Wrestling’s First Ever Kayfabe Break
As the years passed, so too did WWE pass on the pretence, free to do so in the absence of any viable competition. As the company revived ECW, itself no stranger to the fourth wall, Paul Heyman claimed that Triple H wasn’t WWE Champion because he “didn’t want to work Tuesdays”. Triple H, perhaps inspired, assassinated John Cena as a dire performer ahead of their World Heavyweight Title match at WrestleMania 22. This was through-the-looking-glass stuff, narratively; if John Cena “happened not to be a very good wrestler,” why were we then expected to pay for his main event match? A not inconsiderable number did not; WrestleMania 22 was outdrawn by 21 and 23, both record-breakers. This did not convince WWE to drop the thread; much like the finisher kick-out, the integrity of its fictional performers was weakened methodically in the years since, creating a gateway to Stephanie McMahon’s crusade of castration from which we are still unable to escape.
Eventually, WWE dispensed completely with the notion of pro wrestling as an approximation of a sporting event. Performers arrived on stage, ostensibly to gatecrash proceedings, soundtracked rather conspicuously by their entrance themes, inevitably rewarded or punished with a match scheduled for “right now!” with absolutely no consideration as to what otherwise was scheduled for the second “segment”. This is something you’re not meant to think about. This is “entertainment”!
What isn’t entertainment, and all the better for it, is the already seminal Johnny Gargano Vs. Tommaso Ciampa rivalry in NXT. Using reality only as a means of enriching the fiction, this is a studious story built on classic foundations. Gargano is the heroic, never-say-die babyface threatened into brutal action. Ciampa is the despicable psycho to whom all emotions except hatred do not exist. Neither man buries the other. One insults, draws the heat, and delivers old school catharsis with state-of-the-art bumps. This is wrestling. This is timeless. This isn’t strange, plot hole-ridden nonsense no longer fit for any narrative purpose.
In contrast, Roman and Cena’s “edgy” sparring felt like a sad, literally middled-aged echo of Pillman’s incandescent adolescence - a series of cheap and counterproductive pops that didn’t alter the landscape whatsoever, let alone break new ground. Reigns Vs. Cena, ostensibly a match for the ages on paper, resonated instead as a programme that belonged to bygone times.
Perhaps it is time, once more, to restore the illusion.
Writing about WWE is increasingly difficult in 2018, a year in which the company is more secure than ever through watertight corporate financing. Still, as a purely artistic endeavour - something you’d hope may yet re-materialise in WWE, given Triple H’s brilliant, back-to-basics approach to NXT - wouldn’t it be great, even magic, if John Cena was among the last to break kayfabe?