“I come from a wrestling background, but I might face off against someone who is in jiu-jitsu, or a boxer,” explains a hulking Dwayne Johnson as Mark Kerr in Benny Safdie’s The Smashing Machine, stitched and bruised, sitting in a doctor’s office. He’s describing “the ultimate fighting championship” to a concerned but curious grandmother staring at his battered face. The scene captures the strangeness of the sport’s early days in the late 1990s — when UFC was less billion-dollar brand and more underground spectacle, dismissed as barbarism outside a tiny niche.
What’s striking is how quickly that changed. Even for those of us who never cared about MMA, the names became unavoidable. Growing up in the 2000s, I couldn’t escape hearing about Chuck Liddell, Anderson Silva, or Georges St-Pierre. What The Smashing Machine reminds us is that before the pay-per-view ubiquity and before the ESPN highlight reels, the UFC was a small cadre of intrepid fighters elevated by the colossal charm and presence of Mark Kerr — a man whose rise and collapse paved the way for the sport’s transformation into cultural currency.
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Dwayne Johnson — more aptly referred to by his wrestling stage name as the Rock — has built a near billion-dollar career on being an indestructible, cartoonish muscle-clad action figurine brought to life, with the charisma of a Kennedy.
But at 53, playing a 29-year-old Mark Kerr in The Smashing Machine, he sheds that persona entirely (there’s a reason the posters refer to him by his Christian name rather than the Rock). Johnson captures both the grit and optimism of a man half his age — to say nothing of the physique. He reportedly put on thirty pounds of muscle to embody the legendary fighter with startling authenticity.
It’s the kind of performance Benny Safdie specializes in coaxing out of unlikely candidates. Just as he once transformed Adam Sandler in Uncut Gems from a goofy direct-to-streaming comedy lead into a multifaceted, tragic figure, Safdie now turns Hollywood’s most bankable superhero into something far more captivating: a serious actor.
Although the film is set amid the UFC’s inchoate beginnings, it’s Kerr’s personal life and unraveling psyche that comprise the real narrative. “Winning is the best feeling there is,” he explains early on, eyes blazing. “You fight and beat the next guy, and then the next, and by the end of it, you feel like a god.” That high becomes its own addiction. Kerr’s string of victories feeds an almost narcotic dependence on triumph, leaving him visibly shaken when a reporter dares to ask whether he’s nervous about losing. For a man who has built his identity on dominance, the question itself is incomprehensible.
His frustration and inability to process defeat he tragically took out on his girlfriend, Dawn, portrayed with unforgettable conviction by Emily Blunt. In several wrenching scenes, Safdie surrounds Kerr with trainers and fellow fighters, while Dawn, his loving and steadfast partner, hovers at the periphery. Despite her presence and efforts, she’s met with palpable scorn; whether it is by intention or instinct, Kerr keeps her emotionally at a distance, as if she were a spy for one of his opponents. In one particularly painful moment — the first time Kerr smiles after a devastating loss — he laughs and hugs the opponent who bested him, then asks Dawn to take a photo of them, as if she were a bystander. Blunt’s performance in that scene — her eyes brimming with tears while she forces a smile — captures the exhaustion of a woman loving someone who only knows how to fight.
For UFC devotees, Safdie’s The Smashing Machine captures the sport’s raw, unvarnished origins (there is even a moment when a panel announces that eye-gouging and headbutts are no longer allowed). For everyone else, it’s a straightforward human drama about the cost of greatness. It isn’t a novelty among martial arts biopics (of which there are many), but what lingers is Dwayne Johnson’s ability to convey genuine vulnerability and growth. After years of perfunctory blockbusters, The Smashing Machine proves he can do more than deliver cheesy one-liners in skin-tight muscle shirts. One hopes this isn’t an anomaly, but the beginning of a new chapter in his career.
Harry Khachatrian (@Harry1T6) is a film critic for the Washington Examiner’s Beltway Confidential blog. He is a software engineer, holds a master’s degree from the University of Toronto, and writes about wine at BetweenBottles.com.