Mr McMahon review – this wrestling story has more political intrigue than the House of Commons | Television

DDepending on your perspective, the creation of Netflix’s six-part documentary series Mr. McMahon couldn’t have been better or worse timed. The opportunity to gain insight into Vince McMahon – the controversial, larger-than-life pro wrestling entrepreneur who, in his words, grew up “dirt poor” and built the promoter WWE (World Wrestling Entertainment) into a multibillion-dollar juggernaut – is a tantalizing one.

But there is a twist in this story. In 2022, reports emerged of $12 million McMahon paid four women to suppress allegations of sexual misconduct and infidelity, followed this year by an allegation of sexual assault and human trafficking (McMahon has denied the allegations). This posed a challenge to the series’ creators, including director Chris Smith (Fyre, Tiger King).

Hundreds of hours of interviews were recorded in 2021 and 2022, not only with McMahon, but also with professional wrestling stars including John Cena, Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson and Hulk Hogan. Unsurprisingly, the first episode states that a final conversation with McMahon was canceled after the allegations emerged. But producers still had hours of footage of McMahon, his family and former employees — and no shortage of outdated scandals — to piece together his story.

Before the opening credits of episode one, the creators bravely let the audience know what they’re dealing with. “I wish I could tell you the real stories, holy shit,” McMahon growls. Encouraged off-camera to give us one, he replies incredulously: “No! …I’ll give you enough that it’s semi-interesting. I don’t want anyone to really know me.” No kidding.

The film quickly moves through McMahon’s upbringing. He grew up in a trailer park with his mother and an abusive stepfather and first met his biological father when he was twelve. Vince McMahon Sr was a local wrestling promoter who eventually sold his company rather than leave it to the son he left behind. had ignored for the first ten years of his life. What follows is an account of McMahon’s rise as he ruthlessly destroyed the competition and paved the way for wrestling to become a muscular global sensation in the 1980s.

For anyone unfamiliar with the glitz and struggle of professional wrestling, this is an eye-opening insight into the rise, fall and then rise again of WWE. Backstage, through the blood, the roar, the spandex and the cages, we get to see more political intrigue than a sweat-soaked British parliament could hope to deliver. But this is also where Mr. McMahon starts to lose focus and becomes a history of WWE, rather than McMahon himself.

That’s not to say that the pre-2022 scandals — including a 1994 steroid trial (in which he was found not guilty), an allegation that McMahon sexually assaulted female referee Rita Chatterton in 1986, and a later concussion scandal — are ignored. They all get airtime, but the stories are hampered by McMahon’s belligerence and the fact that his former employees, seemingly still in the thrall of the man who built their careers and wielded so much power, are unable or unwilling to giving the game away completely.

There are some insights. The title of the series, Mr McMahon, refers to the promoter’s TV presence as a mean billionaire boss who enjoyed humiliating his staff. In one infamous storyline, a female wrestler, Trish Stratus, got down on her knees and barked like a dog in the ring under McMahon’s direction. The promoter’s argument that he’s just an actor playing a role is refuted by a host of talking heads who describe the on-screen McMahon as – at best – an exaggeration of the real individual. However, Hogan describes them as “the exact same person. It’s not far.”

There’s also a glimpse of McMahon’s friendship with Donald Trump and the influence of pro wrestling on Trump’s approach to politics. (Reportedly, when McMahon was “blown up” in a limousine as part of a TV storyline in 2007, a concerned Trump called WWE offices to make sure he was still alive.)

All of this builds on the last episode, the current scandals and, unfortunately, a soggy ending. Placed in the admittedly difficult position of covering news that is still unfolding, the filmmakers pay perfunctory attention to these allegations. As if an appendix has been tacked onto an already completed product, rather than an attempt – however laborious – to go back and re-examine the subject.

Throughout the series, disappointingly few women give accounts of their collaborations with McMahon. Chatterton, who accused McMahon of rape and had to wait decades for a reported multimillion-dollar settlement in 2022 (although not an admission of guilt), appears only in archival footage. From her perspective, it’s an understandable absence. But without her input, or that of other women at the center of the allegations, Mr. McMahon feels like a missed opportunity to really get to grips with the man behind the persona. Despite all the ammunition, there is no smoking gun.

Expertly produced, researched and edited, Mr McMahon contains some notable nuggets. But the series doesn’t break any real new ground for those already familiar with the promoter’s travails. By the end, the viewer is left feeling as if they have experienced a night of wrestling: shocked, fascinated, but with a sneaking suspicion that they still don’t quite know fact from fiction.