THE SMASHING MACHINE Review

Benny Safdie’s The Smashing Machine is a bruiser of a film—sweaty, unflinching, and desperate to dig into the psyche of one of mixed-martial-arts’ most tortured figures, Mark Kerr. It’s also a film that doesn’t quite know which of its two halves packs the heavier punch: the fighter inside the cage or the man trying to survive outside of it.

The Rawness of Safdie’s Vision

Safdie, stepping out solo for the first time, doubles down on the unvarnished texture that defined Good Time and Uncut Gems. His camera moves like it’s dodging jabs—grainy, handheld, practically vibrating with adrenaline. There’s a lived-in grime to the world of The Smashing Machine that recalls Darren Aronofsky’s The Wrestler, and that’s a compliment. You feel the fatigue in Kerr’s body, the smell of sweat-drenched mats, the fluorescent hum of a training gym at 3 a.m.

Where the film stumbles is in its choice to layer fight commentary and historical context over the action. Rather than letting the brutality speak for itself, unseen analysts break in to drop trivia about Kerr and other UFC pioneers. It’s the cinematic equivalent of someone talking through the best part of a song—a distraction that breaks the spell just when the filmmaking is at its most immersive.

That said, the makeup and practical effects team deserve serious awards attention. The cuts, bruises, and swelling look horrifyingly real. If this doesn’t land in the Oscar conversation for Hair & Makeup, it’ll be a miss worthy of its own Fight Night controversy.

The Personal Cage

Parallel to the blood and bruises is Kerr’s tumultuous relationship with girlfriend—and eventual wife—Dawn Staples (Emily Blunt). Through her, we see his battle with opioid addiction, a spiral that mirrors his descent in the octagon. Unfortunately, the emotional half of the film never quite connects. The addiction and relationship drama feel like background noise when they should be the soul of the story. Blunt does her best with underwritten material, but her character is defined more by function than by depth.

The Rock, Recast

And then there’s Dwayne Johnson. Forget the eyebrow, forget the franchise. This is a career-best performance from The Rock. He approaches Kerr like a man who’s been holding his breath for twenty years—finally exhaling through a role that lets him be vulnerable, broken, and human. He plays Kerr as a ticking time bomb, both physically and emotionally. There’s rage here, yes, but it’s controlled—internalized. He wears exhaustion like a second skin.

You catch glimpses of the superstar here and there, but mostly, you’re watching an actor disappear. It’s shockingly good work, the kind that should put him squarely in the Best Actor conversation. The question, of course, is whether the Academy will take him seriously. History suggests they don’t always welcome performers who built their careers outside prestige cinema—just ask Adam Sandler or Jennifer Lopez. But make no mistake: The Rock earns his seat at the table this time.

The Verdict

When it’s firing on all cylinders, The Smashing Machine is a gripping piece of physical filmmaking—one that refuses to flinch from pain, pride, or punishment. But the film’s emotional undercurrents never hit as hard as its uppercuts. The dual narrative—fighter and man—leaves both stories a bit underfed.

Safdie’s direction and Johnson’s powerhouse turn make this a must-see curiosity of the 2025 awards season, but not quite a knockout. It lands a few stunning blows before ultimately losing on points.

🍿 SCORE = 64 / 100