Kayfabe: The Dying Art

Whether it’s on television, the big screen, or on Broadway, 100 percent of the time, the actors are characters. They have made a mutual commitment with the person who runs the show, and that is to embody that character, to be that character. The happenings in say, the play, are completely real to their characters. In their character’s minds, Actor A’s name is Actor A. The person who has a conflict with their character legitimately does. When these actors vacate the stage and go the dressing rooms, they are free to be themselves.  On stage, however, their job is to make you believe everything they do is authentic. Until 1989, professional wrestling was this way.

1989 was the year that professional wrestling received the pseudonym of “sports-entertainment”. Tired of being taxed by state athletic commissions, Vince McMahon admitted that wrestling bouts were predetermined. Although the “secret” was now out of the bag, wrestlers continued to practice the art known as kayfabe. That art, though, is beginning to fade.

Earlier, I mentioned how actors can and always have been able to walk off of the stage and into the public and be themselves. Their “stage” is literally the stage, nothing else. Since the inception of theatre, that has been accepted. Wrestling, on the other hand, was originally legitimate competition and a well respected sport. In order to retain that respect when it strayed away from authentic bouts, kayfabe was created. Now, wrestling had a stage. And it was everywhere.

When getting interviewed, a wrestler was expected to be his character. When leaving the building, a wrestler was expected to be his character. When taking a piss at a gas station after the show, they were expected to be their characters. Basically the only place a professional wrestler could be himself was in the privacy of his own home. If they were feuding with their real life best friend, tough, because they couldn’t be seen in public hanging around them. If they didn’t make people buy what they and the promotion were selling, they were out of a job.

Now, things are different. Slowly but surely, professional wrestling’s “stage” is shrinking. The Miz, arguably one of WWE’s biggest heels, goes on late night interview shows and tries to win the crowd over. In the 1970’s, a guy like Jesse Ventura wouldn’t be caught dead doing that. Nowadays, wrestlers are constantly asked about creative decisions. Some strategically dodge the questions, but you know what would’ve happened back in the day if a wrestler even thought about answering that? Virtually everyone has seen the infamous video of David Schultz smacking a reporter silly for accusing his profession of being staged. Back in those days, reporters feared asking questions that slashed kayfabe. Now, it’s common practice.

I, personally, would love to see wrestling’s stage begin to grow. There used to a certain mystery, a certain sense of awe to the wrestling business. Sure, many fans had the feeling that the men they watched battle it out in the ring may be putting on an act, but they were thrown off by the fact that the act never stopped. The Ric Flair they saw cockily strut around his opponents was the same Ric Flair they saw hours later at the hotel (often still strutting). I wasn’t around for those days, but when I was younger, kayfabe seemed to be a tad stronger, due to either ignorance or me being naïve. I thoroughly believe that those days are the reason I was and still am completely absorbed by the world of professional wrestling.

The thing is, kids nowadays have access to so many kayfabe-ruining resources, and come across the wrong YouTube video (WwE is TeH FAke!!!1) or Miz interview and they can get turned off on the business before they can see the beauty in it.

Eventually those resources became available, but it was too late to sway me. Wrestling and it’s wonder had me hooked. Needless to say though, I have been enlightened since the time where I believe the bouts were genuine. Ultimately, I’m glad that I have. Now, I have a different kind of understanding for the business. But I would like to share a story that, for a moment, brought me back to the days of wonder.

In mid-2008, my friends and I helped set up for a local independent wrestling promotion. We had attended the events in the past, so had a full knowledge of the wacky, ridiculous characters that the Lethal Wrestling Alliance presented at the shows. About three hours before bell time, Billy McNeil, a skinny but skilled high-flying wrestler who was “fired” in storyline, showed up to the building. He was scheduled to wrestle under a mask as the fun loving Dash Rando. My friends and I saw many other things that completely shattered kayfabe prior to the show, but weren’t shocked in the least bit due to being “smartened up”. The show began, and Rando was on second. During the match, he received an awkward looking backbreaker and was legitimately injured. After the show, the first thing we did was rush to Shorty Biggs, a plump but talented competitor who was now signing autographs, and ask him how Billy was.

“Who?” said Biggs in his St. Louis city diction.

Puzzled, we asked him if he had seen the injury and again inquired about Billy McNeil’s health.

“Hmm, I don’t think Billy’s here today, he’s fired.”

Suddenly, I realized what was going on and gave him a grin.

“Well how’s Dash Rando, then?”

“Oh, Dash? Yeah, he’s fine.”

Shorty Biggs was the only wrestler to talk to us in kayfabe that night as we helped clean up, but after that experience, that disappointed me. It reminded me of the time where the stories were real to me, the characters were real to me, and the entire wrestling business was real to me.

So, in conclusion, I’ll challenge WWE and other organizations to tell their young performers what kayfabe really is (the veterans need not be taught, because can you imagine The Undertaker breaking kayfabe?). It will create an even bigger sense of wonder for the younger kids just getting into the wacky world of wrestling. And for the veteran fans, it will rekindle the wonder that they once had.