This blog rarely talks about television. However, as a lapsed fan of sports entertainment, I took the time to binge-watch the recent release of Netflix’s limited series documentary Mr McMahon. This in-depth look at Vince McMahon, the former World Wrestling Entertainment owner, has coincided with the WWE merging with Zuffa, creating the new company TKO. The WWE’s flagship show, RAW, is also soon to be appearing on Netflix. However, during the 3-year filming of Chris Smith’s documentary, McMahon resigned from TKO after allegations of sexual assault and sex trafficking. Rather than throwing the series into disarray, the documentary is updated with details of the allegations. Most of the interviews that appear in the series are shown before the allegations with Vince’s final interviews never taking place.
The six-episode docuseries delivers an overview of his life. Detailing how he took the once territorial wrestling federation from his father, turning it into a global entertainment phenomenon. It also charts the creation of Mr McMahon; a wildly exaggerated television character of Vince who plays the main villain for the WWE. Mr McMahon asks whether there’s a difference between Vince the character and Vince the man.
Considering the real-life allegations now attributed to Vince, the differences seem slight. Early on, Vince remarks that he doesn’t want to show anybody the real him. This is an unfortunate remark as Vince’s own self-aggrandising ego, toxic masculinity and unrepentant capitalist viewpoint underline his true nature at nearly every turn. While many of the film’s interviewees have an alliance with Vince, the documentary has done enough homework to highlight much of Vince’s questionable behaviour. And the term questionable is too light a word. When under the microscope Vince can be seen as a vicious Tyrant who rules over his bread and circus soap opera with an iron fist and engorged loins. No one is really spared from his oppressiveness, wiliness or lack of moral fibre. Huge musclebound Titans shed a tear for Vince at points. Granted that this takes place before the allegations and stepping down, it’s still hard not to see this as Stockholm Syndrome.
Like so many Netflix documentaries, Mr McMahon is hampered by how it is presented. It’s clear that many livelihoods have been lost or destroyed due to Vince’s actions, yet there isn’t a lot of breathing space for those who have suffered over Vince’s tyranny. Instead, the questionable antics are almost shrugged off with arguments over different values. Possibly because there’s so much dirt and there’s only so much time. This becomes tough to swallow during the midway point when the tragic story of Owen Hart comes to the forefront. The Hart family have suffered great turmoil under the WWE, with Owen’s death being the peak of their heartbreak. Listening to Bret speak about his dealings with Vince and the WWE is still as troubling as it was in the 90s. The fact that Owen dies on a live pay-per-view and Vince orders the show to continue speaks volumes. The images of distressed wrestlers continuing to fight over the only just dried blood stains of their dead friend are more haunting than any horror film. Yet that might even be the worst of it.
But the difficulty here lies with the talking heads who still favour Vince. To many, Vince McMahon is still seen as a father figure who launched their careers. Countless people owe Vince for where they are today. Late on, Senior Vice President Bruce Pritchard takes offence to what he’s seen from the documentary, with a strong feeling that the only things the filmmakers are doing are showing Vince as a villain. Pritchard notes how Vince ensured the best care available for his wife who was diagnosed with cancer. The defence given feels like the moments in Peter Biskind’s Down and Dirty Pictures in which filmmakers who found success with disgraced producer Harvey Weinstein still gave him an amount of protection despite his bullying. With this, Mr McMahon has more of an element of balance than expected at times, because so many of the ex-wrestlers interviewed don’t hold a grudge against Vince, because why would they?
For wrestling fans, Mr McMahon doesn’t tell you anything they already don’t know. Those who didn’t realise how much of a conceited megalomanic Vince McMahon is will be shocked at what they see. The film only drains half of the swampy waters. Some will be shocked at how guarded Vince is. Many more sordid details could easily be found on the many well-researched YouTube channels or by listening to the 4-episode deep dive of McMahon on the Behind the Bastards podcast. But those other outlets aren’t as slick. The backing that Netflix provides, softens matters because, as mentioned, the company now have a stake in the WWE. So, the documentary becomes a history highlight reel of Vince and the WWE for the uninitiated.
However, Vince’s corrupted story of the American dream plays out on a scale as large as films such as There Will Be Blood (2007) or Citizen Kane (1941). Honestly. Vincent Kennady McMahon’s story is that operatic. He is Daniel Plainview for the lovers of spandex. Nothing stands in his way. With pop culture influenced in ways many couldn’t even imagine. As a docu-series, with the interviewees that Smith manages to sign off and get time with, Mr McMahon is the most comprehensive, mainstream look at the WWE of recent times.
Wrestling journalist Dave Meltzer, who is often a voice of reason through the series, delivers a throwaway comment which rings true not only about Vince and wrestling fans but also the complicated relationship that many have with celebrity idols: “People will support an entertainment product and not care about the moral fibre of the guy running the product.” It’s not a profound statement, but an incredibly accurate judgment on where many are with modern celebrity culture. An unexpected moment in a series full of expected moments for wrestling fans.
Mr McMahon is streaming on Netflix
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