There's hardly any kid who grew up in the 80s and 90s who wasn't completely immersed in the world of the WWF/E, letting it engage every one of their senses every night it was on TV and every night it wasn't...playing matches on the bed with their pillows as opponents, practicing faces in the mirror and picking out costumes, having school yard debates about the best wrestler or tag team. Building fantasies about kicking every one of the heels' asses.
And watching above all of that was The Undertaker.
I think I was made aware of the kayfabe in the worst way possible. In 1994 the WWF/E made a one-off two-night visit to Dubai, where I used to live, and my cousins and I went to watch as our heroes came out one by one. At the end of the night, I snuck into their hotel and bumped into them all sat on one table having dinner. Ref Earl Hebner saw me, and immediately started screaming and kicking me out. On that night, wrestling died for me.
When the announcement that The Undertaker was to retire I think the first thing that came to mind was "Holy! This guy is still going?!" And the highlight reel of my wrestling-obsessed years immediately started playing in my head. Night after night of watching the scariest man in sports entertainment suddenly came back to memory, and I let that reverie take over.
This documentary isn't easy to watch if you're in your late thirties. Not only does it remind you of days when everything was an exciting exploration, it also fills you with a sense of absolute sadness: your heroes of the past have aged, they're nowhere near the bright, shining faces you left. Shawn Michaels seems to have gone a bit cross-eyed, Triple H sounds like his throat is sponsored by a cigarette company, Scott "Razor Ramon" Hall has plumped up and turned grey.
And watching above all of that was the Undertaker...and that's the saddest part.
You saw in this documentary the frightening giant in his heyday, the fear theatrics he played that made every ten-year-old like me lose sleep at night. Between the Undertakers undertakings...heh...Mark Calaway sits in obvious pain on his seat, the gentlest soul you will ever see. It's heart warming the way he narrates his own life amidst the jolting edits, interjected every now and then by his peers. And yet, as the episodes keep going, you notice yourself observing his fraying emotions and paying more attention to how much his body aged: the receding hairline, the beer belly, the sagging pecs, and the exaggerated eye rolls and tongue flicks that once spelled true fear...now just playing for gimmicks. That last one hurts the most, because Calaway at the beginning of the series dreads the day he becomes a parody of himself, not realizing some people long-since detached from the wrestling universe already see it.
And between the goosebumps and the shivers down your spine, you're overwhelmed with sadness. In your head, you've got one hand over your mouth in shock, pleading for him to quit damaging himself. You realize how dedicated he is, how loyal he is to his passion, how much his work means to him....means enough to destroy his body several times over, approximately 17 major surgeries worth. And throughout the entire series there's one word that resonates above all to a nauseating point...
"Business."
Mark Calaway is the Undertaker is Mark Calaway. He is a man of passion, of action, of determination. He loves and is loved, respects and is respected. Fans and wrestlers both prostrate before him equally. He wants them just as much as they want him. Wrestling is his livelihood.
And watching above all of that was Vince McMahon. Because, after all said and done, this is a business.
McMahon is a bona fide business man: cunning, resourceful, experienced, and at once both caring and cruel. You can't help but notice how many times Undertaker wrestled with the voices in his own head about quitting and dedicating the rest of his time and health to himself and his family...only for him to say that his love for the game stops him..."then I get a call from Vince." And you feel even more sorry for the Undertaker, because there's that nagging feeling he's being used. McMahon knows just how loyal Mark Calaway is to the Undertaker, and so ensures that both Calaway and Undertaker are loyal to McMahon. A vicious cycle in more than one way. At some point in time during this series, once you hear the words "got a call from Vince" I guarantee you you'll be equally sad and angry. They say they're friends, but Undertaker to an objective audience will feel like McMahon's lapdog, like Vader to Palpatine. It's just a testament to how Vince McMahon defines "human resources."
I would have preferred it if this documentary wasn't produced by the WWE, because while the feelings are genuine, anyone who knows Vince McMahon knows how much his life is symbiotic to drama. I would believe anyone in the world with any statement, but it's difficult after years of observing the progress of the WWE trusting a single word, gesture, or body language Vince McMahon expresses. There was a point in the documentary that the interviewer asks him what the Undertaker means to him as a friend, only for his lips to wobble and eyes well up. He gestures 'cut' to the camera and says he can't answer that question. For me, and knowing McMahon's history, that was the least genuine moment in this entire production.
Watch this for the nostalgia, for the pride, for the excitement, for days of yore made fresh in your eyes once more. Watch this for the Undertaker, but more than anything else, watch this for Mark Calaway. I could only wish I could knock on his door in Austin and say "Mr. Calaway, I've never met a more genuinely lovable person," then give him a hug and run away into the distance.
