There’s a dull clunking noise from the Cajundome’s escalator as we ascend, like the sound of a war drum, or a safety hazard. The next floor is oddly empty, there are tables that should be covered in merchandise, but they carry dust instead. It’s fine. I’m not here to spend $40 on a t-shirt.
The arena is filled with the loud, indistinct murmur of the crowd. It is not full, large sections of seats are empty. And yet, when the clock strikes seven and the colored rays of light throw themselves in all directions as a professional wrestler’s theme comes on, you would think that the Cajundome was not only packed full, but that you’d entered some alternate world where everyone has a third lung for sustained screaming.
I have to admit that I’m not the most devoted fan of the WWE. I have a passing familiarity with the immortalized names of the promotion’s glory days, and enjoy a good show of people throwing each other against the mat. My main exposure to professional wrestling has come only in recent years, when my buddy Zach decided to dedicate a night every once in a while to streaming wrestling for us (usually old promotions I’ve never heard of, half of which are Japanese).
The only name I recognized from the recent Road to Wrestlemania was Bianca Belair (only because she’s in Fortnite). I didn’t know these characters or their ongoing storylines, though I was roughly filled in by the teenager behind me that provided commentary for every match, and by the hivemind-like voice of the crowd. The main things I learned was that everyone hates Grayson Waller, you cannot stop people from singing along to Seth Rollins’ theme and Jey Uso can only win if he gathers the energy of the crowd like a Spirit Bomb through them chanting “YEET” at him.
WWE has a long and storied history, and you don’t need to know any of it, neither the current roster nor their stories. That type of investment can come later. The core value of wrestling comes from the inherent fun of watching people wear cool costumes, talk smack and then throw each other around for several minutes.
I didn’t know who Cody Rhodes was. I didn’t need to know who Cody Rhodes was to cheer when he grabbed a guy and started doing gator rolls (my buddy Zach informed me that his super move is doing that but three times in a row). The commentary kid behind me had his mom (or was it his grandma?) with him who seemed only to have a vague idea where she was, but she just about got up to her feet in excitement when three people in a tag match drop-kicked their opponents at the same time.
The sheer spectacle of a professional wrestling event is unlike anything else. There’s colorful costumes and big dudes getting hurt, what’s not to love?
One of the standout moments for me was watching the 5’7” Akira Tozawa fight 7’3” Omos after the latter’s handler talked trash about Louisiana and how we should all move to Texas instead (can’t say I totally disagree with him). Being a small Asian guy myself, I had to root for Tozawa. It hurt to see him get choke slammed and taken out, but he still got up and walked off in the end, and I’m sure there’s something we can all learn from that.
People have asked me what the point of professional wrestling is if it’s all fake? The simple answer is that it’s theatre. It is masculine, testosterone-fueled, stunt-driven theatre. And it’s great.
But I’ve been thinking more about that “fakeness” lately. Recently, I watched the Jackie Chan film “Police Story,” the one where at the end he slides down a pole through a bunch of Christmas lights and gets burned. What struck me was how compelling and entertaining the action scenes were, a far cry from the action of today. Jackie Chan did most of his own stunts, and what makes them work so well is the fact that they’re real (even though they’re scripted). When he’s using an umbrella to hang off the side of a bus racing down the street, you can almost feel the exact sense of danger and adrenaline that he does.
Most modern action movies pale in comparison. My friend talks about how, these days, action scenes are “just a bunch of guys in a green warehouse throwing Adobe After Effects at each other.” After “Police Story,” we watched behind-the-scenes footage of some MCU films, and one of the scenes was Captain America pretending to slam someone into a pillar, who was really just being pulled around by some wires. Where’s the fun and performance in that?
Often, in modern fight scenes, there’s a lot of camera movement and cutting to make up for lackluster choreography and the actors not actually knowing how to fight. With Chan’s movies, the camera stays still and you can actually see the actors fighting.
That’s the appeal of pro wrestling too. It’s fake insofar as it’s scripted and planned out, but these performers are doing real stunts, live, for your entertainment. There’s no movie magic to rely on, just their physical ability to perform the stunts and acting ability to sell them as actually hurting.
In short, there’s a lot we could learn from pro wrestling. I wish modern films, especially action films, tried a little harder with stunts and practical effects, instead of leaving it all to post-production.
The last time I watched an MCU film, I left thinking “wow, they sure did a good job making faces at each other while running around in the green screen storage unit.” When I left that night with the WWE, I thought “that was so cool I love watching dudes throw each other around and do dropkicks, I should buy a t-shirt.”
Then I remembered they were $40. Maybe we shouldn’t learn everything from pro wrestling.