You Cannot Kill David Arquette

Any wrestling fan will tell you that, when wrestling is at its best, the show and the sport blend to the point where you cannot see the line between real and scripted. It is a situation only professional wrestling really has to contend with; at no time when you’re watching a movie, even the worst movie, do you have that knowledge of the medium’s scripted nature eroding the suspension of disbelief. Not in movies or books or TV, only pro wrestling. And documentaries. Orson Welles’ “F For Fake” and the Madonna biopic “Truth or Dare” used the format to play with expectations and build a narrative. It was impossible to know how much of what you were seeing was staged because the cameras were there, how much was crafted by editing, and how much was real. “You Cannot Kill David Arquette”, by bringing together the documentary format AND pro wrestling, is faced with this issue, and is all the better for it. The story of the documentary follows David, 19 years removed from his involvement in WCW in 2000, where, as a publicity stunt (and against his will), he was crowned WCW World Champion. This development made him, quite unfairly, the focal point of ire for fans; while he was the person on screen, he was not the person who made the decision to go ahead with the controversial stunt. As such, his involvement in wrestling derailed his acting career, and his becoming champion made him a laughing stock in wrestling. Now 19 years later, he feels like he needs to fix this, and endeavors to get back into wrestling to prove himself and his love of the business. The doc follows this journey, as he tries to wing it at first, only to find out it’s a lot harder than he thought. So, he seeks out training, from an old friend from WCW, as well as training from luchadores (Mexican wrestlers). Once trained, he comes back to America to hopefully break into the business and prove himself. Now, I know much of this is real. His heart attack, suffered a year before, really happened. The matches really happened. The incident at the end of the movie in a match with Nick Gage really happened. But the training montage with Diamond Dallas Page ... was that real? Was the “street wrestling” (staging mini-matches in the street at intersections for change from drivers) he does as part of his luchadore training real? Was the initial backyard wrestling match real, or the signing at the convention the day before real? There are so many shots that are meant to be real life but feel more like staged shots to sell a story. Is that the intention? It’s impossible to know. Pro wrestling no longer hides behind a curtain and pretends to be an authentic sport. It peeled back the curtain years ago. But what it doesn’t do is tell you where the line is drawn. This documentary embraces that mentality to the fullest; where do the artifices end and reality begin? Who says there ARE artifices here? Maybe there is, and maybe there isn’t. Like “F For Fake” and “Truth Or Dare”, you’re not supposed to know. All you know is that SOME of it is very real. The injuries, the matches, the ire and disrespect from fans and wrestlers, his family’s concern, the grotesque injury near the end, and the touching finale ... there’s enough reality there to feel comfortable knowing that, even if there is artifice, it’s only in the service of giving real life a little more color. As for whether or not this movie does any favors for its titular subject ... that’s for the viewer to decide. Is this a troubled man looking to heal an old wound and take back the narrative of his life? Is this a pathetic man-child going through a ridiculous mid-life crisis? Should we applaud him for losing fifty pounds and getting into excellent shape on the downhill side of the 40’s, good enough to compete in a highly athletic endeavor like pro wrestling? Or is he a selfish asshole that is putting his health — even his life — on the line to grasp the fleeting vestiges of his youth? The movie is constructed in such a way that it never tells you outright. Unlike wrestling, the good guys and bad guys aren’t decided for you. There’s no narrator, and only rarely are there talking head interviews. The documentary is just that: a document, not a story. A recitation of history, not a judgment of those involved. It can be touching and moving, repulsive and horrific, bizarre and uncomfortable, but it lets you decide what emotion fits where, whether you’re intimately familiar with Arquette’s wrestling history or not. It gives you all you need to watch and learn and judge for yourself.