The Rock tries “acting” in ‘The Smashing Machine”

[Minor Rock Fist Down]

“The Rock” wants you to know he can act. The problem? All that effort can’t hide the fact that his movie is predictable, inert, and never makes a convincing case for why Kerr’s story deserves two hours of your time. Unfortunately, every once in a while, a sports biopic comes along that makes you wonder: why this story, why this person, and why now?

After the very public belly-flop of Black Adam and his swift exile from DC’s superhero playground, Dwayne Johnson licked his wounds and took cover looking for a flick that would change his perception. The Smashing Machine feels less like a passion project and more like an image rehab clinic, The Rock stripping away his charisma, bulking down, and truly pretending to be someone else, grimacing his way through the story of Mark Kerr.

The Smashing Machine, Benny Safdie’s fictionalized take on MMA pioneer Mark Kerr, is unfortunately one of those movies. Despite strong and willing performances from its cast, led by Johnson and Academy Award winner Emily Blunt, it’s a film that drifts aimlessly for two hours, never justifying its existence beyond “here’s a guy who fought and suffered.” Predictable, uninteresting, and ultimately unsatisfying, it’s a slog of wasted potential.

The problem starts with the subject. Mark Kerr (played with commitment by Dwayne Johnson, stepping into “serious actor” territory) isn’t an especially compelling figure on screen. In theory, his real-life struggles with addiction, insecurity and self-destruction, the brutal toll of early MMA, should form the backbone of a gripping, cautionary tale. Instead, Safdie paints him as neither hero nor villain, but as a bland lump of misery. Kerr isn’t likable, relatable, or even fascinating in his flaws. He’s just … there. Watching him spiral is less engaging than exhausting, and the film never answers the essential question: Why are we watching a movie about this guy? He’s called a “pioneer,” but it never shows why.

That lack of focus infects the whole narrative. The film hits every familiar biopic beat—rise, fall, half-assed redemption—but it’s all done without urgency or tension. It’s like the filmmakers wanted to avoid any and all cliches and tropes typically present in the sports genre and instead sucked the soul right out of the flick.

There’s no real climax, no narrative gearshift that makes you sit up and pay attention. It just kind of plods along, scene after scene of Kerr glowering, struggling with substances, and failing to maintain relationships. He’s not an overbearing asshole when he’s on drugs, he is standoffish with his girlfriend (Blunt), who really comes off as a helicopter girlfriend who is happier when he’s not.

And for a movie about one of the most violent, punishing sports on Earth, it’s shockingly soft. To The Rock’s credit, he does lose two fights on screen—another rarity—although he, I mean Mark, does whine until one of those L’s is called a draw. Hmmmm.

To be fair, Johnson does bring his A-game, as he is stripped of his usual charisma and commits fully to the role. He bulks down, roughs up, and gives Kerr a hunched, weary physicality that suggests a man already crushed by the sport he once dominated. Sometimes he looks like Josh Brolin on steroids and others he sounds like a Mark Wahlberg character on SNL.

But honestly, he’s good. He is. And so is Emily Blunt, for the most part. She brings dimension to a thankless role, hinting at a fuller human story that the screenplay never delivers. The rest of the cast is peppered with faces from the UFC world and they know their assignments.

And that’s the biggest frustration: the direction. Benny Safdie (half of the Uncut Gems directing duo and I hated that movie) has proven himself capable of manic energy, but here he seems adrift, like everyone wanted to make an intense movie but then someone passed out Xanax on the set. The pacing is flat, the editing meanders, and the fight sequences, supposedly the centerpiece, lack urgency. They’re competently staged but drained of intensity, as if Safdie forgot that MMA is supposed to feel dangerous, unpredictable, and raw. Instead, the bouts are shot like background noise, just another scene in a movie that never decides what it wants to be.

By the time the credits roll, you’re left with two hours of talented actors trying to breathe life into a story that doesn’t have one. There’s no catharsis, no crescendo, just a flatline. For a movie about a man nicknamed The Smashing Machine, it smashes very little.

The Smashing Machine wastes strong performances on sloppy direction and an unlikable protagonist. Predictable, aimless, and devoid of conflict, it fails to answer the basic question: why does this story deserve to be told? The result is a film that, despite its title, smashes nothing except your patience. Trust me, it was more fun to actually watch Mark Kerr fight than it is to watch The Rock pretend to be him.

Tagged as: 2025, Benny Safdie, dwayne johnson, Emily Blunt, Mark Kerr, Movie Review, the rock, The Smashing Machine