Wrestling fans and drama fans alike will both find plenty to enjoy in Netflix’s new five-part series The Queen of Villains. Releasing on September 19, the show follows the wrestling career of Kaoru “Dump” Matsumoto (played by comedienne and America’s Got Talent alumna Yuriyan Retriever), the first woman to become a main-event-level heel in Japanese women’s wrestling (joshi puroresu). And considering how the stories, conflicts, and interpersonal issues affect both Matsumoto and those around her, The Queen of Villains makes for an apt title since Matsumoto is far from the only antagonist in the show.
Much of the early plot is historically accurate: the opening episode paints a sobering picture of Matsumoto’s impoverished childhood which is worsened by her father’s alcoholism, abusiveness, and infidelities. Fueled by her desire to become strong enough to murder him, Matsumoto finds solace in joshi wrestling and becomes a huge fan of Jackie Sato, at the time the biggest star in All Japan Women’s Pro-Wrestling (AJW, which is renamed All Nippon Women’s Pro-Wrestling on the show, likely for trademark reasons).
But Matsumoto is far from the only young girl to be swept up in joshimania: hundreds if not thousands of excited superfans audition for AJW but very few make it. Fewer still make it past the grueling physical training needed to become a full pro. And those that do have a timer on them from the very first bell since, under AJW’s strict rules, every woman had to retire at age 25, regardless of star power. Yet this age rule doesn’t come up as a plot point in the show, which seems like a misstep in the story because it ends up being critical to the company’s later misfortunes time and again.
As Matsumoto tries to earn her stripes, she ends up being surpassed by other women either in the same training class or slightly above her, including her closest friend in the AJW dojo Chigusa Nagayo.
The focus shifts onto the other key characters around her: the Matsunaga Brothers who own and run AJW (and make her drive the company’s promotional van and make announcements to the public), Chigusa and Kitamura/Asuka, promoter Shiro Abe, top heel Devil Masami, and more. There’s also a brief moment of comedic levity as Kaoru is squashed in decisive fashion by Monster Ripper, a.k.a. Rhonda Sing/Bertha Faye (though this is done for the show as Matsumoto and Ripper never actually faced off one-on-one).
Yuriyan Retriever as Kaoru “Dump” Matsumoto in The Queen of Villains. Netflix photo
Still, despite multiple setbacks and mounting pressure, Matsumoto and her peers push forward and show a kind of tenacity and perseverance that would resonate with any audience, not just wrestling fans.
“If you live your life as you want, you’ll win in the end,” is advice given to a young Kaoru Matsumoto, setting it all up.
When it comes to the wrestling itself, the show is once again highly accurate, likely thanks to the real-life Chigusa Nagayo serving as a pro wrestling consultant for the entire show. Not only did she help train the actresses (most of whom were cast incredibly well as they all bear striking resemblances to their wrestler counterparts, especially Devil Masami and Lioness Asuka) but she also helped everyone involved recreate the training and daily lives of the women as well. The action during training sessions and in matches comes across as hard-hitting and violent. The actresses playing the women hit and sell as accurately as can be expected of professional actors with relatively limited wrestling training but since they have someone with real-life experience serving as the matches’ (for lack of a better term) choreographer. Therefore, the wrestling retains its sense of believability. As such, wrestling fans will appreciate the show’s authenticity and casual viewers could easily be convinced that wrestling matches of the 1970s and 1980s were as shown here.
This is particularly true for two matches re-created almost in their entirety: a singles match between Chigusa Nagayo and Tomoko Kitamura from January 4, 1983 (that marks the debut of the Lioness Asuka character) and the much vaunted Chigusa versus Dump Matsumoto Hair vs. Hair match from Osaka-jo Hall from August 28, 1985.
That said, there are some elements that are changed for the sake of dramatic flair and artistry.
On the production side, there are some sound effects added to the matches that wouldn’t be found in even the most tightly shot of wrestling companies. The sounds of leather straining to simulate choking or stretching, metal-on-metal clanging for weapons shots to the head, and that all-too-familiar squelching sound when blood starts pouring, are added to give the already violent nature of the medium an added sense of pain and carnage.
