Jim “The Anvil” Neidhart passed away on August 13th, 2018. In the 1980s and early 1990s, the World Wrestling Federation was dominated by larger-than-life characters like Neidhart, entertainers from a different plane of reality populated by demigods. Less idols than sentient cocktails of baser impulses, The Hart Foundation and their peers roared through our world with little care for decorum, acknowledging only the seemingly-arbitrary set of rules laid out by the referees of their in-ring battles. The rules of engagement were necessary only in that they ensured the fighters would eventually be forced to momentarily end hostilities, and even under these conditions we knew that disqualification rulings were opportunities for unsanctioned mayhem, that victories were mere way stations.

The April 28, 1990 broadcast of Saturday Night’s Main Event begins with a monologue by The Ultimate Warrior, the resident Cosmic Cimmerian of the WWF, in which he vows “to walk where no man has ever been” and promises to reach “the outer limits,” screaming each word from behind raised fists. Warrior was Conan The Barbarian meets Ozymandias. He seemed to look forward to the bleak and empty destiny he imagined at the end of his battles, wandering alone as champion of all that he succeeded in obliterating. He didn’t so much promise to reshape reality so much as desire one where he could rule alone and unchallenged.

The Anvil brought a manic, delightful energy to his backstage promos. He stood out even in the outlandish landscape of professional wrestling populated at the time by Warrior, Hulk Hogan, The Macho Man Randy Savage, and many others. Whereas these legends leaned heavily on long-winded fantasies outlining their triumph in the face of insurmountable or unprecedented odds, The Anvil let his laughter do the talking and left his partner Bret “The Hitman” Hart to justify the fighting that was to come.

Later in this episode of Main Event, Jesse ‘The Body” Ventura (dressed in tacky urban cowboy attire to acknowledge the Texas setting of the evening’s proceedings) gets a quick word in with Hart and Neidhart before their match against The Rockers. Ventura rambles for a minute or so to provide some context for what we are about to see (a sample: “You’re hungry….you’re in shape…”), then Bret calls out the “pair of teeny-boppers,” setting up this rare televised feud (for the period) between babyfaces as a contest between veterans and rookies who have yet to earn their stripes. Neidhart mainly seems to care about delivering a joke in which he threatens The Rockers with a “Hart Attack” and warns them that they’ll be joining the tag team of Demolition “in the coronary unit.” He then cackles at his own joke and spirals off-screen. It doesn’t seem to matter who is waiting for him in the ring.

In August of 1990, The Hart Foundation did battle with the Mad Max castaways known as Demolition at Summerslam for the WWF Tag Team Championship belts. Prior to arriving to the ring, Hart and Neidhart are interviewed by “Mean” Gene Okerlund, and their interlocutor can barely keep a straight face during the antics of The Anvil. Hart continues to harp about experience, questioning Demolition’s decision to use new recruit Crush in a contest with ring veterans.

“What about you, Anvil? What do you think?” Okerlund asks. “Think?!” Anvil laughs. “They don’t pay me to think! They pay me to be tough, like an anvil. Hence the name, right? RIGHT?!” Hart tells his partner to calm down and explains to Okerlund that he’s a little anxious. But Anvil gets the final word, returning once again to a ridiculous “Hart” pun and explaining that once the match is over, “Demolition will be buying pacemakers by the truckload!” Except this isn’t the final word, because then The Hitman decides to quote Phil Collins for some reason. Okerlund is confused. Anvil continues to laugh.

The story of The Harts generally has a somber and serious air to it, given the tragic and early deaths of Bret’s brother Owen and his brother-in-law Davey Boy Smith, not to mention the legacy of the “Montreal Screwjob.” Anvil, like many wrestlers, died before his time: he was only 63 years old.

Anvil’s work with Bret in The Hart Foundation was likely the high point of his in-ring career in terms of screen time and popularity, though he continued to work for WWE and WCW in other tag teams, in a newer, expanded faction of The Foundation, and as an occasional solo performer. He was the “heavy” in his pairing with Bret, providing the heft of a linebacker to their fights and an ability to take on and absorb the offensive efforts of their opponents. He didn’t have the flash or the move-set of his partner; there is no equivalent to The Sharpshooter (Bret’s finishing submission move) in Anvil’s arsenal. His signature move was his laugh, a manifestation of the glee he seemed to take in what this world allowed him to do in the ring.

Anvil initially seems to lack the energy displayed in his promo work as he follows The Hitman to the ring at Summerslam, but when the camera finds him he is ready with a trademark yell. He is clearly the point person on the microphone in the pair, but he seems comfortable playing backup to man wearing the leather jacket and the sunglasses.

The match with Demolition is a two-out-of-three-falls contest, stipulations that distinguish this showdown between these teams from previous encounters and seems designed to test The Hitman’s claims about The Foundation’s veteran status. But it also seems intended to highlight what it takes to excel as a tag team in the World Wrestling Federation. Shortly after the match starts, Crush, Demolition’s new recruit and the youngest performer in the match, climbs into his ring in an attempt to double-team The Hitman. Anvil charges over to block his entry, much to the delight of the crowd. This Foundation is strong and more than capable of holding the line against the generation behind them. Demolition realize this as well, calling up their third partner towards the end of the match (literally: he has been hiding under the ring) in an attempt to win with strength in numbers. But The Legion of Doom quickly arrive ringside to increase the odds for the forces of good, allowing Bret to secure the winning pinfall in the midst of the chaos.

