John Morrison either isn’t going to be around much longer, or he’s going to be around forever in some capacity. I’m not sure which, but I can guarantee you one thing: his career as being in any way important is over, if it ever began in the first place.
John is incredibly talented, of that there’s no argument. His ability to translate innovative acrobatics into interesting offense (and defense) has consistently impressed. John is also really, really good looking. He’s one of the guys that benefited from the shift to HD: he gets better looking under scrutiny. And for all his criticisms of him being a poor talker, he’s shackled by the WWE rule that all white-hat good guys aren’t allowed to have interesting characteristics.
They fight the baddies, but don’t really have any agency of their own (Randy Orton is currently suffering from this issue). John Morrison’s work as a cocky villain while tagging with The Miz a few years ago proves that he can talk if he’s given a little free reign and fun material. There may be political reasons to bury him due to his girlfriend, but inter-office relationships (even if one party gets canned) has historically not been a problem. So what’s the deal? Why isn’t Morrison a thing?
John Morrison has a Rob Van Dam problem. He’s just a little too cocky, and that shines through his performances. He knows he’s more talented than the guys around him, but because we—the audience, the people with remote controls—can see it, it mutes his character. His slow-mo entrance is a villain’s entrance, his character is a villain’s character, but his moves are awe-inspiring. We—the audience, the people in the seats—don’t know what to do with him. RVD had the same problem, something that’s only been augmented in TNA: RVD as a character is a deplorable old athlete looking to make more money (he’s said as much on TV, in character), but we’re supposed to cheer him for some reason. Morrison’s cocky smile, his too-good-to-be-true physique, and his laid-back promo style (has anyone ever seen him play convincingly angry?) are simply not the characteristics that we—the audience, the people with the money—want to applaud.
John Morrison—and RVD before him—falls into the opposite of the anti-hero (or cool villain) that so many wrestlers portrayed during the Attitude Era. Whereas Nash, Hall, Austin, and Michaels were all acting like villains (but walked and talked like heroes), but we wanted to cheer. But with Morrison, he acts like a hero (but walks and talks like a villain), and we want to boo him. He’s the anti-villain, which is not nearly as effective. That’s why his response from us—the audience, the ones with audible larynxes—is tepid. In wrestling, there isn’t room for the cool hero as there is the cool villain. The cool villain is a bad man in a bad world, who’s a little more self-aware. The cool hero is just a dick.
So what’s the prescription for John Morrison? How does one make him more interesting without a) turning him heel, which is predictable, or b) completely changing his character, which is something they already did, twice? The answer, of course, is a MacGuffin. Wrestlers fight for MacGuffins all the time, usually in the form of belts or trophies. But accolades won’t work for a guy like Morrison, because having him win the Intercontinental title (or, heavens, one of the big ones) and smile in his cocky way will not illicit sympathy or catharsis. For an anti-villain, we need an anti-trophy. Something bad needs to happen to someone Morrison feels for, and Morrison has to right that wrong. Instead of fighting for something, Morrison should be fighting for someone.
Whether that’s a dying grandmother, an estranged child, or his future-endeavored girlfriend—whatever, fuck you—we need to know that Morrison is here for a reason. As it stand, the current reason for Morrison’s existence is that he likes getting beaten up by absolutely everybody, and nobody’s going to cheer that guy.
K Sawyer Paul is an author and publisher living in Toronto. He tweets and tumbls. In the wrestling world he is known for International Object.
