One of the most-watched shows on Netflix currently is Hulk Hogan: Real American, a four-part documentary series that sets out with the premise it’s going to unpack the complicated, messy nature of Terry Bollea (aka Hulk Hogan), using it as a lens by which we can see all heroes as the flawed individuals they really are. Sadly, it once again fails in its primary task, following in the footsteps of 2024’s Mr. McMahon to turn out another WWE-sanctioned, selective version of history, which gently dips its toe into the promise of being genuine, before recoiling once more to present a sanitized version of history.

Across its nearly five hours of run time we’re presented with a version of Hogan which routinely positions the man as a victim. Whether it’s the era he grew up in, his upbringing, the pressures of being a star, or coping with time passing him by — it always stops just short of Hogan ever accepting that he was a trash human being for almost the entirety of his life, who caused damage both personally and professionally that can’t be erased simply because he says he was “saved” in 2023.

Hogan did steroids because everyone was doing them.

Hogan was a racist because that’s just the time he grew up in.

Hogan destroyed the careers of other wrestlers because he knew what was best for business.

Hogan lied in court, but it was only to protect a friend.

Hogan suggested to a Rolling Stone writer that he might murder his ex-wife Linda, and her new boyfriend like O.J. Simpson — but it was only because he was drinking a beer and thought the reporter was his friend.

Time, and time, and time again Hogan is let off the hook by the documentary. It sets up reprehensible story after reprehensible story, tantalizingly getting close to the truth — only to have Hogan hand-wave away with a fleeting excuse, never to be expounded again. It continually gives its subject the last word, rarely bringing in anyone else to counter his points or debate them. There’s also the incredible sins of omission, parts of Hogan’s entire life or career that aren’t even mentioned to ensure the best possible version of the wrestler remains.

In addition, the documentary is quick to shame Linda Hogan for dating a man 30 years her junior immediately following the couple’s divorce, spending almost 10 minutes mocking her decision — but later presents Hogan’s third wife as a savior character, despite being 25 years Hogan’s junior when they were married. This is par for the course when Hogan is allowed to outwardly lie without being fact-checked, like his assertion that Arsenio Hall’s career was thanks to him calling in favors — clearly used as a rhetorical technique to present Hogan as not being racist.

It’s only fair to question the continued motivations of these made-for-Netflix “documentaries” by WWE, and the standards they’re being held to. Hulk Hogan: Real American follows in the spiritual footsteps of both Mr. McMahon, and WWE: Unreal for being narrow, barely-sourced or fact-checked examinations of professional wrestling, written, executed, and organized through WWE production. Each instance is less an attempt to document a story or time, instead trying to reshape history through WWE’s lens and leave it as a living record — which is extremely suspect in light of the $500M a year deal between WWE and Netflix to air Monday Night Raw.

In the end you need to accept these for what they are: Somewhat interesting, but tightly curated. They exist to ensure WWE never looks bad, the only stories mentioned are those which have been approved for airing, and they all result in being glorified puff pieces with just enough critique to have a veneer of impartiality that doesn’t really exist.

As long as Netflix keeps accepting this schlock to broadcast, we’re never going to get real stories of professional wrestling.