Beyond the Mat Review

Back when adults watching wrestling was a taboo, embarrassing hobby, Beyond the Mat pulls a positive outlook on the older generation of fans. Their love of sports entertainment and the theatre around it is mesmerising, and very well documented. But what sets Beyond the Mat out from the rest of those style of documentaries is that it does exactly what the title would suggest, it goes far beyond the public perceptions of what wrestling really is. What it does not just to fans, but to the performers who throw their bodies at canvas for years, the mental and physical toll of such exertion in sports entertainment is documented well in this piece from director Barry W. Blaustein.  

By far the biggest strength of Beyond the Mat is looking into how difficult and dangerous it is to get into, and survive the business. From independent circuit wrestlers struggling on $25 per match (when their booker decides to pay them), to those who have made it to the top but are struggling to get over with the crowd on an awfully written gimmick. We follow so many different trails, and not many really offer up all that much in the way of fruitful, or memorable moments. Terry Funk and Mick Foley are by far the most interesting figures documented, and even they feel rather sidelined or shunted. It’d be easier to read up on the history surrounding their careers, injecting the odd clip or interview here or there, than to watch this film.  

That’s clearly never a good thing, and it’s problems like this that plague the film, stopping it from becoming a documentary that feels worthy of the time it takes to present each subject. Jake Roberts’ battle with addiction and the harsh personal history he deals with is glossed over without so much a care in the world, and it’s that feeling of hopelessness and desperation that I was expecting to see tapped into. Whilst it never really occurs, Blaustein’s direction showcases a man starstruck by brief encounters with the heroes of his childhood. There are times throughout Beyond the Mat where the editing and style comes into question. It’s easy to question at times whether or not there’s any good reason for the inclusion of certain clips. The family life of Foley is shown, all backed by a cover of Stand By Me, intercut with chair shots delivered by Dwayne Johnson. It’s bizarre, a feeling of forced emotion, solely there to try and inject theatre into a moment that would be touching without all the gloss and makeup.  

A time capsule of just how serious the profession was back then, and how closely guarded the secrets were for generations. The history of the documentary is impressive, the interviews with legends of the industry just before they got their shot at stardom (or years after it) is a phenomenally interesting perspective. However, Blaustein’s narration and consistent desire to put the World Wrestling Federation on a pedestal is a jarring outlook to have, especially when he finds himself knee-deep in the injuries, politics and problems at the heart of the industry.