The Smashing Machine: Gritty, Authentic, But Pointless

If you’ve ever wondered what Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson would look like stripped of his superhero grin and CGI explosions, The Smashing Machine (2025) has your answer—and it’s not what you’d expect. Directed by Benny Safdie (yes, the same Safdie behind the chaos of 2019’s Uncut Gems), this bruising biopic plunges into the turbulent world of late-1990s mixed martial arts, following real-life fighter Mark Kerr at the height of his fame and the edge of his unraveling. Part-sports drama, part-psychological character study, The Smashing Machine trades glory for grit, asking what happens when a man built to win starts losing control of everything else.

From the first frame, it’s clear this isn’t your typical glossy sports flick. The attention to detail is gripping—from its jazz-infused, drum-heavy soundtrack to the neon-drenched, claustrophobic setting of Japan, the film oozes a raw, almost uncomfortable authenticity. Safdie and cinematographer Maceo Bishop famously shot the film on a mix of VHS, 16mm, and 65mm, and the effect is immediate. The shakiness of the handheld camera, combined with the gritty texture of the video, mirrors Kerr’s emotional state as his tightly controlled life spirals under painkiller addiction and personal turmoil.

And then there’s Johnson. This is the farthest he’s ever strayed from his usual action-hero/big softy in family-friendly comedies comfort zone. Here, he is unrecognizable, both literally and emotionally. Beneath prosthetics, a black wig, and a noticeably heavier frame, he disappears into Mark Kerr, providing a haunting, physical portrayal of a man crumbling under the weight of his own body and vices. Johnson communicates much of Kerr’s inner turmoil not through dialogue, but through heavy silence, his eyes and facial expressions speaking volumes. It’s a transformative turn that leans into profound vulnerability, proving Johnson has dramatic depths we’ve simply never seen from him before.

Emily Blunt, who plays Dawn Staples, Kerr’s partner, is also riveting. She’s the film’s emotional counterweight: calm where he’s chaos, fragile where he’s furious. Their scenes together feel raw and improvised, full of awkward pauses and unspoken things.

However—and this is a big however—the commendable performances carry the whole film. For all its stylistic brilliance, The Smashing Machine tells a story that is oddly unremarkable and frustratingly shapeless. It feels almost as if Safdie was trying too hard to avoid every sports movie cliché—no rousing underdog montage, no teary locker-room speech. But in doing so, he forgot to give the film a spine. Key moments, like Kerr’s downward spiral or his strained relationship with Dawn, arrive abruptly and fade just as quickly, leaving us with fragments instead of an arc. We’re dropped into Kerr’s life mid-career, with little sense of who he is or why he fights. Without that grounding, it becomes hard for us to care when things start to fall apart.

The result is a movie that looks striking and feels authentic, but never lands an emotional knockout. There is no semblance of narrative satisfaction, no sense of resolution to anything. By the end, I wasn’t pondering profound questions—just asking, plainly,  “What was the point of all that?”

With all that said, if you’ve got a couple of hours and want to see something a bit different, The Smashing Machine might be worth a watch. It won’t change your life—but it’s interesting enough.

RATING: INDY

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Miranda Wu is a sophomore in the College studying Economics and minoring in Public Health.