We live in an age of content, where greed and the instant gratification of social media has created an imperfect storm for storytellers. Twist endings and post-credit scenes, foreshadowing sequels years away from release, have left fans wanting more — without requiring a great deal of substance.
In the years since the global COVID-19 pandemic, the word “cinematic” has infiltrated professional wrestling nomenclature. The sentiment, shared by the likes of Roman Reigns and Paul Heyman, implies that professional wrestling can ascend to a higher plane of existence.
You simply can’t reinvent the wheel.
Professional wrestling isn’t prestige television, nor is it the Marvel Cinematic Universe. It’s an art form unto itself that tells its tales through the catharsis of combat. In their self-styled “Hollywood Ending,” Toni Storm and Mariah May tackled that sentiment.
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This match works on two levels: as a standalone match and within its greater context. The context being that this is the end of a trilogy of wars waged over the women’s world championship, cleverly weaving in elements from their 14-month-long saga.
It’s also the sixth match in a pay-per-view rife with grudge matches, many of which suffer from the aforementioned imperfect storm: the bloat of “lore” and an inability to exercise brevity.
“Hangman” Page could have settled his score with MJF using Christopher Daniels’ Angel’s Wing, but he opted to punctuate the affair with a Buckshot Lariat.
Swerve Strickland could have put Ricochet away with a Vertebreaker through the table and the subsequent House Call, but chose to enter a second finishing stretch instead.
Kyle Fletcher couldn’t meet his comeuppance with a Spanish Fly from the top of the cage, followed by the Hidden Blade, because Will Ospreay wanted to kill him with the Tiger Driver ‘91.
It’s a classic example of Chekhov’s Gun misfiring. All too often, AEW’s pay-per-view spectacles fail to eliminate what’s inessential. Narrative elements are either totally absent or blatantly overused, bereft of any subtlety.
Of all the matches on this show, it’s this no-holds-barred, falls-count anywhere match that improbably finds the common sense that exists somewhere in the middle.
May famously betrayed Storm at the top of the entryway, shortly after she won the Owen Hart Foundation Tournament. That’s precisely where this match begins and, ultimately, where it ends.
Everything in between carries with it that same keen attention to detail. Storm using the “shoe,” May’s champagne celebration, Storm whipping May with the championship belt… It all feels pertinent.
Even when Storm and May steal each other’s finishing maneuvers, it doesn’t feel self-indulgent, because they’ve both quite literally portrayed the other.
What they managed to accomplish in fewer than 13 minutes is astonishing, drawing from 14 months’ worth of television in a way that feels organic and purposeful.
The only thing this match could be accused of exercising an excess of is blood, which Storm spills profusely. It’s only fitting that a story of betrayal ends in bloodshed, but Storm’s blade job in the early goings is genuinely horrific. Still, the gravity it provides is undeniable, sending both women spiraling towards a violent crescendo.
The “Hollywood Ending’s” billing was worthy of this extraordinary saga. The allusions are plentiful, but never insist upon themselves. Nothing is contrived. There aren’t any extended finishing sequences or superfluous near-falls. Everything matters, because they eliminated everything that was inessential. Together, they created something both theatrical and cinematic, without forsaking this precious medium of storytelling.
It’s a modern masterpiece.
RATING: ****¾
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