The Occipital Protuberance: Making a Star in 2014
Sept 4, 2014 22:12:39 GMT -5
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Post by The Biff on Sept 4, 2014 22:12:39 GMT -5
The following is my first crack at a wrestling-themed column, designed as much as a test run as it is anything else. Comments and criticism are most welcome as I iron out the kinks and find more interesting things to right about.
The Modern Archetype of a Wrestling Star
The late English comedian Benny Hill once likened performing in show business to being sincerely insincere with the audience. A wizened wrestling fan should at once understand the paradigm; wrestling is a sort-of fantastic purview into a world in which the character of men and women are jacked up with tanned bodies, bulging muscles, and enough glitz and glamor to shame the denizens of Bourbon Street. The conceptualization of wrestling as a form of entertainment is quite simple: in its most base form, wrestling is the art of choreographing violence in the most realistic—albeit safe—manner possible. Yet as a business, the action inside the ring is almost ancillary to the performers themselves.
If the matches are a fan’s gratification, the men and women walking through the curtain are what brought said fan to the proverbial dance.
Smart marks and casual fans alike will carry on similar conversations with those in their inner-circles, substituting ‘workrate’ with ‘badass moves’ as the case may be. There exists an almost mythical divide between fans who scour dirtsheets and those who consider WWE.com as their sports entertainment gospel. At once, fans tuned into the company’s flagship programming on Monday night can be classified into one of two main camps, then further subdivided into various niches according to the individual fan’s interest level and knowledge of the business. Diehard fans needn’t be smart to the business, any sooner than casual fans ignorant of company politics or the lingo the internet wrestling community has adopted from the business.
For a company catering to so many distinct audiences, the process of creating a new star can be a hazardous exercise, with the annals of recent history littered with failed pushes and fallen pseudo-stars. Mining the depths of the company’s many failed pushes and aborted projects represents an interesting case study in the psychology of the business side of “this business” by itself, yet distinct patterns can emerge if one studies the prevailing trends in the company’s ongoing modus operandi. Fans of the internet wrestling community have become so engrained with the preconceived notion of what the WWE looks for in a ‘superstar’ that it becomes a catch-all cliché of sorts: a wrestler must be tall, muscular, and have a head full of hair to succeed.
But does the model still resonate with today’s generation of fans?
For years, Hulk Hogan was the embodiment of a professional wrestlers, largely because of Vince McMahon’s foresight in creating a narrative that considered any other visage to be nigh-blasphemy. As popular as Hogan was, however, his increasing age and removal from actively performing in the ring have caused his name recognition to dim somewhat in the mainstream. Dwayne ‘the Rock’ Johnson has eclipsed Hogan in name recognition, largely on the strength of his performance as a twenty-first century action movie star, though his wrestling fame is largely affixed to his star as a courtesy to the entertainment medium that he first managed to conquer. Disregarding Hogan’s encroaching baldness and the Rock’s close-cropped hair, both men bore the muscular frame of Greek gods; muscular, larger-than-life, magnetic personas.
The current ‘king’ of the wrestling product is John Cena, certainly no slouch as a physical specimen. Yet an interesting schism is present with a consideration of Cena’s fandom: since the apex of his initial rise to prominence in 2005, a growing discontentment amongst large sections of the fanbase about the direction of the product and its chosen ‘faces’ of the company have led to increasingly virulent rhetoric and vitriol in different forums. One need only to watch the 2014 Royal Rumble to experience an almost-cathartic venting of frustration with the direction of the company, and its insistence on promoting the two thousandth encounter between John Cena and Randy Orton, another stalwart of the past decade. Neither Cena nor Orton are without significant fan bases, of course; to claim otherwise is in error. However, the contrast between fan support for John Cena and the support received by performers such as CM Punk and Daniel Bryan over the past four years is truly striking.
Does a majority of the wrestling fanbase actively desire a smaller, more relatable wrestler as the pièce de résistance of the company? Or rather, is the era of the wrestling superhero considered passé? If anything, wrestling promoters are creatures of habit, and will mine whatever character archetype or hot business trend they can for years past the expiration date. John Cena’s characterization as a wrestling superman that can never be broken down is a throwback to the age of Hulkamania, which itself wore out its welcome in less time comparatively than Cena has been at the top of the card. The company’s attempts to recapture the heights of the Attitude Era with exponentially increasing raunch in 2002 and 2003 further highlights their innate desire to go to the well too many times.
Wrestling’s second golden age in the late-1990s was predicated on a combination of an ultra-hot, relatable angle—the everyman Austin against the corporate machine—with enough bloody brawls and plastic tits and ass to provide the frenetic release teenagers and young adults needed in that era. How fitting, it seems, that the consistent creative rut the business has fallen in has coincided with a departure from the fan-driven motifs of the Attitude Era. The raunch of the late ‘90s was always ancillary to the core players representing exaggerated caricatures of the fans themselves. And the Undertaker, but he’s a special case.
