The Business of Kayfabe

by Sean Oliver

  I was beyond excited to have Bret Hart, former WWE world champion and the major star of the company for several years in the 1990s, come on and cover the year 1992. I was dealing with Bret’s agent Kirk, as well as Bret’s assistant Rafaela. The show was a series of ups and downs with headaches unique to owning a production company.

  We booked Bret’s shoot for February 2014 at the Courtyard by Marriott at Newark. I sent the particulars to Kirk the agent, namely the money and a shooting script. It’s obviously preferred that the talent flip through it and prepare in advance. Sometimes there are time constraints, but we sent the script well in advance.

  We’d gotten a large breakout room and had the event catered, as we wanted Bret absolutely as comfortable as possible. Most times a standard suite is sufficient for our shoots. We toss the furniture into an adjacent room in the suite and build the set in the living room area. But for this one, I wanted a lot of space and decent food, so the hotel restaurant handled the catering. The room was large so we were able to designate a fair amount of space to a few dining tables with linens—a proper setup.

  Bret was a film geek like me and he’d been on sets of all sizes and comfort levels. It is a high priority for me that our guests are comfortable and happy when we roll. So we got Bret’s meal preferences, right down to the red wine. That afternoon, we loaded in and I checked with the hotel staff immediately to ensure the promptness of the dinner delivery for Bret, his assistant, and our crew. The breakout room was set up and we were met by Rafaela who had some troubling but manageable news—Bret’s flight was delayed. No big deal really. It happens in this business all the time. I can count on one hand the number of times that my mental timeline of load-in, flight, pickup, meal, shoot, wrap, and load-out goes according to my estimation. My wife can count them too.

  The reason for the delayed flight was fog. It dragged on and on, eventually approaching the time he was slated to land. He was on the phone with Rafaela from the airport so I had Rafaela tell him to ask the airline people if there were other flights that could get him into Philly or Delaware, away from the fog of North Jersey. We could go get him down there and drive him up to us. This show was too important.

  Well, the shit was everywhere I guess because they were delayed into Philly and everywhere near us. The clock kept laughing at me and Bret checked in with Rafaela every half hour or so. 7:30 p.m., 8:00 p.m., 8:30 p.m. Oh, good—here’s the fucking feast being wheeled in by the hotel staff.

  Then Bret called again. They cancelled the flights. That was it. I was sitting in a $650 breakout room with $300 in food and drink, plus crew. Good thing they were on salary. I turned to the crew and put the best face on and told them it was long overdue that we sat down together for a nice dinner. We all treated Rafaela the assistant to a fine meal. Bret was very apologetic but it wasn’t his fault.

  It turned out that Bret was soon booked for the Legends of Ring convention out here in New Jersey, so I reached out to Rafaela and Kirk the agent. We locked in a Friday night shoot in June, the night before the convention. Everything was good.

  June soon came and so did Bret. We had the staff at the Crowne Plaza set up our breakout room with proper dining accouterments again, though Yogi’s Sports Bar at the resort was handling the food. The Bistro at the Courtyard this was not. Bret would have eaten better back in February.

  Bret arrived from the airport and joined us in the Middlesex Room. We all sat down around the long table and began eating as I waited for some questions from Bret about the show, or its format, or at least some of the events he’d come across in the shooting script I emailed Kirk that he wanted more details about. But he didn’t say much. He asked me nothing. He didn’t eat much, and if you’ve been to Yogi’s then you know why. Finally, after a pretty quiet and awkward meal, I leaned back in my chair and asked Bret if he wanted to go through anything in advance.

  “Like what?” he asked.

  “Well, the format is a little unconventional, I realize,” I said. “Sometimes the talent likes to ask about an event they came across in the shooting script that they don’t remember. We could even show some video of the event if it was televised.”

  “What script?”

  You fucking kidding me?

  “Bret, how much did Kirk tell you about the project, about our Timelines?”

  “Nothing.”

