There’s a particular kind of silence that hangs in the air when a character stops feeling like a character.
On screen, in the world of JCW, we see a towering figure in black, red-tinted sermons to the camera, eerie roll calls and cryptic messages about “Red Love.” It looks, at first glance, like a brilliantly unhinged wrestling gimmick: a cult-adjacent preacher, a strange sidekick in the form of Mr. Wiggles, and an ever-growing list of names who’ve made the Red Roll Call.
But sit down with Father Bronson, as I did, somewhat nervously, over a screen from the UK—and the language of “gimmick,” “character work,” and “promos” doesn’t just fall away. It’s rejected, dismantled and thrown back. “You’re using words like promo and vignette,” he says, eyes locked forward. “I think you might be under the wrong impression. You might think that this is an act… that red love doesn’t fuel the fibers of my being, because it truly does.”
He leans into the pause, lets the discomfort breathe. “If you think this is going to be a sit down in which creativity and nonsensical wrestling lingo… that’s not what’s happening here.”
What follows is less a standard wrestling interview and more a sermon about power, consequence, faith, and the strange spiritual space that pro wrestling occupies. JCW might be the platform, but Red Love is the doctrine.
The Gospel According to Red Love
On JCW TV, fans have watched Father Bronson target names on his “Red Roll Call”, a roster of people in JCW that he’s seemingly chosen to “help,” whether they like it or not. Recently, that’s included Luigi Primo, a man who’s learned the hard way what it means to share a ring with him.
From the outside, it looks violent. In storyline terms, Primo is another victim. Bronson bristles at the word. “You’re using words like victim,” he cuts in. “I prefer words like consequence. Because that’s what occurred between myself and Primo.”
He insists his mission is rooted in a twisted form of compassion. “I simply wanted to help Primo. You saw me pleading, you saw me pleading for Primo to exit the ring and just allow that wonderful Los Angeles audience to soak in Red Love. I was there to help, I wasn’t there to fight. But if I need to, I’m prepared to do what’s necessary.”
If it sounds like rationalisation, Bronson doesn’t see it that way. For him, Red Love is a stark, uncompromising system of cause and effect. “You say things like victim, but it’s just a consequence of that individual’s decisions. That’s what Red Love is all about, right? It’s about consequences for people’s decisions. I’ve said that before. If you go back and you watch my… ‘vignettes’, as you like to put them… you understand the message quietly. I’m here to help.”
“I See You for What You Are”
One of the most intriguing names on the Red Roll Call is Austin Creed, better known around the wrestling world as Xavier Woods of WWE fame. For Bronson, Creed isn’t just a star; he’s a soul in need of direction. “Austin is an individual that seems like he’s in need,” Bronson says. “He’s in need of guidance, he’s in need of spirituality. He’s in need of someone to have his back, right? And what better person than Father Bronson, the captain of the ‘help everybody’ ship, so to speak.”
He talks about Creed like a future disciple and a future challenge all at once. “Austin, we’re dying to hear from you, buddy. If, at some point, you see this, I want you to know that you’re on that list because I see you for what you are. You are a star. I can’t wait to meet you, man. At some point, you grace me with your presence… I promise you, I’ll change your life.”
There’s no irony in his tone. No obvious wink to the camera. That’s what makes it unsettling. In JCW’s growing ecosystem,Red Lovehas ambitions that stretch far beyond its own roster—into mainstream wrestling, into the culture, into anyone who watches long enough to feel pulled in.
And if the message has already reached the UK, Bronson is hardly surprised. “When I came to the realisation that Red Love, it’s found itself all the way in the UK, I couldn’t believe it,” he says, before correcting himself. “And then I thought to myself, of course it has.”
The way he sees it, fans, journalists, none of them are special. “What you are is a vessel. You’re the vessel of many vessels. I’m assuming more will come from your glorious country. But I want you to understand that you’re not chosen for any particular reason. You aren’t special. What you are is a vessel… you are one of many.”
It’s backhanded, patronising, and yet oddly consistent: you’re not chosen because you’re exceptional. You’re chosen because you’re there.
“Cult Leader? You Kidding Me?”
In the JCW presentations, there’s a recurring figure:Lady Red. Mysterious, imposing, and orbiting the Father Bronson mythology like a crimson satellite, she’s become a focal point for fan theories. Is this a cult? Is she a co-leader, a muse, a threat?
