PProfessional wrestling has always had a unique relationship with the truth. The most obvious example of this volatile connection is kayfabe, the efforts of participants to portray everything that happens in the ring as 100% true and the agreement of spectators to accept it. In reality, however, the phenomenon extends far beyond the ring.

As author David Shoemaker puts it in the second episode of the new Netflix documentary series Mr McMahon“Nothing anyone in wrestling tells you should be taken as fact.”

Since pro wrestling’s early days as a carnival attraction, performers and behind-the-scenes staff have misled the media, fans and even themselves for reasons ranging from the benign to the sinister. Some are no longer sure where their characters end and real life begins. Promoters exaggerate their traits and obscure their problems in order to make more money, cement their legacies and avoid the consequences of any wrongdoing. WWE founder and figurehead Vince McMahon was particularly adept at this. He even managed to recover from his first resignation as WWE CEO and chairman amid allegations of sexual misconduct in 2022 before a lawsuit filed by former employee Janel Grant, alleging that McMahon subjected her to sexual assault, human trafficking, physical abuse and “extreme cruelty and degradation,” led to his resignation again in late January 2024.

It’s not easy to cover every aspect of this business honestly and thoroughly when you’re constantly having to navigate through all of the above. It’s even harder when you’re dealing with a company that’s so intent on controlling its image and manipulating its history as WWE has been over the course of its 45-year existence (or over 70 years if you count its pre-WWF origins). Some sports journalists, including people who have worked in Mr McMahonhave made brave and valuable efforts to report seriously on the subject. The Vice TV series The dark side of the ring has made some notable strides outside of WWE’s reach over the five seasons since 2019. The show’s commentators, a mix of wrestlers, promoters and pundits, can’t resist a certain amount of self-mythologizing, but have nonetheless provided in-depth insights into serious incidents involving WWE, including the horrific obliteration of Chris Benoit’s family and the infamous “Flight from Hell.”

Productions that were granted access to the company at all were unable to make it very far. Even celebrated films such as Beyond the matAnd Hitman Hart: Wrestling with the Shadowsboth released in the late 1990s, offer only fleeting glimpses of the company’s behind-the-scenes side. Most current “factual” content about WWE is produced by WWE itself, which has led to many rose-tinted portraits of stars and key moments.

When WWE announced in 2020 that it had sold a multi-part documentary series about controversial WWE co-founder and figurehead Vince McMahon, with The WrestlerBill Simmons as executive producer and Fire And Tiger KingWith Chris Smith directing and producing, there was little reason to believe they would have any better luck in penetrating the palace walls. Simmons and Smith are a respected journalist and filmmaker, respectively, with proven track records. But in the early days of this particular project, there was nothing to suggest they would be a match for the WWE machine. It didn’t help that Simmons’ previous collaboration with WWE Studios, HBO’s 2018 documentary, André the Giantwas well-made, but not particularly powerful. Nor was it promising that WWE President and Chief Revenue Officer Nick Khan raved about an early cut of the series in a third-quarter 2021 earnings call, calling it “out of this world, unbelievable.” Few experts in the field or fans with any knowledge of how WWE works – myself included – expected Simmons and Smith to take on WWE’s insular universe.

Measured by Mr McMahonThe interviews with the main subject and his most staunch yes-men like Terry “Hulk Hogan” Bollea and WWE Executive Director Bruce Pritchard – most of which were filmed before the recent sexual misconduct allegations against McMahon – were ones no one in his inner circle thought they were capable of. That might be the show’s greatest asset. Years of back-and-forth with easy questions for whitewashed productions seem to have ill-prepared McMahon for the most rudimentary journalism. He blithely boasts and confabulates, distorts easily disprovable details like attendance numbers, makes flimsy arguments (he doesn’t believe Mark Calaway, aka Undertaker, suffered a concussion during his Wrestlemania 30 match against Brock Lesnar and suggests the star’s severe physical symptoms were actually a traumatic reaction to the loss) and smugly declares that he works with the crew while speaking to them as if everyone involved sympathizes with him and no one would think to fact-check or follow up. All Simmons and Smith have to do to make this footage more than a hollow and inflated tribute to McMahon is to revisit the basics of their work. And they do.

