The Smashing Machine (2025) | Film Review

Director Benny Safdie’s The Smashing Machine arrives with all the hallmarks of a prestige drama: a true-story foundation, a big-name star turning in a nuanced performance, and a visual style that wants to scream indie credibility. On paper, it’s a dream project — Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson stepping away from blockbusters (as well as The Rock label) to sink into the tortured life of MMA fighter Mark Kerr, with Emily Blunt by his side as his longtime partner, Dawn Staples. The reality, much like Kerr’s life, is a bit more complicated.

Let’s start with Johnson, since his casting has been the biggest talking point since the film was announced. To his credit, he digs deeper here than we have ever seen from the actor. Gone are the raised-eyebrow smirks and self-aware action-hero quips. Instead, Johnson attempts to channel Kerr’s vulnerabilities; the addiction struggles, the brutal cost of fighting, the fractured personal life.

At times, it’s genuinely moving. You can see Johnson actively working to strip away his superstar persona. The problem is, he never fully disappears into Kerr. Too often, especially after the mid-point, it feels like we’re just watching Johnson playing Johnson — a megastar trying very hard to prove his mettle. Johnson absolutely has the talent and gives a very soulful performance (the most powerful scene in the film is a moment when Mark and Dawn have a blow-out, and Johnson crushes this scene), it just happens to be of a character similar in many ways to Johnson’s former life in the ring.

Emily Blunt reminds us all once again that her Oscar shelf deserves a statue by now. As Dawn, Blunt plays her with a careful balance of tenderness, frustration, and resilience that cuts through the movie’s otherwise uneven tone. Whenever she is on screen, the drama feels alive. Her chemistry with Johnson is evident, but her ability to ground the story — to show the real costs of Kerr’s lifestyle — gives The Smashing Machine its few moments of genuine poignancy.

Visually, though, the film struggles. Safdie leans heavily into soft-focus lenses and handheld camerawork, clearly trying to capture an indie appeal. Instead of feeling raw or immersive, it comes across as self-conscious and forced. The cinematography seems designed to convince us of authenticity rather than actually embodying it. It is the kind of aesthetic choice that feels like a director trying too hard to win credibility points rather than trusting the story to carry itself, which is a larger problem I will get to in a moment.

The score does not help matters either. Rather than amplifying tension or emotional stakes, the music is flat and uninspired, often fading into the background without leaving much of an impression. It is a missed opportunity, especially for a film that could have used a sonic pulse to inject energy where the narrative falters.

And then there are the fight scenes — which, given the subject matter, should be the film’s centerpiece. Instead, they’re shockingly underwhelming. Instead of visceral, bone-crunching tension, we get sequences that feel both muted and rushed, as though the film is afraid to fully commit to the brutality of the sport. They lack not only choreography but also emotional buildup and focus, robbing the viewer of the very spectacle that a story about a legendary fighter promises.

Most damning, however, is how much of the story unfolds off screen. Pivotal character turns, personal downfalls, and key relationship moments often happen outside our view, only referenced afterward in dialogue. The result is a narrative that feels incomplete, emotionally distant, poorly paced, and frustratingly fragmented. Without seeing Kerr’s lowest lows or hardest choices play out in real time and giving us a layered insight into his choices, it becomes nearly impossible to connect with him or Dawn on a deeper level.

In the end, The Smashing Machine is a film caught between two worlds: the mainstream spectacle of its leading man and the gritty indie drama its director seems desperate to emulate. What we are left with is an uneven hybrid that rarely lands a punch. Johnson gives his all but never fully disappears into the role, Blunt elevates every scene she is in, and co-star Ryan Bader pulls us in as Mark’s best friend, fellow fighter Mark Coleman. But the filmmaking choices — from the uninspired score to the lackluster fight choreography to the critical story beats left off-screen — leave the whole experience feeling predictable and strangely hollow.

The Smashing Machine should have been a raw, unflinching exploration of sacrifice, fame, and self-destruction. Instead, it feels like a pulled punch — a story that never lets us get close enough to care.