The Smashing Machine
⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ (out of 5 stars)
Before the bright lights of Las Vegas and billion-dollar pay-per-view cards, Mixed Martial Arts was a scrappy, misunderstood spectacle. Born in the early 1990s, the UFC was marketed as a “no rules” clash of fighting styles from boxing to wrestling to karate to kickboxing and more, drawing both fascination and controversy. In those raw early years, few fighters embodied the chaos and potential of the sport like Mark Kerr, the subject of the acclaimed 2002 documentary The Smashing Machine. That film chronicled not just Kerr’s dominance inside the cage, but his battles with painkillers, identity, and broken relationships outside of it.
Two decades later, Benny Safdie, best known for his collaborations with his brother Josh on indie hits like Good Time and Uncut Gems, as well as his recent turns as an actor (Oppenheimer, Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret), has stepped into the director’s chair alone for the first time. With The Smashing Machine, Safdie trades the neon-soaked chaos of New York for an intimate portrait of the sweat, grit, and heartbreak of early MMA, bringing his signature intensity and authenticity to a story that is as much about addiction and ambition as it is about combat sports.
The split lips, the gouged eyes, the carnage and chaos—it’s all there. Still, it’s grounded by the care that Safdie has taken to be faithful to the messy, uncertain beginnings of the UFC and Pride tournaments. Beneath the surface of MMA nostalgia, this is a story of a man torn between glory and self-destruction. And at the centre, in what may be the most dramatically rewarding performance of his career, stands Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson – and he is cooking.
Johnson has spent the past two decades building himself into Hollywood’s most bankable action star. Still, The Smashing Machine gives him something rare: the chance to truly act. Playing Mark Kerr, the powerhouse wrestler who became both a trailblazer and a cautionary tale for MMA, Johnson embodies the contradictions of the man. Outwardly, he’s all bravado and brute force, yet inwardly, he’s plagued by addiction, insecurity, and fractured relationships.
The transformative makeup prosthetics certainly help him vanish into Kerr, but it’s Johnson’s eyes that do the heavy lifting. There’s a haunted quality to his stare, whether he’s bleeding in the cage or weeping in a bed recovering from an overdose. For those who have long wondered if Johnson could deliver a performance to match his charisma, the answer here is an emphatic yes.
If Johnson is the film’s smouldering centre, Emily Blunt is the dynamite surrounding him. As Dawn Staples, Kerr’s girlfriend, Blunt gives a performance that’s both alluring and heartbreaking. She matches Johnson blow for blow, whether they’re exchanging sharp words in a locker room or clashing in their home as Kerr spirals. Their relationship scenes are some of the film’s most riveting fights—two obsessive, needy personalities circling one another, both desperate for validation and both capable of destruction. Blunt avoids slipping into the cliché of the suffering partner; instead, she reveals Dawn’s complicity, her own flaws, her own hunger. Watching her spar with Johnson is electric, and the volatility of their relationship gives the film its emotional weight. Safdie’s love of authenticity shines in every frame. By casting real fighters Ryan Bader and Oleksandr Usyk as legends Mark Coleman and Igor Vovchanchyn, and letting Bas Rutten play himself, the film grounds itself in the gritty reality of MMA’s early years. These cameos aren’t mere fan service; they contribute to the lived-in quality of the world. The fights themselves are filmed with unflinching energy. Safdie’s camera doesn’t romanticise the violence, but neither does it flinch away. Every takedown, every submission, every drop of blood is visceral. Yet the film is equally committed to the emotional battles outside the cage—the hotel rooms, rehab clinics, and lonely car rides where the real damage is done.
For all its sweat-drenched realism, The Smashing Machine doesn’t quite escape the conventions of the sports biopic. The rise-and-fall-and-rise arc is familiar, and while the execution is sturdy, it rarely surprises. The beats of addiction, strained romance, and eventual growth are well-trodden territory. The film hints at deeper questions about the cost of glory and the fragility of identity, but often pulls its punches before landing a knockout. Still, when the punches do connect, they hurt. Kerr’s battle for sobriety, his desperate attempts to find stability, and his eventual acceptance of both his wins and his losses carry an undeniable power. The film may not reinvent the genre, but it gives it a raw, beating heart.
The Smashing Machine is at once familiar and invigorating. It delivers two knockout performances from Johnson and Blunt, pays meticulous tribute to the roots of MMA, and lands enough emotional punches to make it worthwhile. It may not crush expectations, but it certainly proves that even the most substantial need healing—and that sometimes the most brutal fight is with yourself.
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Reel Dialogue: Battling our inner demons and outer ones
Beneath the bruises, The Smashing Machine asks a question worth pondering: What does it mean to succeed? For Kerr, the temptation is to equate success with titles, victories, and dominance in the ring. Yet those highs are fleeting. Outside the ring, his life is crumbling—relationships broken, health compromised, identity fragile. This tension echoes a biblical truth: that pride precedes the fall. Safdie’s film doesn’t offer a neat resolution. Still, it suggests that success is not found merely in strength or accolades, but in humility, perseverance, and restored relationships.
That is the joy of the Gospel – that whilst we can’t be perfect, Jesus is, and that we don’t have to do it all, because He has accomplished everything on the cross. And He offers authentic restoration, healing, and purpose that can only be found in a relationship with Him.
