Legendary MMA fighter Mark Kerr battles addiction, fame, and self-destruction while rising to the top of the brutal world of early mixed martial arts.
Dramatic, but lacks the intended energy. Written and directed by Benny Safdie and produced by A24, The Smashing Machine arrives as a docudrama that openly echoes John Hyams’ The Smashing Machine (2002), but without capturing its raw urgency or lived-in brutality. Shot in a quasi-observational style, the film seems determined to blur the line between documentary and narrative cinema, yet that very commitment becomes its undoing. What many have celebrated as a daring formal choice ultimately feels flat, inert, and disengaged from its own subject.
Much of the praise has centred on Dwayne Johnson’s (Mark Kerr) physical transformation and committed performance, and indeed, the film is constructed almost entirely around him. Kudos to Johnson for living up to and exceeding expectations. But this singular focus exposes a larger problem: Safdie’s direction rarely interrogates the character or the world around him in meaningful ways. Instead, the film becomes a showcase rather than an exploration, a portrait without depth or tension. That imbalance may explain why the film struggled to connect with audiences and disappeared from cinemas quickly, even as certain critics and high-profile filmmakers championed its seriousness and restraint.
Audience resistance can be read on several levels. One, Johnson’s off-screen reputation for exerting creative control. Two, while the docudrama approach itself alienates viewers who expect visceral energy from a film about combat sports. But, in my humble opinion, it’s the third one.
The most significant issue lies in filmmaking. The fight scenes – arguably the emotional and kinetic core of such a story – are anaemic. Safdie cuts aggressively during bouts, draining them of rhythm, weight, and momentum. Action is subordinated to reaction, with facial expressions and aftermaths replacing sustained physical engagement. This imbalance feels like cinematic “cheating,” an implicit admission that the film cannot – or will not – recreate the ferocity of real combat. Audiences wanted to see realistic recreations of the fights. Keep Warrior (2011) in mind, where drama and action coexisted in the same space without outbalancing one another.
But an even more accurate comparison could be with Darren Aronofsky’s The Wrestler (2008). Aronofsky’s over-the-shoulder camerawork, attention to bodily detail, and respect for spatial continuity made each match feel punishing and intimate. Safdie adopts the surface grammar of docudrama but neglects the craft that gives it power; the energy that continuity editing emits. In The Smashing Machine, the preparation, the physical transformation, and the pseudo-realism amount to very little because when it is required to be realistic, it is not.
Still, the film is not without merit. Its most compelling moments occur away from the ring, particularly in the confrontations between Johnson and Emily Blunt (Dawn). Blunt consistently cuts through the film’s steady pace, bringing an emotional explosion that the direction often lacks. If there is a reason to watch it, it lies in these exchanges, where human conflict finally replaces mockumentary, and the film briefly comes to life.
Thanks for reading!
Please, don’t forget to share. If you enjoy my work and dedication to film, please feel free to support me on https://www.patreon.com/kaygazpro. Any contribution is much appreciated and valued.
Solidarity for all the innocent lives that suffer the atrocities of war!
Stay safe!