  I now had to tell Bret that he’d be painstakingly examining all the details of an entire year in his professional life, all of them having occurred 22 years ago, mind you. I know my initial reaction to this news was a little unseasoned.

  “What?! I send him a goddamn script six months ago!”

  “I never got it,” he said. I leaned in and softened my tone and explained our series, and the year-by-year analysis of all the decisions of the company.

  “This really sounds like something right up my alley,” he said, perking up as much as Bret perks. Thank God he said that though. It allowed the blood to drain back into my body from my head. He wasn’t intimidated by the concept in the least, and he was a fantastic guest.

  The point of this story is that the innovation of the Timeline series depends entirely on the ability of the guest to recall the minutiae of the events and years we are covering. Can you tell me what you were thinking every day at work 22 years ago? I wanted Bret to do just that. And he did. But the heart of that series was in jeopardy because his agent didn’t bother to give him a script or one iota of information regarding what we expected of him when he arrived on the set, other than ascertaining he wanted a grilled chicken salad.

  Back when we first launched the Timeline: The History of WWE series, we were running a contest in conjunction with a pro wrestling website wherein free copies of one of our DVDs were given away. One of the winners was a worker in the media library of WWE and WWE Magazine. When I saw the address to which we were shipping the free DVD, Titan Tower, I dropped the winner an email. He was very complimentary and indicated his co-workers were big fans of ours. I had a bunch of our DVDs shipped to Titan Tower, in particular the entire Timeline: The History of WWE series to that point.

  About six months later, WWE Magazine released an issue called “The History of WWE,” and through the center of the entire magazine ran…you got it…a timeline. The historical events depicted in the magazine were told via text pop ups very much like the style of our onscreen timeline. My initial reaction was anger.

  Then WWE announced their new John Morrison DVD would feature questions from the fans and he would answer them on-camera. Our most popular series at the time was YouShoot, featuring the unheard of concept of talent submitting to an interview comprised of fan questions. No one had ever done anything like this before us. I felt this was a final straw and, childishly, I got hot pissed.

  I was forgetting the innovation arc, and I also sensed I was missing an opportunity. I spoke with Anthony and decided we had to do something with this. It was too obvious a theft for the penalty not to be called. We had to throw a flag somehow. We were in agreement that tact was needed here. There’s nothing worse than a crybaby, bellowing to almost no one, “They stole from us!” We couldn’t be that guy.

  What we arrived at was a “Vince Loves KC” campaign. We created very funny artwork and launched the campaign which posited that with such blatant coincidences there was only one possible answer—the captain of the football team, Vince McMahon, the CEO of the billion dollar WWE, was secretly in love with little, ol’ us! The tone of the campaign was very tongue-in-cheek, told as an unlikely love affair. It was hilarious and made the point, while positioning us accurately as a good-natured company that “gets it.” There’s a confidence that is exuded when dealing with an issue in such a fashion.

  We even had a successful “Why Does Vince Love KC?” essay contest. We got tons of submissions and posted the top 10 on our site and sent the winners free DVDs. And some of the winning essays were absolutely hilarious. Our fans were writing fictional stories about Vince McMahon sweating our company. It was a
very successful campaign that got us good press.

  In the Timeline: The History of WWE example, as well as the TNA example, those responses to our product, which initially pissed me off, were actually just additional confirmation that we were innovators. We were advancing. It was also just the tip of the iceberg.

  It will drive you mildly insane to have a slew of consistent copycats emulating your products. But there’s a much healthier point of view in seeing that they are only answering your gunfire. They’re only returning your fire because you are doing the right things. Now, move onto the next thing.

  10. The Idea Is Not the Innovation

  GENE SIMMONS LOOKED at me and smiled. I kept my cool, not letting the inner KISS mark explode to the surface. I wanted to be taken seriously—this was a pitch, and I knew I only had a few minutes. I never talked about this publicly before, but I was the creator of KISScream—the branded, frozen treats to be sold at venues across North America during the legendary band’s summer 2004 tour.

