'The Smashing Machine' review: Dwayne Johnson swings for prestige, but the movie taps out
- Nate Adams
- Oct 3
- 2 min read
Courtesy of A24
Within the first fifteen minutes of Benny Safdie’s sports drama “The Smashing Machine,” I was ready to declare Dwayne Johnson’s turn as UFC fighter Mark Kerr the best performance of his career. That’s not exactly a high bar considering Johnson has spent the bulk of his filmography leading mega-franchises that rake in billions but rarely test him as an actor. Yet here, to his credit, he’s reaching for something deeper. There’s raw emotion, a flicker of vulnerability, and a burning intensity his fans may not be used to seeing. Unfortunately, the movie around him struggles to match that same energy, veering off course and never quite nailing down what story it’s trying to tell.
It’s also hard to ignore the Hollywood politics behind Johnson’s casting. Like Gary Oldman, Charlize Theron, and Mickey Rourke before him, he buries himself in prosthetics in a bid to be “unrecognizable” — an old-school gambit often associated with awards season glory. Clearly, The Rock wants to prove he’s more than just a walking blockbuster machine, eager to show the industry he can do more than headlining shoot-em-ups or films based on theme park rides. You have to admire the ambition, but “The Smashing Machine” doesn’t have the discipline or clarity to elevate the material into something lasting.
Based on the 2002 documentary of the same name, the film presents Kerr as a grounded, soft-spoken man whose violent dominance inside the octagon made him a UFC icon. His invincibility, coupled with his refusal to face reality, spirals into a crippling opioid addiction. The movie charts the highs and lows of his fighting career and recovery, complicated by his volatile girlfriend, Dawn (Emily Blunt, playing against type in full suburban housewife chaos mode). At one point she sneers at a newly sober Kerr, “You’re no fun anymore,” a line that lands with the cruelty of someone who can’t let go of the past.
On paper, it’s combustible material — addiction, downfall, strained relationships, redemption — but Safdie can’t seem to harness it. Johnson’s performance, though admirably committed, often falters under the weight of heavy makeup and Safdie’s stagnant direction. His emotional outbursts feel too calculated, too staged, like someone auditioning for credibility. The stakes hinge less on Kerr’s personal battles and more on whether he’ll fight his longtime friend Mark Coleman (Ryan Bader, a real UFC fighter making a wooden feature debut), which doesn’t exactly provide dramatic payoff.
That’s the film’s core problem: it never defines what made Kerr’s story worth retelling. Was he a revolutionary figure in the UFC? An inspirational cautionary tale? A tragic hero undone by his demons? Safdie seems unsure, shuffling between addiction drama and comeback story without ever committing. By the end, “The Smashing Machine” only skims the surface of Kerr’s life, and despite Johnson’s earnest attempt at transformation, it left me indifferent to both the man and his legacy.
Grade: C
THE SMASHING MACHINE is now playing in theaters.