May 09 2009
Whatever happened to kayfabe?
My mom used to take me to the grocery store to go shopping with her every so often. As I would stroll about through the dead and bland aisles, one thing would always catch my eye. I was always a bookworm, even as a precocious youngster. It was around this era in my life when I also first got imto professional wrestling. The abusive swagger of “Stone-Cold” Steve Austin and the invincible aura of Bill Goldberg caught my eye.
So, lo and behold, as I made my way over to the magazine rackm when I would stumble upon Pro Wrestling Illustrated. The briht and glossy cover promised tales of intrigue, betrayal, and a wider look at the behind-the-scenes happenings of this wacky circus I called myself a fan of. I would beg my mom to shell out the money for them.
Soon I was collecting any and all copies of the stuff that I could get my hands on. I grew to realize the personalities of the so-called writers: Brandi Mankiwez, the bitter snob who showed preferential treatment to heels (and who later developed into a smark), Matt Brock, the no-nonsense traditionalist with a disdain for the modern-day theatrics of sports entertainment, Liz, with her feminist leanings, and the like.
Imagine my suprise when I found out years later Bill Apter created all these characters himself. indeed, the illusion of gimmicks and multiple personalities doesn’t just stay in he ring. Is he a true master manipulator, an artist even, or just a sad man with dissociative identity disordeR? I think the answer lays somewhere in the middle.
But what I enjoyed more than the editorials were the special journalistic stories. How they developed stroylines that were occuring on TV and how they even tried to instigate some new ones. I loved how they would expand on the fourth wall of WWE (or WWF, as it was known at the time) and WCW and try to inject intrigue. One piece that sticks out in my mnd is how, at the height of their WWE popularity, they suggested the Dudleyz would soon break up because D-Von was jealous of all the attention Bubba Ray was getting. Alas, it never came to be (they were instead seperated by a poorly thought out angle in the brand extension), but it still gave color to the hapenings on Monday Night Raw and made me think.
I loved how they would pick up on the little things and engage in creative thought experiments. As a kid, even as I got into the Internet and eventually discovered the subculture of fandom that is the IWC, I still held a special place in my heart for the Apter mags. It gave depth to the scripted nature of wrestling and had balancing moments of humor, satire, seriousness, and artistically arranaged photographs. Dare I might say, it even influenced my writing style a bit.
As time went on and my exterior became rough, and as I discovered R.D. Reynolds and 411mania, I somehow managed to find a copy of WOW Magazine at my local Winn-Dixie. For those unfamiliar with WOW Magazine, it stood for World of wrestling (altjough my reaction at seeing it could be said to stand for the title too). It presumed the reader already knew about the fact that it was not only fake, but up on the backstage workings of the biz, as it were. It was groundbreaking, as it adopted a smark tone, went after the sacred cows of the marks like Hulk Hogan and Ultmate Warrior, and talked about who was legitaemtly getting fired, hired, and pushed.
At the time I was still a smark newbie and so didn’t quite get when they published ScoopThis’ Rock vs. Hogan match (oh, how eerily it resembled the actual encounter that took place at Wrestlemania). But as I go back through my copy and read Bryan Alvarez’s treatise on the fickle nature of the heel/face dynamics, I share a quiet chuckle with myself, for it colored my current outlook. And yes, lately I’ve found myself reading back through old issues of PWI.
The pages are yellowing and what little color photos they do offer look ridicoulously outdated. These were the days when Justin Credible terrorized the landscape of ECW and Diamond Dallas Page was awared Most Hated Wrestler of the year award in 1999 (I had forgotten tehre was a time when our beloved blue-collar champion was heel). Ah, to jump back to my idyllic teenage years.
I ask you, dear reader: what has happened to kayfabe? It seems to have gone the way of the pet rock and rolled-up suit jacket sleeves. These days, when the details of every performer’s life is just a click away, we seem to be refused to be shocked by anything. Perhaps there is some validation to Vince McMahon’s recent frustration with leaks to the newsletters: the last time I marked out was when Christian debuted on ECW, and that wa sonly because I had no previous idea about it. And even then, after I calmed down, I realized how I became so numb and desenitized that I was viewing this as a citic, and no longer a fan.
Us twentysomethings grew up in the age of ECW, the Attitude Era, and the NWO. We’re used to a million run-ins, swerve heel turns, “shoot” interviews that reference real-life names or history, bra and panty matches, frequent blading, over-the-type violence and Hell in a Cell matches on RAW. Did the hardcore revolution Paul heyman helped to bring about spoil us and cause us to expect too much?
I’m not saying Chris Jericho has to have a perpetual frown and diss the fans at every second. I don’t expect the Undertaker to act stoic and enigmatic when he’s out at a tity bar. This is overkill, and in this day and age, a bit of an outdated and ridiculous idea. But it would help to have some clarity and insight into storylines and matches a bit more. Sell the product; that’s the whole point of this charade. It goes both ways, now: fans should have a suspension of disbelief more. Enjoy the product instead of constantly analyzing it. You don’t see play attendes whispering to one another about how it’s all fake or showing off how cool they are by flaunting how they know the lead actor’s real name.
It’s called suspenison of disbelief, and people enact it when watching a TV show for a reason. The next time you’re at a house show or live event, leave the “John Cena sux” sign at home and don’t chide the performers if they botch a dropkick. These are people that train hard and have worked a long time to get hwere they are, to put their bodies on the line as a spectacle for you, the fans’, enjoyment. Show them a little respect by booing the good guys and cheering the bad guys appropriately. It’s mock combat and thetaer, enjoy it as such.
In short, that was my little tribute to the Apter mags. I’ve heard whispers that they’re still around, so I’ll have to check them out. After all, I’m just itching to know if Val venis has gotten back into the porn business to supplement his income….