  Kayfabe Commentaries was not yet born and I was acting and working for a large investment bank on West 52nd Street in Manhattan. One night, jolted with inspiration, I sat at a graphics computer and designed a mock-up of ice cream cups. I knew the band would be doing a summer shed-tour, meaning hot, outside venues all season long. I used some KISS branded elements I stole from the Internet and adorned my revolution in rock n’ roll frozen desserts with them.

  I named the flavors: Strutterfinger, Rocky Road All Nite, and King of the Nighttime Swirl. Talk about a home run. I was the most excited person in the room, as my co-workers looked at me like an overgrown child, and my boss Dave was totally annoyed by this distraction to my paid duties. I pounded that bitch out until midnight and headed home with plans to hit FedEx the next morning.

  I sent the proposal to Gene and waited for the call I knew would come. But after a couple of months, it hadn’t. So I had to take this to Gene himself. I’d just finished reading his book Sex Money KISS and he touted the balls needed to support the entrepreneurial spirit he so valued. If anyone could understand a young, wide-eyed entrepreneur-at-heart jumping him and demanding an answer on that proposal, it was Gene. I’d get to him when he was in New York for his book tour.

  Maybe he hadn’t seen the KISScream papers. Some flunky probably tossed it aside, jealous they hadn’t thought of it and brought it to Gene themselves. It was probably Tommy Thayer.

  It was only a matter of weeks before Gene would probably sign a deal with me right on the spot. Would he need to partner Paul Stanley in on this decision for KISScream? Maybe he could get Paul on the phone right there and get his approval. Gene would probably fly me out to his house in L.A. to ink this as soon as he could. The summer tour was coming—we would need to get right into production sampling ingredients. Or maybe Tommy could handle that while Gene and I worked on some movie scripts in his home office.

  I finally stood before Gene one spring afternoon downtown in Manhattan. I shook his hand and introduced him to my wife.

  “Wife?” Gene said. “That is not a term I’m familiar with.” Gene was proudly and publicly marriage-phobic, enhancing his image as a cocksman of the rock n’ roll world.

  “You should try it sometime,” I said. I was nervous, but I knew I was done with small talk. I launched right into KISScream—the concept, the summer tour, the whole thing. I can’t remember everything I said, but I know he was quick to try and cut me off.

  “That’s just an idea,” he said. I didn’t even listen. I plowed right through him.

  “Strutterfinger, Gene.” He smiled. “King of the Nighttime Swirl!” He actually chuckled at that. I stopped and threw open my outstretched hands—what do you think?

  “Do you own an ice cream company?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Those are ideas,” he reiterated. “Anyone can have an idea. ‘I want to build the tallest building in the world.’ Okay, great. How?”

  “I don’t know.” And right there, the wind was out of my sails. I sounded like Butthead. “Uhhh…huh huh…I don’t know.” But it immediately made sense to me.

  Your innovation has to follow through to execution. Innovation, despite common positioning, is not the creative idea. It may sound a little spiritual, but innovation is the concept-to-product thoroughfare of an idea previously unperfected and unconsidered, and the entire process therein. If you have a great idea but you can’t do it, where is the innovation? When I’m sitting in traffic I sometimes fantasize about a car that can hover above the grind and fly me to my destination. Can’t do anything about it though. Innovation? Nope. Crazy? Perhaps.

  In the entertainment business, ideas are a dime-a-dozen. With the advent of digital video cameras and editing programs, it seems everyone is a “filmmaker” today. Every yo-yo that buys a camera is making a “film” now. (Ironically enough, none are being shot on film. They wouldn’t know how.) And the reason that we’re cursed with this proliferation of wannabe artistes is the misconception of the power of the idea.

  Because of my background in film and TV, I’ve always been unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of pitches and scripts from bankers, brokers, and the like. How does anyone feel justified in believing they can make a seamless entrée into a field that it took me years of college and even more years of professional participation to hone? I never sat in my doctor’s office and said, “I’m gonna get me a stethoscope, lab coat, some gauze, and start treating patients.” I have as about as many qualifications to make that proclamation as the banker that says, “I have a cool idea, I’m gonna make a film.”