On the writing side, the show takes the predetermined nature of wrestling in a different direction: it implies that some matches end up being genuine contests. Throughout the show the wrestling is presented as having predetermined outcomes but the women are left to getting to that finish by their own means. This leads to problems: matches go off script when the women get too frustrated with each other, some matches are presented as full shoots with the winner being the one who outlasts the other, on at least one occasion one of the Matsunagas tell different women different things because they, too, are at odds over creative, business, and promotional directions. What the audience is left with is this sense that the wrestling is indeed predetermined, but just because there’s a known conclusion doesn’t mean that the women in the ring will always listen. But this works to the show’s benefit because, if watched without context, the viewer is left with this ever-present sense that the line between scripted and real can get blurred at any time.
As for the titular character, it takes a while for Kaoru to become Dump, but when she does the transformation is dramatic and immediate. Retriever does an incredible job walking like Dump, talking like Dump, showboating like Dump, fighting like Dump, and getting people to hate her like Dump. And yet the show takes a more subtle and measured approach in showing Matsumoto’s success.
Since Matsumoto was the first real heel in Japanese women’s wrestling, she was on the receiving end of extreme hate, especially for the traditionally reserved Japanese society, with tons of hate mail making up a daily part of her routine. And since kayfabe was still alive and well at the time, more diehard fans of her opponents went to greater lengths to get back at her: her new car (paid for in cash) is quickly spray-painted and spat on, her family is moved from a rundown one-bedroom apartment to a much nicer house from her winnings after it, too, is covered in foul language and vengeful messages, and her antics cause members of her family to experience trouble in their own personal lives by simply being related to her.
The Crush Gals in one of their pre-match pop performances in The Queen of Villains. Netflix photo
And for all the talk of Dump being the “Queen of Villains,” there is never this sense in the show that she was as groundbreaking as she really was. Though the Crush Gals (Lioness Asuka and Chigusa Nagayo) were AJW’s most popular duo, their success was largely thanks to them having perfect rivals in Matsumoto and her “Atrocious Alliance” stable (renamed as “The Extreme Evil Alliance” in the show) who took from the sukeban subculture and other nonconformist elements to make them easier to hate by wider society.
Though casual and unfamiliar audiences will watch Dump’s matches in the show and be left with the impression that she was this violent sadist akin to a female Abdullah The Butcher, wrestling fans will find the historic comparison in popularity between Crush Gals/Matsumoto and Hulkamania lacking in the show. In other words, Dump’s story here leaves a lot of ground left out and undercuts just how significant a role she played in changing not just women’s wrestling but professional wrestling in general.
A quote from Dave Meltzer of The Wrestling Observer on Dump Matsumoto really solidifies her importance:
Matsumoto actually pioneered the gimmick that the Road Warriors would later use to great fame in the United States, of being face-painted bikers with bizarre haircuts and monster heels who sold very little, if at all, for the smaller, under matched babyfaces. […] Matsumoto’s impact was so great that she often brought crowds literally to tears with her villainous tactics, and when she would merely walk down the street in any major city, people would scatter in fear.
Maybe this lack of “complete” authenticity came from the show being limited to only five episodes, or maybe it comes from the showrunners wanting to put more focus on behind-the-scenes drama and the real people in Kaoru Matsumoto’s life.
Regardless, The Queen of Villains still stands as a technically strong drama with great attention to detail and a clear commitment to showcasing a glimpse of joshi puroresu in its early heyday from as many perspectives as possible. It portrays professional wrestling a bit more honestly thanks to shifts in viewpoints that let the viewer see issues from multiple perspectives. And, of course, many matches shot for the show are as frenetic and exciting as their real-life counterparts (save for the wild crowds; no amount of studio editing can capture the sound and vibration of thousands of Japanese teenyboppers shedding real tears and shrieking in horror at Matsumoto beating up their heroines).
Though there’s plenty of excitement, drama, and character development to satisfy any audience, one cannot help but feel that The Queen of Villains could’ve benefitted from having more episodes, especially since it’s hard to paint a vivid picture of eight years’ worth of wrestling into five hour-and-change-long episodes.
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