Netflix’s Vince McMahon documentary is a profound disappointment

The new documentary “Mr. McMahon” says a lot, but almost nothing of consequence.

If you hoped to actually learn anything about WWE patriarch Vince McMahon from Netflix’s six-part documentary Mr. McMahon there’s but one suggestion to offer: Don’t waste your time.

Despite opening with a taciturn McMahon sitting in a ring and promising an exhaustive dive into his decisions in wrestling, quickly the tone of Mr. McMahon changes to become far too similar to every wrestling documentary that came before it. Light on information, skipping over key parts of history, and guided largely by a cadre of past and present WWE employees, all of whom seem more concerned with shielding the brand than telling the story of Vince McMahon, which is woven into the fabric of the company — as much as people want to keep them separate.

This doesn’t mean McMahon is presented well. In fact, the takeaway from Mr. McMahon is that Vince is a singular-minded, power-hungry capitalist, whose five decades in wrestling involved shaping his entire life around what’s best for business and growing WWE, at the expense of having meaningful relationships with his family.

The core issue is that none of this is new information. These are all known quantities when it comes to McMahon, and that’s supremely disappointing considering that the creators of Mr. McMahon had a level of access to Vince nobody has had before. Instead the documentary series is overwhelmingly a history of WWE from the 1970s to present, with a few choice sound bytes sprinkled in from the man himself.

Elements are touched on, but given far too cursory attention considering the breadth and level of access purported from the outset. These under-explored elements of McMahon’s life include:

Breaking off from the National Wrestling Alliance in 1982 and dismantling his competition by breaking agreements inside wrestling, signing top talent and destroying companies in his wake.
Hulk Hogan’s role in busting union organization inside the WWE locker room and subsequent black-balling of Jesse Ventura, who was serving as a labor organizer.
Unfair labor practices involving lack of health care, branding wrestlers as “independent contractors” for tax purposes, as well as Vince’s cozy relationship with lawmakers to protect his company.
Casually justifying the death of Owen Hart in 1999 as a “manufacturing defect,” despite there being ample evidence that shortcuts and unsafe decisions were made in the lead-up to his untimely death.
The ramifications of a 200-day-per-year WWE work schedule which unquestionably contributed to the early death of wrestlers who felt forced into living on a regime of steroids and painkillers to allow them to wrestle every night.
A long-standing history of creative retribution against talent that questioned McMahon or had workplace disputes.

All of these stories are touched on, but are given at most three-to-five minutes of airtime each, which is unbelievably shallow in a documentary series which lasts over six hours of total runtime.

It’s one thing to have the expectation that McMahon himself won’t offer up much information of note on these topics, but interview subjects throughout the series are seldom pressed into giving any insight into McMahon. Despite the negativity about Vince in Mr. McMahon it’s counteracted by the likes of Hulk Hogan, The Undertaker, John Cena, Steve Austin, The Rock, Cody Rhodes, and others — all of whom are willing to extol McMahon’s virtues as a genius promoter, a “father figure,” and offering glowing praise of the man who made them millionaires.

No time is given to the wide swath of wrestlers who formerly worked for McMahon and who have been critical of him. It’s also notable that every wrestler who appears on Mr. McMahon is either currently employed by WWE, or on a “legends contract,” which pays former talent in exchange for maintaining appearance rights. Yes, various reporters and journalists make occasional appearances, but the presentation of these media members is often as “outsiders,” who don’t really understand the business, at which point it’s back to a WWE-sponsored voice to further the story.

It’s impossible to feel like this decision was unintentional, especially considering Netflix signed a 10-year, $5 billion deal with WWE to air Raw on Monday nights beginning in January of 2025. The ever-present desire to divorce McMahon’s actions from WWE, or wholly ignore company involvement in key moments in history feels like an attempt to protect the brand with whom Netflix has a deal.

The most damning critique of McMahon comes at the close of the final episode, which notes that interviews with Vince occurred before the 2022 allegations about sexual misconduct, and notes that McMahon walked away. There are interviews with the reporters at the Wall Street Journal who broke the McMahon stories, but shockingly makes no attempt to interview Janel Grant, the woman at the center of the most damning allegations against Vince McMahon and other former WWE employees. Grant’s lawyer maintains neither she, nor her client were contacted by the creators of Mr. McMahon, which is a mind-boggling decision considering air time is given to these allegation.

We are left with a multi-part documentary series which says a lot, but very little of which is unique or important. Mr. McMahon is a squandered opportunity to dive into the life of one of professional wrestling’s most powerful men, and instead leaves the viewer wondering what was left on the cutting room floor. If you entered this series knowing nothing about Vince McMahon or WWE you would come away knowing more about the industry, but for anyone who hoped Mr. McMahon would finally shine a light on some of wrestling’s most pivotal moments, the result is sorely lacking.