‘The Smashing Machine’ Review:

In a cinematic landscape dominated by familiar franchises and carefully crafted blockbusters, Benny Safdie’s The Smashing Machine arrives with the force of a bare-knuckle punch. This isn’t the clean, heroic, and larger-than-life spectacle we’ve come to expect from its lead star, Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson. Instead, it’s an unflinching, gritty, and profoundly human drama that sees Johnson shed his marquee persona to embody the tormented spirit of MMA legend Mark Kerr. The film is a fascinating experiment in redefinition, not just for Johnson, but for the sports biopic genre itself.

From the opening frames, it’s clear that this is a passion project rooted in a desire for authenticity. Johnson, a man whose career is built on a foundation of charisma and physical invincibility, disappears completely into the role. He is not just playing Mark Kerr; he is inhabiting him. Gone are the sculpted muscles and gleaming smile; what we see is a vulnerable, troubled man grappling with a body and a mind under immense strain. Johnson’s physical transformation is remarkable, but his emotional commitment is the true revelation. He captures the quiet desperation and deep-seated insecurity beneath Kerr’s public dominance, delivering a performance that is less about grand gestures and more about the heartbreaking subtlety of a man losing control. This is the “do-over” the initial reviews have spoken of—a courageous pivot that re-establishes Johnson not just as a global icon, but as a serious dramatic actor.

Safdie, renowned for his intense, anxiety-inducing urban thrillers like Good Time and Uncut Gems, proves to be the perfect director for this material. He doesn’t sensationalize Kerr’s struggles; he presents them with a documentary-like rawness. The camera is often shaky, the lighting is harsh, and the atmosphere feels claustrophobic, mirroring the mental and physical cage that Mark Kerr found himself in. Safdie’s direction focuses on the uncomfortable truths of combat sports: the punishing physicality, the toll of head injuries, and the insidious spiral of substance abuse that many athletes face. The film wisely avoids the typical underdog narrative, instead offering a painful, empathetic portrait of a man’s decline, making it a compelling piece of “anti-awards-bait” cinema. It doesn’t ask for your sympathy through manipulative storytelling; it earns your empathy through brutal honesty.

The film’s most powerful moments are not in the fighting sequences, though those are choreographed with a visceral realism that is both thrilling and wince-inducing. The true emotional weight lies in the quiet scenes between matches: a strained conversation with a partner, a lonely moment in a hotel room, or a defeated stare in the mirror. Safdie deftly uses these moments to explore the themes of identity and self-worth, particularly for an athlete whose entire life has been defined by his ability to dominate others. We see Kerr not as “The Smashing Machine,” but as a man desperately seeking a way to feel whole outside of the ring.

In an era of clean, sanitized biographies, The Smashing Machine stands apart by embracing the messiness of a real human life. It’s a compelling, well-executed film that defies expectations, and its success lies in its collaborative vision. Johnson’s fearless performance and Safdie’s uncompromising direction combine to create a deeply affecting and unforgettable cinematic experience. It is a reminder that the most powerful stories often don’t have a Hollywood ending, but rather, a human one.