‘The Smashing Machine’ Review: Dwayne Johnson Delivers the Blows as a Tormented Fighter in Benny Safdie’s Gritty and Downbeat MMA Flick

Dwayne Johnson hits hard in Benny Safdie’s brutal, soulful portrait of pain, pride, and punishment in the early UFC.

Sticks, stones, body blows and multiple knees to the head may break his bones, but names are what do real damage to pioneering UFC fighter Mark Kerr, a beast of a man who could crush opponents in the ring and fall apart as soon as he stepped outside it.

In Benny Safdie’s gripping and unflinching solo directorial debut, The Smashing Machine, Kerr is portrayed as a colossus brought low by the pressures of fame, trauma, addiction, and love. The film charts the life of the former NCAA champion and UFC star during the sport’s wild early years — when the fights were real, the rules were loose, and the emotional toll was devastating. Dwayne Johnson sheds his larger-than-life persona to deliver the most deeply felt performance of his career, embodying Kerr’s pain with a mix of physical power and psychological fragility.

Safdie, working without his brother Josh for the first time, retains the gritty, anxiety-soaked realism that made Uncut Gems and Good Time instant cult classics. His direction here is razor-sharp: restrained when it needs to be, chaotic when it counts. Safdie’s editing — raw, elliptical, and kinetic — draws the viewer inside Kerr’s fractured psyche. Scenes bleed into one another like memories: disorienting, tender, violent. It’s a masterclass in tone and tempo, giving the film a propulsive rhythm that never lets up. Credit also goes to composer Oneohtrix Point Never (Daniel Lopatin), whose synth-heavy score vibrates with tension and melancholy, coating the film in a sonic fog that mirrors Kerr’s confusion and descent.

Johnson’s physical transformation is impressive — prosthetics by Kazu Hiro render him nearly unrecognizable — but it’s his internal work that astonishes. He plays Kerr as a man always on the verge of collapse: sweet and soft-spoken off the mat, ferocious and unfathomable in the cage. It’s a deeply humane performance, channeling vulnerability, shame, and suppressed rage. There are no grandstanding monologues or heroic arcs here. Just a man trying — and often failing — to stay upright.

Kerr’s emotional battles are just as punishing as his physical ones, and much of that tension plays out through his toxic relationship with Dawn, played with nerve-fraying precision by Emily Blunt. Her portrayal of a girlfriend teetering between codependence, manipulation, and genuine concern is a daring swing into territory rarely explored with this kind of honesty. Blunt doesn’t soften Dawn’s edges — she leans into them, offering a woman driven by love, control, and deep emotional instability. Her performance hints at borderline personality disorder without ever naming it, portraying Dawn’s volatility and charm with a terrifying authenticity. She’s Kerr’s biggest fan, worst critic, and emotional abuser — often all at once.

Blunt and Johnson’s scenes together are volcanic. Their confrontations are staged with the same intensity as the MMA matches, and Safdie gives them room to explode. In one moment, Dawn comforts Kerr in a tender embrace. In the next, she’s tearing into him with a barrage of insults, testing the limits of his emotional endurance. Safdie makes no excuses for either character, choosing instead to dwell in their damage — and that’s what makes the film so gripping.

Adding to the film’s authenticity are real-life MMA fighters Ryan Bader and Bas Rutten, who deliver grounded, convincing performances. Bader plays Mark Coleman, Kerr’s best friend and sparring partner, and their dynamic offers one of the few glimpses of genuine male tenderness. Rutten’s turn as Kerr’s coach brings an edge of hard-earned wisdom. The casting of these actual fighters adds weight to the film’s physicality — there’s no faking the bruises or camaraderie.

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The cinematography by Maceo Bishop is purposefully grimy. Shot on long lenses with a documentary feel, the film captures the blood, sweat, and banality of late-90s fight culture. From hotel gyms to anonymous Arizona living rooms, the world feels drained of color and joy. Costume designer Heidi Bivens leans into the era’s awkwardness — oversized polos, acid-wash jeans, and zip-off cargo pants all make appearances. The aesthetic isn’t nostalgic — it’s bruised.

And yet, for all its bleakness, The Smashing Machine doesn’t wallow. Safdie’s pacing — intercutting between violent matches and tender breakdowns — keeps the film alive with contrast. It’s not about glory. It’s about survival. And that’s what makes it so powerful.

Johnson has never been this raw. Blunt has never been this dangerous. And Safdie has never been this emotionally precise. The Smashing Machine doesn’t build to a triumphant climax or redemption arc. Instead, it drifts toward an ending that’s quiet, realistic, and emotionally devastating. In one stunning sequence, Mark Kerr reappears — the real man — looking weathered and aged, a ghost of his former self. It’s a gut-punch of a moment, reminding us that this story isn’t just inspired by reality. It is reality.

This isn’t Rocky — it’s Raging Bull with opiates. But more than that, it’s Benny Safdie’s finest film to date: a brutal, beautiful meditation on masculinity, fragility, and the cost of being strong. A fight film that bleeds long after the final bell

Rating: ★★★★½

Credits

Screened: Sunday, September 8 | TIFF 50, Visa Screening Room, 9:30 PM

Director/Writer/Editor: Benny Safdie

Cast: Dwayne Johnson, Emily Blunt, Ryan Bader, Bas Rutten

Distributor: A24 (TBD)

Release Date: TBD

Rating: Not Rated

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