AEW Vs. WWE: Head To Head
8. Production
WWE’s production is immaculate. It is perfect, in fact, which creates an alienating feeling that everything is stifled and micromanaged and wholly predetermined.
But, while this badly undermines the narrative, the machine operates with an incredible precision that frames the company as big-time. Everything is timed perfectly. The volume of the music is deafening. The announce team, much-maligned, are excellent at segues. It doesn’t feel at all ramshackle, even if it would benefit WWE if it did.
AEW, staffed by a team generations removed from when big-time arena wrestling was even a thing, can be excused for their stumbles and disasters—to an extent. The barely-coded mission statement promises idealised pro wrestling—the pro wrestling that has been missing from your life for too long. Jim Ross, meant to guide us through the show as the trustworthy voice of it, forgot where he was at Double Or Nothing. He is presented as the beloved grandfather of the game, but his much-trumpeted entrance is only visible to live crowds. The entrances focus on the tron, before cutting to the talent, a strange technique that deemphasises the wrestlers, almost.
AEW is imperfect, but not in a raw, endearing, extemporaneous way. The billionaire-funded league too often comes across as amateurish, which the customer equates with a small-time enterprise not to be trusted.
SCORECARD: AEW 2-1 WWE