But don't, just don't let Vince McMahon give you the address.
And watching above all of that was The Undertaker.
I think I was made aware of the kayfabe in the worst way possible. In 1994 the WWF/E made a one-off two-night visit to Dubai, where I used to live, and my cousins and I went to watch as our heroes came out one by one. At the end of the night, I snuck into their hotel and bumped into them all sat on one table having dinner. Ref Earl Hebner saw me, and immediately started screaming and kicking me out. On that night, wrestling died for me.
When the announcement that The Undertaker was to retire I think the first thing that came to mind was "Holy! This guy is still going?!" And the highlight reel of my wrestling-obsessed years immediately started playing in my head. Night after night of watching the scariest man in sports entertainment suddenly came back to memory, and I let that reverie take over.
This documentary isn't easy to watch if you're in your late thirties. Not only does it remind you of days when everything was an exciting exploration, it also fills you with a sense of absolute sadness: your heroes of the past have aged, they're nowhere near the bright, shining faces you left. Shawn Michaels seems to have gone a bit cross-eyed, Triple H sounds like his throat is sponsored by a cigarette company, Scott "Razor Ramon" Hall has plumped up and turned grey.
And watching above all of that was the Undertaker...and that's the saddest part.
You saw in this documentary the frightening giant in his heyday, the fear theatrics he played that made every ten-year-old like me lose sleep at night. Between the Undertakers undertakings...heh...Mark Calaway sits in obvious pain on his seat, the gentlest soul you will ever see. It's heart warming the way he narrates his own life amidst the jolting edits, interjected every now and then by his peers. And yet, as the episodes keep going, you notice yourself observing his fraying emotions and paying more attention to how much his body aged: the receding hairline, the beer belly, the sagging pecs, and the exaggerated eye rolls and tongue flicks that once spelled true fear...now just playing for gimmicks. That last one hurts the most, because Calaway at the beginning of the series dreads the day he becomes a parody of himself, not realizing some people long-since detached from the wrestling universe already see it.
And between the goosebumps and the shivers down your spine, you're overwhelmed with sadness. In your head, you've got one hand over your mouth in shock, pleading for him to quit damaging himself. You realize how dedicated he is, how loyal he is to his passion, how much his work means to him....means enough to destroy his body several times over, approximately 17 major surgeries worth. And throughout the entire series there's one word that resonates above all to a nauseating point...
"Business."
Mark Calaway is the Undertaker is Mark Calaway. He is a man of passion, of action, of determination. He loves and is loved, respects and is respected. Fans and wrestlers both prostrate before him equally. He wants them just as much as they want him. Wrestling is his livelihood.
And watching above all of that was Vince McMahon. Because, after all said and done, this is a business.
McMahon is a bona fide business man: cunning, resourceful, experienced, and at once both caring and cruel. You can't help but notice how many times Undertaker wrestled with the voices in his own head about quitting and dedicating the rest of his time and health to himself and his family...only for him to say that his love for the game stops him..."then I get a call from Vince." And you feel even more sorry for the Undertaker, because there's that nagging feeling he's being used. McMahon knows just how loyal Mark Calaway is to the Undertaker, and so ensures that both Calaway and Undertaker are loyal to McMahon. A vicious cycle in more than one way. At some point in time during this series, once you hear the words "got a call from Vince" I guarantee you you'll be equally sad and angry. They say they're friends, but Undertaker to an objective audience will feel like McMahon's lapdog, like Vader to Palpatine. It's just a testament to how Vince McMahon defines "human resources."
I would have preferred it if this documentary wasn't produced by the WWE, because while the feelings are genuine, anyone who knows Vince McMahon knows how much his life is symbiotic to drama. I would believe anyone in the world with any statement, but it's difficult after years of observing the progress of the WWE trusting a single word, gesture, or body language Vince McMahon expresses. There was a point in the documentary that the interviewer asks him what the Undertaker means to him as a friend, only for his lips to wobble and eyes well up. He gestures 'cut' to the camera and says he can't answer that question. For me, and knowing McMahon's history, that was the least genuine moment in this entire production.
Watch this for the nostalgia, for the pride, for the excitement, for days of yore made fresh in your eyes once more. Watch this for the Undertaker, but more than anything else, watch this for Mark Calaway. I could only wish I could knock on his door in Austin and say "Mr. Calaway, I've never met a more genuinely lovable person," then give him a hug and run away into the distance.
But don't, just don't let Vince McMahon give you the address.