The match has the makings of a potential classic, had it been booked as advertised as a showcase for The Foundation’s superior ring intellect. The fans in attendance don’t seem to mind, and the arrival of the Legion of Doom to aid Hart and Neidhart seems in-line with the WWF’s interest in a kind of cartoonish world where the babyfaces were all friends and the heels conspired together (as it was in the animated universe of the 1980s animated series Hulk Hogan’s Rock n’ Wrestling). But in hindsight, the messy finish mirrors the general state of the tag team division at this point in time, a group of carbon-copied bruisers with monosyllabic names who were all dressed up with no narrative destination to go to.

The Foundation were the exception. Hart and Neidhart clearly had different temperaments, and the bond keeping them together was familial rather than a shared interest in particular kinds of spandex and facepaint (Neidhart had, in real life, married into the Hart family). There was likely much more that could have been done with the duo, but they would drop their titles somewhat unceremoniously against The Nasty Boys (kind of like Demolition with mullets instead of makeup) at Wrestlemania VII in the spring of 1991. The Hart Foundation was quietly dissolved, and Bret went on to his Hall of Fame career as a singles competitor. After a brief singles run of his own, The Anvil reappeared in a tag team with Bret’s younger brother Owen in tow, calling themselves The New Foundation. The pair parted ways quickly, as Neidhart was fired from the WWF shortly after its formation, for reasons outlined in his brother-in-law’s memoir.

The Rockers are arguably the team with the biggest long-term impact on narrative trajectories in the tag division: the superkick Shawn Michaels delivered to Marty Jannetty in 1992, a surprise attack that sent its intended target through a glass window, marked the end of their partnership in devastating fashion and set the stage for each performer’s dramatic afterlife in singles competition. I’d argue that the success of this angle limited the potential for tag team storytelling in WWE. Every new team seems to arrive with a visible expiration date, and the question of its violent dissolution is a matter of when, not if. Which is not to say that this story isn’t worth telling: the most memorable breakup of a tag team in the contemporary WWE era is likely the end of The Shield, motivated by the betrayal of Seth Rollins.

The Shield, like The Hart Foundation, were a team with little serious competition in the tag team division (aside from The Wyatt Family, a band of Gothic miscreants with supernatural powers who terrorized the WWE Universe in a manner similar to The Shield’s idea of “justice”). When long-time fans saw how “over” The Shield was getting as a team, it was clear to them that an inevitable breakup was on the horizon. The Shield was booked as a disruptive force, a collective of up-and-comers using strength in numbers to quickly make a name for themselves. The real path to superstardom, we knew, and they knew, was in singles competition, in following the path Shawn Michaels took from one half of The Rockers to eventual Hall of Fame status as “Mr. Wrestlemania.”

There are signs that alternate histories of in-ring success may materialize in the coming years. The WWE Universe is currently populated by an impressive roster of teams and factions, and even The Shield has re-formed in recent weeks. Tag team matches are often great ways to jumpstart a pay-per-view card, as we saw most recently with the electrifying opening match of NXT Takeover: Brooklyn between Moustache Mountain and The Undisputed Era. One of the most popular teams in the WWE Universe right now is The New Day, and while their dissolution has been lightly teased by various announcer teams in times of turmoil and frequently speculated upon by fans, de facto leader Kofi Kingston has noted that the group has no interest in breaking up any time soon.

But even this stated desire for longevity acknowledges that the members want to experience success as singles competitors and champions. And despite the tremendous amount of wrestling that WWE films and airs on a weekly and monthly basis, little time is generally offered to tag teams beyond championship matches, and storylines have tended to focus primarily on who is on top or who is next in line to be on top. Members of current WWE tag team divisions seem destined for undercard status: there have been only four tag team main event matches on the sixty-five PPVs since January 2014 (and two of those tag team main events were at the annual Survivor Series special, a show whose main gimmick traditionally privileges matches between four-person factions).

The Hart Foundation has clearly inspired many contemporary tag team performers, and these teams occasionally return the favor. After Neidhart’s death, The Revival paid tribute to The Anvil by deploying the Hart Attack in a Monday Night Raw match against Bray Wyatt and Matt Hardy. The Revival are a team defined by their belief that the ideal form of in-ring tag competition based on ring awareness, a toolset of fundamental moves, and a deep knowledge of wrestling’s history, is unappreciated in the modern wrestling era. They perfected their arguments on these fronts during their time in NXT, especially when set against Enzo and Big Cass, a team that (at the time) earned fan support primarily through their taunts and catchphrases behind their microphones. But their main roster run has found them struggling at times for attention, ring time, and narrative relevance. Like Neidhart they seem to be learning that you may think you’re being paid to be tough, but in fact the business of wrestling expects more from you.

Anvil’s laugh was front-and-center in the WWE’s tributes after his death, and it seems a fitting legacy for fans and performers alike. This laugh, frequently delivered in response to questions about what Anvil is doing in this world and why, is a reminder of how ultimately absurd a universe governed by wrestling is at is core. In the present day a WWE Superstar is carefully groomed to serve as a brand ambassador, adept at promotional interviews, well-versed in the corporate language they are expected to use in descriptions of the company’s product. The company carefully reviews and revises its history to align its past with present needs, making scripture out of what was once heresy. Its fans look for hidden messages in social media posts and booking decisions, speculating wildly, attempting to restore order to an unjust universe with comment threads and subversive chants. Somewhere, a man is laughing.

Questions? Comments? Jim is on Twitter @JimMc_Grath (for more academic approaches to comics, pop culture, and media studies) and @poolhalljames (if you’re more interested in out-of-context panels from comics and live-tweets about professional wrestling). You can also email him: jameskennethmcgrath[at]gmail[dot]com.











