# Beyond the Mat (1999)

### reviewed by
Jon Popick

    PLANET SICK-BOY: http://www.sick-boy.com
    "We Put the SIN in Cinema"

There is one particularly thought-provoking moment in the new professional wrestling documentary Beyond the Mat. The setting is just before a World Wrestling Federation extravaganza called `The Royal Rumble,' where two competitors calmly discuss the choreography of their well-scripted WWF title match scheduled for later that evening. The wrestlers are defending champ Mick Foley (a.k.a. Cactus Jack [a.k.a. Mankind]) and The Rock, but that's not what makes this moment noteworthy. It's the fact that these two gentlemen are responsible for the #1 and #2 slots on the current New York Times list of the country's best-selling books. I couldn't help but wonder if Ernest Hemingway and William Faulkner had a similar conversation before their steel cage match.

That is one of the few memorable interludes from Barry W. Blaustein's film. Blaustein, a screenwriter on several Eddie Murphy films (including The Nutty Professor and its forthcoming sequel Nutty II: The Klumps), describes himself as a lifelong fan of professional wrestling. He knows it's fake, but still loves the theatrical pageantry and athletics involved. Once Blaustein declares his adoration of the faux sport, you know that this isn't going to be a hysterical look at the inbred legions of wrestling fans throughout the country (like Trekkies). That approach would have made for a much more substantial and less one-sided film. Mat is more of a fluff-piece.

Experienced documentary fans may assume that since Blaustein avoided the mocking nature of Trekkies-style films, Mat must be a carefully composed, beautifully lensed picture with a compelling score, like the works of Errol Morris (Mr. Death). Wrong. Mat isn't even shot on film. It's like watching somebody's homemade video of a family picnic…if their family consisted primarily of clinically insane, middle-aged, overweight wrestling uncles.

Mat begins promisingly enough, with Blaustein and his crew filming within the posh confines of the WWF world headquarters. Before the film shows WWF honcho Vince McMahon interview an ex-footballer that can vomit on command, a Senior Marketing Vice President of the billion-dollar company compares the WWF to the Muppets – with a straight face. He says they're both family-owned businesses, but fails to provide any other evidence of similarity. I must have forgotten about that puking Muppet on Sesame Street who kept bashing Snuffleupagus with a chair.

The documentary then downshifts into a wrestling school run by an accountant as wide as he is tall. Specifically, this portion of the film focuses on two up-and-comers – WWF hopefuls that get a huge break when they're allowed to fake-fight on the undercard of a WWF tour stop. So far, so good.

Mat loses steam by telling the tale of Terry Funk, a `living legend' (a.k.a. washed-up has-been) from Amarillo, Texas. Funk still wrestles despite warnings from his doctor and pleadings from his family. Using his two bad knees, Funk helps support a fledgling wrestling group called Extreme Championship Wrestling land their first pay-per-view event. It's fun to watch the looks on the faces of Funk's wife and children as he wrestles. Is it embarrassment or genuine concern for the welfare of a close relative?

Mat's next subject sucks the remaining life out of the film. Another wrestler in the twilight of his career – one Jake `The Snake' Roberts – recounts a life story that would make Jerry Springer drool. His saga includes incest, murder, rape, kidnapping and crack addiction. Roberts really brings the film down, not so much with the content of his story, but rather the way he (and Blaustein) tells it. He doesn't move his mouth much, which made me think that it would have been better to use photographs of a younger Roberts instead. But then I realized that you would still be able to hear his monotonous, sleep-inducing tone.

Things pick up a bit when Mat shows Foley/Cactus/Mankind getting a wound on his head that resembles a woman's private parts after being repeatedly beaten by a folding chair brandished by The Rock. This beat-down is as real as the horrified looks on the faces of Foley's teary-eyed wife and sobbing kids that watch from the front row. But then Blaustein goes back to the much less interesting Roberts. The result is a film that's choppy, uneven and practically screams `Jesus, show wrestlers and their fans as deranged carny folk and freaks of nature that evolution passed by!' That's the film that I wanted to see. Instead, Mat is a biased story of a billion-dollar industry that must have tons of skeletons in its closet. But it didn't even open the closet door.

1:42 - R for adult language and violent content

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