  It’s the fraudulent allure of “the idea.” Great, you have an idea. You wanna make KISScream. Now what?

  An idea is a sperm without an egg. Syd Field, the venerable screenwriting teacher and author, tells of the telltale sign of the professional screenwriter versus the amateur screenwriter—the amateur shields his script idea. He or she is always afraid to share their new idea, fearful that someone will steal their very original screenplay concept, in which a few people pull off a big heist, or some shit.

  The experienced screenwriter knows that no matter who hears the idea for his or her screenplay, no one will be able to execute it like they can. The skill isn’t in the aha! moment in the shower, but rather in the tireless work and artistry which brings that idea to life for the world. It’s the compromises, the war against compromises, the production issues, the personality clashes, the glorious successes in the struggles that change our world—that’s the magic of innovation.

  How many truly original ideas exist anyway? Movies, TV shows, songs—most art is relatively derivative of something else nowadays. But that’s okay because what you do with it is the only thing that matters.

  Apple’s iPods were just the Sony Walkman (for anyone under 30, they were those black boxes with headphones we put cassettes into and walked around listening to) in a digital form. Our show Guest Booker is just a talk show. YouShoot is just the last few minutes of a studio talk show, wherein the host takes the mic up into the crowd and the audience gets to ask the guest some questions. But what did Apple do with the Walkman? What did KC do with audience participation?

  Apple took the idea and concept of the Sony Walkman and put a wheel on it, gave it a stylish makeover, added a linear menu system, and made your music digital. At KC we took the most provocative figures in pro wrestling, put them on YouShoot, and constructed the entire show with your emails and videos. I’m just there as ringmaster. We turned some of your questions into games. Innovation is in the crafting and the re-crafting.

  Innovation is tied closely to The Blood—if you’re a passionate participant in your market, you’ll tell yourself what’s needed in that market. You’ll know it instinctively. An artist working on canvas everyday of their life will know what qualities are missing from that market and, upon opening their own business, will fill that need. Her canvasses will be well-stretched and perhaps the artist will develop a gizmo to aid them in the securing of the canv
ass to the frame. No market research is needed.

  Now, as the product line develops, there may be some more research needed. Once the initial need is fulfilled there will likely be questions regarding the consumer’s preference for certain options. The entrepreneurial artist will need to know what sizes of canvas are popular. She may prefer to work on smaller canvas, but she will need to know the demand for larger canvasses. The Blood will give life to great things, but it does not preclude the need for research.

  The artist knows the companies that produce the best quality paint in her medium, which for this example we will assume is oil. But she may need to research acrylic. She will also need to research color. There’s no doubt her shelves will be stocked with the best quality oil paint, but the preference of color is something that will be worth exploring. The artist prefers to work in earth tones, but she may discover a real consumer demand for primary colors. Maybe even more of a demand. So she will decide to stock their shelves with both earth tones and primary colors at a 40/60 ratio. Or maybe not. Maybe she will decide to position their company as a boutique shop, with a limited supply of only the finest lines of select items. It’ll challenge her volume a bit. Hopefully the higher prices can make up for that.

  At Kayfabe Commentaries we were passionate enough consumers in our market that we knew what programming was needed. There was plenty of trial and error, planning, and discussion, but we knew the void that sat in our market. Guest Booker took shoot-style programming to a whole new level. The allure of the first shoot-style interviews that hit the market in the mid-90s was in the voyeuristic peek we were getting into the once closed and protected world of pro wrestling. After years and years of peeking though, we needed even more exclusivity. How much further could we get inside?

  Guest Booker was born out of that desire for more. We sought to take the sport’s bookers (decision makers or writers for the sport) and delve into their creative process. In essence, we’d try and get further inside the business by having the architects themselves take us there. Then, through a booking exercise that’s performed on every show, we see them demonstrate those skills in real time. It’s akin to profiling the writers of Friends and then having them write an episode of Star Trek. We tape the process and allow you to witness how it all comes together.