It’s impossible to guess what the tone of the show might have been before the sexual abuse allegations against McMahon, mentioned in several episodes and discussed unflinchingly in the finale, halted production and shifted the focus in 2022. But the version that exists is a far cry from the adulation that fans of the league are familiar with. (In another departure from the formula, WWE Studios is no longer associated with the production.) Throughout the six-part series, the Mr McMahon The crew gives their titular hero a chance to tell his side of the story, starting with his childhood in poverty and spanning four decades of ups and downs in the history of the WWF that became the WWE. Then, they intersperse interviews with industry leaders and experts, archival news and footage from McMahon’s own programs to provide greater context for what he’s saying – and often outright refute it.

The show’s coverage is quite extensive, touching on a number of serious issues that McMahon and his company prefer to gloss over or avoid, including labor rights violations and union busting, the steroid trial, the ring boy scandal, referee Rita Chatterton’s rape allegations against McMahon, the suspicious death of Jimmy “Superfly” Snuka’s girlfriend, Benoit’s double murder and subsequent suicide, the rape of Ashley Massaro during a WWE appearance on a military base and the company’s efforts to cover it up, and the current civil lawsuit against McMahon for sex trafficking and the subsequent federal criminal investigation.

The interviewees that the series has brought together are largely up to the task of discussing these and many other topics. Former wrestlers Anthony White, aka Tony Atlas, and Bret Hart give clear (by wrestling standards) insights into the era in which they worked for the WWF. The Wrestling ObserverDave Meltzer does an excellent job of analyzing the history of the WWE in a way that is comprehensive enough for wrestling fans, but still understandable to the layperson. Authors Sharon Mazer and David Shoemaker provide important cultural criticism. Veteran New York post Columnist Phil Mushnick speaks candidly about his decades of reporting on McMahon’s professional and personal misdeeds, while reporters Khadeeja Safdar, Ted Mann and Joe Palazzolo offer insights into their recent investigations into his crimes.

Mr McMahon isn’t perfect. While I realize that time constraints would make it nearly impossible to thoroughly examine every scandal surrounding WWE over the course of six episodes, some of them are barely mentioned here. (Netflix described the series in marketing materials as being compiled from more than 200 hours of interviews with McMahon alone.) It’s telling that Snuka was mentioned at all, but it’s a shame that there wasn’t time, resources, or interest to investigate long-standing rumors that the then-WWF may have played a role in covering up his involvement in the death of Nancy Argentino.

Some periods of WWE history are examined more thoroughly than others. Post-Attitude Era coverage, in particular, would have benefited from more cultural criticism and expert opinion. It’s odd that the series seems content to allow modern stars like Cody Rhodes to insist that the current version of the company is supportive and free of the problems that have plagued the rest of its history, without the pushback that nearly every other claim receives. (Though it’s convenient for Netflix, which will begin streaming WWE Raw in 2025, that their show is apparently entirely separate from anything unsavory covered in that series.)

Despite its minor flaws and limited scope, the series remains a solid examination of McMahon’s life and work. I’ve been following wrestling for too long and have seen too many improbable comebacks from McMahon to say with any certainty that he won’t bounce back again, but I believe this will permanently damage his ability to control his own story. All of the usual tricks he’s used throughout his career to enrich himself and avoid responsibility are laid bare here. He mythologizes and exaggerates the details of Wrestlemania III, and the producers immediately follow up with actual attendance figures and background information on the stars. He dismisses proven cases of injuries as isolated incidents, when the series has already made a solid case that they are consistent with his behavior patterns and the corporate culture he fosters. And he keeps trying to draw a clear line between himself and his alter ego, pinning every accusation and criticism he’s received on him. (In fact, he still does. In a statement shared on X on September 23, McMahon accused producers of confusing him with his character.) But the entire show serves as compelling evidence that no clear line exists between person and role.

Mr. Vince McMahon may have thought he could talk and excuse his way out of everything that the people involved in this production put on him when he agreed to participate, but in the end it is clear that the only person he has worked successfully with is himself.