWAYS gets him? I’m sure all of you did). But more than anything, didn’t Flair’s robe rock? Also: he had his signature R.F. initials on his classically blue ring gear. And he rolled through on his knee drop (something he hasn’t done in years). The only “Flair” spot that we missed was the flip-over-the-rope bump into the corner (which he stopped doing after Wrestlemania X-8 I believe). As for the structure of the match, both men offered us a good opener with solid wrestling, great selling, hard strikes, and the greatest put-over possible: it took 3 super kicks to put the 16-time champ down for the count. I’m not entirely sure how this could have been better: the wrestling was good, Michaels sacrificed his body for some big spots, Flair brought the goods and the dirty tactics at appropriate moments, both sold like champs, both brought tears to over a million pairs of eyes. My God, even more than Shawn Michaels’s final apology, the sight of Flair rising to his feet after eating the second super kick with tears in his eyes and quivering lips, beckoning Michaels to give him all he had . . . that might be the greatest moment in the history of wrestling. I haven’t always loved Flair, but how can one deny that he’s had the greatest in ring career on this continent? He’s offered us good-to-great wrestling matches in the 70s, 80s, 90s, and now (though few and far between) in the 00s . . . something no other professional wrestler on the planet or in history, to my knowledge, can claim. If they do a comp of Flair in the near future, this and his cage match with Triple H in 2005 needs to be on there. ****
Boxer vs. Wrestler: Great spectacle here. Show, luckily enough, can eat Mayweather’s punches without taking too much damage, so I’m not entirely sure any other wrestler would have worked as well with him. Though the match plodded along, interrupted by a long sleeper hold, the Big Show pulled a quiet crowd into the match, stomping the little dude’s hand, chopping him in the corner, stepping on him over and over. But to his credit, Mayweather really put over that beating, crawling around the ring, clutching his hand like death, holding his ribs, allowing himself to be dragged away as if he couldn’t continue. This, more than anything, did a lot for the Big Show. Despite his loss, I have to give props to Floyd for taking a victory that, in the end, only proved how scarily dominant his opponent really was. I also give props to Show for taking that final punch. It was definitely worked, but it looked really, really good. Finally, props to the guys at ringside, whether Mayweather’s actual posse or WWE’s actual plants. Without them, Show would not have looked like such a monster even in defeat, and the constant yelling and complaining, rather than annoying the hell out of me, only added to seriousness of the beating. Great spectacle that, I would argue, is far better than some of the reviews I’ve read: It wasn’t just good “for what it was.” It was flat out good. ***1/2
WWE Triple Threat: I’m not going to say much here. All three guys, as they’ve proved in the past, work very, very well together, and though this verged on spottiness (as does Edge/Taker, which I’ll get to in a minute), I would argue that it is the best triple threat match in Wrestlemania history (not that there are very many). I’d definitely put it over the ladder match from 2000 (what a mess that was; a fun mess, but still a mess), the 2-Fall Angle/Jericho/Benoit match from the same card, the Wrestlemania XX Benoit title victory, and most assuredly the debacle that was Mysterio’s victory at Wrestlemania 22. I am probably leaving several out, but it just felt really solid, even with the common one-guy out, two-guys in formula. Orton’s damaged leg led to a fun series of submissions and near falls and even made me believe (even when watching in retrospect) that there was no way he was going to interrupt HHH’s Pedigree near fall on Cena. The resurrection of the punt was perfectly executed, but I think I would have liked to see him pin The Game with it as opposed to pinning an already-downed John Cena. Oh well. Great spots, great dynamic from all the pairs, and very few goofy “triangle” spots. ***1/4
World Heavyweight Championship: This has been getting tons of praise, and while I agree with the common reviews that call it a “good” match, I cannot agree that it should be added to the short list of Match of the Decade Candidates. Some people have compared it to Cena/Umaga from last year (not in terms of structure but in terms of quality) . . . and it boggles my mind. For a match that exemplifies everything “cheap” about the WWE main event style, how can anyone put it in the same league as the fantastic Royal Rumble title match between Cena and Umaga? But first, what do I mean by WWE main even style, and why “cheap”? The main event of this year’s Wrestlemania relied on Edge’s counters of Taker’s main offense. This, I admit readily, is perfectly fine and, even, is necessary for Edge to really sustain any offense at all against the Dead Man. But when those counters lead to Taker’s eventual execution sans reversal in small time frames, this leads to the very definition of what we call a “spotfest.” Spot after spot after spot, fast-forwarded beyond all relation to a coherent structure or to a strong sense of “selling.” I’m not demanding some mysterious appeal to the Goddess of Workrate or anything, but I think it is safe to say that when Edge reverses two Undertaker chokeslam attempts (earning a nearfall after his old DDT finisher in the mean time) before finally eating a chokeslam (good enough for a Taker near fall) all in the span of fifty seconds (I’m not exaggerating here) . . . something is, for the lack of a better word, lost. Sure, it makes for exciting spots and exciting near falls, but it doesn’t compare to the necessities of John Cena’s counters, the careful and deliberate oscillation of offense in the Royal Rumble 2007 match, the power of the culminate moment where Umaga wants to pretend to use the turnbuckle as his new thumb.
Let’s try this another way. Edge needed to reverse the Undertaker’s offense. The challenger has a bottomless bag of signature maneuvers that just destroy opponents. But, in the end, Edge didn’t need to reverse Taker’s offense, and the fact that Taker just needed to “try enough times” to hit his maneuvers rather than find new ways to beat Edge really undermined the structure that they were trying to build. This was Angle vs. Undertaker without an Ankle Lock . . . And, hell, I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. I loved the matches between Angle and Taker, and I really thought that Edge and Taker was better than I thought it’d be. But it isn’t a great match, and I would argue that it isn’t even a MOTYC. ***1/2
But, of course, I change my mind all the time. By September, I might be changing my tune! Okay, with that (holy God! This column is nearly half as long as a graduate seminar paper!) I bid you all adieu. I promise next month I’ll move on from my obsession with ECW!
Back To WrestleView.com
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