Bronson has heard it all. He’s not thrilled. “I was afraid that we were going to run into this awkward moment,” he admits, “where I had to explain to you further. Because clearly I haven’t presented myself in the light that I choose to be presented in. Cult leader? You kidding me? Are you kidding me?”
To dismantle the accusation, he leans into a broader analogy. “People that choose to be led are one of many. You are a resident of the UK, are you not?”
When told yes, he continues: “Okay, so your glorious queen, she led you, right? So, would you consider yourself a cult member? The answer is no. I’m one of many leaders. I am a glorious leader, and I’m a friend and a father.”
That’s the positioning he’s sticking to: not a cult leader, buta leader, full stop. A father, a guide, somebody who steps into the void left by lack of purpose.
When it comes to Lady Red, he offers even less clarity, and more menace. “The nature of my relationship with Lady Red? Well, quite frankly, that’s none of your business.”
There’s a sharpness there. A boundary line he’s drawing in red paint. For a persona so outward-facing, there are corners of the Red Love universe he intends to keep in shadow.
Faith, God, and Subjective Religion
The “Father” in Father Bronson isn’t accidental. The sermons, the posture, the cadence, it all pulls from religious iconography. So is this a man of faith? A parody of it? Something stranger?
Ask him and he refuses to pin it down neatly. “Whether I’m religious, that’s subjective,” he says. “Am I a God-fearing man? Yes. Do I understand and see the responsibility before me? Do I understand what I’ve been placed on this earth to do? Yes.”
If you’re expecting a denominational label or a doctrinal breakdown, you won’t get it. What you get instead is a vision of himself as a shepherd among the purposeless. “Are we surrounded by people that are just floating around with no real purpose? Yes. Do I have any relationships with those people? Sure, I do. They are my children, ones who are lost. You know, it’s… count on me, because friendship is forever, man. And so is fatherhood.”
He says people around him might see him as aFather, but some might go further. “If you carry on and you ask more individuals about how they see me, they might respond with God. Now, whether I’m religious, that’s subjective… I leave that open for interpretation.”
It’s a clever tightrope. In the terrain of pro wrestling, where larger-than-life personas flirt constantly with the edge of reality, Bronson is positioning himself as something beyond a heel or a face. A sort of spiritual anti-hero whose morality changes depending on who you ask—and whether they’ve accepted the help he insists they need.
Mr. Wiggles, Prophet and Pet
For all the ominous talk of consequence, godhood, and Red Love, one of the most striking figures in Bronson’s orbit is… a dog.
Mr. Wiggleshas already made his mark on JCW TV, a strange visual counterpoint to the intensity of his supposed owner. On paper, it reads like classic wrestling theatre: sinister preacher with an oddly cute companion, a way to humanise or market the character.
Bronson’s explanation starts in a place that sounds almost mystical. “First and foremost, Mr. Wiggles is a friend, right? Friendship is important, that’s why we’re all here. Mr. Wiggles, in fact, he came to me in a dream before he came to me physically, and I know that might be hard to believe.”
For a moment, he even elevates the dog to something biblical. “Mr. Wiggles is a prophet.”
He lets that hang in the air for just long enough to wonder if he’s serious, before breaking slightly: “Just kidding, man. Mr. Wiggles is my pet, one of my best friends, right? He came to me in a dream, that part’s true. But he’s harmless and fun.”
Still, even the lightest part of the Red Love universe serves a purpose. Mr. Wiggles isn’t just a friend; he’s also potential merch.“I’m gonna put Mr. Wiggles on a T-shirt soon, because people seem to like him. And he desires to eat treats too, man. Treats and bounce money, you know what I’m saying.”
It’s a rare moment where the veil thins and you see the business brain beneath the sermon. Even prophets, it seems, can move merch.
The Art of Being Unsettling
Part of what makes Father Bronson so compelling on screen is his physical presence: the long, unblinking stares; the sudden shifts between dead-eyed intensity and disarming smiles; the lip-licking, the silences that linger just a second too long.
Across a screen, miles away, it’s still unnerving. Ask him what’s going through his mind during those moments and he gently scolds you for focusing on the surface. “I think that people should probably turn their attention away from what it is that I look like every now and then,” he says, “and really just focus on the message, right? Because who cares what any of us look like, so long as our intentions are pure. And mine are the purest.”