Which two wrestlers have received arguably the largest ground-swelling of support in the past decade? CM Punk and Daniel Bryan, internet darlings to be sure, but also immensely popular with casual fans. Why? Because their stories—the pissed off smartass and the indomitable underdog—resonate more clearly with a wider range of fans. John Cena’s merchandise sells more than any other wrestler, and yet ratings and buyrates have been in steady decline for years. Does one call Cena a big star because he moves a brand to a select audience, despite his character and storylines often being considered a detriment to the quality of the overall product? Put another way, should Cena be commended for claiming the fan base that he has, or should he be condemned for ostracizing so many others?
Is Cena the face of the company because of his own merits, or because the company says he is?
The questions lack clear answers, because these questions are arguably unanswerable. Yet the paradigm for success seems clear enough: one need not be larger than life, but rather, connect with the most fans. The age of Hulk Hogan was special, inasmuch for colorful era that the ‘80s came to represent as it was for the need for an unbeatable superman in a world where the specter of impending doom was often the push of a button away. Our new digital world has created a new taste for a new generation: ardent realism, packaged in an entertaining way that engages fans as much through social media as it does in the arenas.
Does the modern archetype of a successful wrestler require a fuzzy beard or a small, wiry build? Must all future heroes wrestle with kick-pads and variants of finishers crafted in Japan? The archetype of a modern wrestler may not be dependent on the look of a wrestler at all; instead, it is a combination of a realistic characterization that is heightened by wrestling skill and the charisma necessary to engage a fickle audience. Randy Orton has coasted for years on his chiseled physique and smooth ringwork, despite a decided lack of charisma. John Cena seemingly has all of the intangibles needed, and yet is roundly hated by half the fandom.
Who in the company today has the potential to rise to the fabled status of a true superstar? That’s the rub: it could be anyone, provided the right creative direction and enough charisma to connect with a fandom that has an almost-infinite number of entertainment options at their disposal. Maybe Roman Reigns develops a character that engages the fanbase; Dean Ambrose is probably the closest of anyone on the outside looking in right now, while talented performers like Cesaro, Dolph Ziggler, and Kofi Kingston need to be kissing as much ass in the corporate hierarchy to even be given the chance to elevate their game. In any event, the archetype of a wrestling star today is definitely a sign of the changing times.
The question is, when will the business change with them?
The Modern Archetype of a Wrestling Star
The late English comedian Benny Hill once likened performing in show business to being sincerely insincere with the audience. A wizened wrestling fan should at once understand the paradigm; wrestling is a sort-of fantastic purview into a world in which the character of men and women are jacked up with tanned bodies, bulging muscles, and enough glitz and glamor to shame the denizens of Bourbon Street. The conceptualization of wrestling as a form of entertainment is quite simple: in its most base form, wrestling is the art of choreographing violence in the most realistic—albeit safe—manner possible. Yet as a business, the action inside the ring is almost ancillary to the performers themselves.
If the matches are a fan’s gratification, the men and women walking through the curtain are what brought said fan to the proverbial dance.
Smart marks and casual fans alike will carry on similar conversations with those in their inner-circles, substituting ‘workrate’ with ‘badass moves’ as the case may be. There exists an almost mythical divide between fans who scour dirtsheets and those who consider WWE.com as their sports entertainment gospel. At once, fans tuned into the company’s flagship programming on Monday night can be classified into one of two main camps, then further subdivided into various niches according to the individual fan’s interest level and knowledge of the business. Diehard fans needn’t be smart to the business, any sooner than casual fans ignorant of company politics or the lingo the internet wrestling community has adopted from the business.
For a company catering to so many distinct audiences, the process of creating a new star can be a hazardous exercise, with the annals of recent history littered with failed pushes and fallen pseudo-stars. Mining the depths of the company’s many failed pushes and aborted projects represents an interesting case study in the psychology of the business side of “this business” by itself, yet distinct patterns can emerge if one studies the prevailing trends in the company’s ongoing modus operandi. Fans of the internet wrestling community have become so engrained with the preconceived notion of what the WWE looks for in a ‘superstar’ that it becomes a catch-all cliché of sorts: a wrestler must be tall, muscular, and have a head full of hair to succeed.
But does the model still resonate with today’s generation of fans?
For years, Hulk Hogan was the embodiment of a professional wrestlers, largely because of Vince McMahon’s foresight in creating a narrative that considered any other visage to be nigh-blasphemy. As popular as Hogan was, however, his increasing age and removal from actively performing in the ring have caused his name recognition to dim somewhat in the mainstream. Dwayne ‘the Rock’ Johnson has eclipsed Hogan in name recognition, largely on the strength of his performance as a twenty-first century action movie star, though his wrestling fame is largely affixed to his star as a courtesy to the entertainment medium that he first managed to conquer. Disregarding Hogan’s encroaching baldness and the Rock’s close-cropped hair, both men bore the muscular frame of Greek gods; muscular, larger-than-life, magnetic personas.
The current ‘king’ of the wrestling product is John Cena, certainly no slouch as a physical specimen. Yet an interesting schism is present with a consideration of Cena’s fandom: since the apex of his initial rise to prominence in 2005, a growing discontentment amongst large sections of the fanbase about the direction of the product and its chosen ‘faces’ of the company have led to increasingly virulent rhetoric and vitriol in different forums. One need only to watch the 2014 Royal Rumble to experience an almost-cathartic venting of frustration with the direction of the company, and its insistence on promoting the two thousandth encounter between John Cena and Randy Orton, another stalwart of the past decade. Neither Cena nor Orton are without significant fan bases, of course; to claim otherwise is in error. However, the contrast between fan support for John Cena and the support received by performers such as CM Punk and Daniel Bryan over the past four years is truly striking.
Does a majority of the wrestling fanbase actively desire a smaller, more relatable wrestler as the pièce de résistance of the company? Or rather, is the era of the wrestling superhero considered passé? If anything, wrestling promoters are creatures of habit, and will mine whatever character archetype or hot business trend they can for years past the expiration date. John Cena’s characterization as a wrestling superman that can never be broken down is a throwback to the age of Hulkamania, which itself wore out its welcome in less time comparatively than Cena has been at the top of the card. The company’s attempts to recapture the heights of the Attitude Era with exponentially increasing raunch in 2002 and 2003 further highlights their innate desire to go to the well too many times.
Wrestling’s second golden age in the late-1990s was predicated on a combination of an ultra-hot, relatable angle—the everyman Austin against the corporate machine—with enough bloody brawls and plastic tits and ass to provide the frenetic release teenagers and young adults needed in that era. How fitting, it seems, that the consistent creative rut the business has fallen in has coincided with a departure from the fan-driven motifs of the Attitude Era. The raunch of the late ‘90s was always ancillary to the core players representing exaggerated caricatures of the fans themselves. And the Undertaker, but he’s a special case.
Which two wrestlers have received arguably the largest ground-swelling of support in the past decade? CM Punk and Daniel Bryan, internet darlings to be sure, but also immensely popular with casual fans. Why? Because their stories—the pissed off smartass and the indomitable underdog—resonate more clearly with a wider range of fans. John Cena’s merchandise sells more than any other wrestler, and yet ratings and buyrates have been in steady decline for years. Does one call Cena a big star because he moves a brand to a select audience, despite his character and storylines often being considered a detriment to the quality of the overall product? Put another way, should Cena be commended for claiming the fan base that he has, or should he be condemned for ostracizing so many others?
Is Cena the face of the company because of his own merits, or because the company says he is?
The questions lack clear answers, because these questions are arguably unanswerable. Yet the paradigm for success seems clear enough: one need not be larger than life, but rather, connect with the most fans. The age of Hulk Hogan was special, inasmuch for colorful era that the ‘80s came to represent as it was for the need for an unbeatable superman in a world where the specter of impending doom was often the push of a button away. Our new digital world has created a new taste for a new generation: ardent realism, packaged in an entertaining way that engages fans as much through social media as it does in the arenas.
Does the modern archetype of a successful wrestler require a fuzzy beard or a small, wiry build? Must all future heroes wrestle with kick-pads and variants of finishers crafted in Japan? The archetype of a modern wrestler may not be dependent on the look of a wrestler at all; instead, it is a combination of a realistic characterization that is heightened by wrestling skill and the charisma necessary to engage a fickle audience. Randy Orton has coasted for years on his chiseled physique and smooth ringwork, despite a decided lack of charisma. John Cena seemingly has all of the intangibles needed, and yet is roundly hated by half the fandom.
Who in the company today has the potential to rise to the fabled status of a true superstar? That’s the rub: it could be anyone, provided the right creative direction and enough charisma to connect with a fandom that has an almost-infinite number of entertainment options at their disposal. Maybe Roman Reigns develops a character that engages the fanbase; Dean Ambrose is probably the closest of anyone on the outside looking in right now, while talented performers like Cesaro, Dolph Ziggler, and Kofi Kingston need to be kissing as much ass in the corporate hierarchy to even be given the chance to elevate their game. In any event, the archetype of a wrestling star today is definitely a sign of the changing times.
The question is, when will the business change with them?
