Benny Safdie’s The Smashing Machine marks his first solo feature, turning Mark Kerr’s UFC ascent into an intimate character study. Dwayne Johnson delivers a fearless, vulnerable performance, guiding us through a rise defined by discipline, risk, and a taking of heavy blows. Emily Blunt plays Kerr’s partner with a steadiness that keeps the human stakes front and center.
Johnson’s turn anchors the film, but its heartbeat comes from the everyday moments that bind the pair. Their life at home—the banter, the warmth, and a cat named Sneakers weaving through—keeps the brutality in perspective. The movie doesn’t flirt with melodrama; it leans into how addiction, pressure, and the hunger for belonging shape a life in the ring.
Safdie favors a documentary-like energy. The fights unfold with distant angles and brisk cuts that feel more like a broadcast than a ballet, a deliberate choice that lends realism to the spectacle. The film nods to John Hyams’ 1997 documentary that inspired the project, yet it streamlines events to emphasize motive over chronology.
Shot with the handheld immediacy that defines Safdie’s work, the camera keeps pace with Kerr’s ferocity while never ignoring the quieter, more intimate sides of him. The visual approach aims for immediacy, creating heady, chaotic energy when the bell rings and a grounded, almost domestic air when life outside the gym intrudes.
Beyond the fists and the dinging bells, the narrative probes why Kerr keeps chasing the next fight—despite opiate dependency and the wear of a brutal career. The tension between self-destruction and care fuels the drama, casting doubt on the old myths of glory and proving there’s more at stake than victory alone.
With Ryan Bader lending credibility as Kerr’s friend in the sport, the film avoids easy clichés about masculinity. It remains intent on the person behind the punch, asking how love, accountability, and stubborn purpose can survive a life built around risk. The result is a portrait that feels earned, patient, and unexpectedly humane.
Craft and resonance
The production achieves a tactile, kinetic presence through practical textures, spontaneous energy, and a willingness to let awkward humor surface. Safdie’s collaboration with Maceo Bishop yields a look that’s rough around the edges in the right ways, capturing the chaos of the arena without surrendering clarity.
The film’s sense of immediacy extends to the fight scenes, which read like televised events rather than intimate close-ups. Yet the human drama—Kerr’s ambitions, Dawn’s concerns, and the couple’s fragile balance—stays at the center, making the material feel both muscular and intimate.
Blunt brings a potent counterweight to Kerr’s intensity, giving Dawn her own agency and a spark that keeps the relationship from becoming a backdrop. Their dynamic grounds the narrative in vulnerability as much as bravado, letting the film breathe when the action subsides.
Ultimately, The Smashing Machine isn’t about triumph as such; it’s a poised inquiry into the impulses that drive someone to fight, the costs of living that way, and what remains when the arena lights go down. It’s a study of the why behind the bleed as much as the what of the blows.
A24
Source: Original article