He knows he’s not an “everyday guy,” and he leans into that difference. “Do I look like your everyday guy? No. Are my mannerisms like everyday guy mannerisms? No. If they were, you probably wouldn’t be sitting there asking me these questions, right? I’d probably be a whole lot less interesting.”
If his presence freaks you out—even through a screen—that’s not collateral damage. It’s the point. “Maybe it’s better if I freak you out a little, man, because then maybe you understand the message. So, focus, man. Don’t worry about what I look like. It’s all good, it’s all good.”
In a wrestling landscape crammed with loud characters and louder gear, Bronson understands something fundamental: sometimes the most powerful move is to unsettle, not entertain.
Success at the Top of the Hill
When the conversation turns to success, many wrestlers talk about titles, main events, or pay-per-view moments. Bronson’s answer is more cinematic. “The top of the hill, that’s what success looks like to me,” he says. “A presentation like mine, it deserves top of the hill recognition.”
He paints a vivid analogy: standing and shouting from different platforms. “My voice can only carry so far, depending on what platform I’m standing on, right? If I stand on top of a Walmart and I yell at the top of my lungs, yeah, see, people might hear it, they might stop and record and make videos and whatnot.”
Then he escalates. “But if I stand on top of Mount Everest and I yell at the top of my lungs, nobody will hear me. But the second people catch wind of my presence on Mount Everest? My voice will carry further than I could ever imagine. Because that’s what top of the hill recognition gets you. It gets you an opportunity to help people.”
JCW, then, is not the hill. It’s one slope on the way up. “If I can get to the top of the hill, I can help so many people, Dom. I can help people like you with no real guidance, no real understanding of what the priority is here on Earth. I can help those people, man. That’s what success is to me.”
It’s ambitious, ominous, and strangely sincere. Success isn’t a belt. It’s a pulpit large enough that no one can ignore him.
“Legacy Is a Fallacy”
If success is about reach in the present, what about legacy, the story people tell after you’re gone?
Bronson doesn’t flinch at the question, but he does dismantle the premise. “Legacy doesn’t matter to me, man,” he says. “It doesn’t matter what happens when we’re all dead, you know what I mean?”
He drops into a clear-eyed nihilism. “Time rolls on and rolls and rolls and rolls and rolls, and then pretty soon everyone that I know, and you know, and they know… they’ll all be dead, right? So legacy, it’s a fallacy. Legacy is a fallacy. It’s purely a construct of human minds in order to make themselves feel better about dying, and that’s fine. That’s fine with me.”
He shrugs verbally. “I couldn’t care less what people have to say when it’s all said and done. What I care about is helping as many people as I possibly can while I’m here. And people can label and say this and say that… some people might build statues of me, some people might spray paint all kinds of nonsensical things about me on walls, but I can only control what I can control. So I don’t care.”
For someone who presents as a looming, almost mythic figure, his view on legacy is startlingly grounded: we all vanish; what matters is what you do while you’re still walking.
JCW and the future
If Red Love is the doctrine,JCWis the church.
When asked what he wants to promote, Bronson doesn’t drop a merch link, a social handle, or a personal project. He goes straight to the platform. “Keep watching JCW,” he insists. “Keep watching JCW, for that is a platform where I can spread the message—the message that needs to be heard by the entire world.”
He’s clear about what that means for fans’ time and attention. “Watch JCW every Thursday night, 7 o’clock on the YouTube, because quite frankly, it’s the best decision you could possibly make with your time. Because most of you need Red Love. In fact, all of you do.”
There’s no neat distinction between the man, the message, and the promotion. JCW wins if Red Love grows; Red Love grows if JCW wins. It’s symbiotic, and it makes his presence there feel less like a booking and more like a long-term invasion.
As the conversation winds down, he does something that might be the most chilling part of all this: he calls me Dominic. Not “Dom,” not “mate,” not “brother”, Dominic.
It lands like an invocation from childhood, a name you only hear when you’re in trouble, or when someone wants to remind you they see right through the persona you’ve built for yourself. “You’re quite welcome, Dominic,” he says, sending a verbal shiver down the line. “You have yourself a great, great rest of your life.”
Is Father Bronson a character? A vessel? A cult leader in denial? A darkly comic take on charisma and control in pro wrestling? Or something else entirely?
In the world of JCW, and in the Red Love universe, he’d probably say your label doesn’t matter.
You’re just one of many.
Watch and listen to the RED LOVE takeover of Soundsphere below: