Bland mimicry stops up The Smashing Machine

This seeming contradiction between personality and profession—inner and outer life—is one that has, in the decades between Hyams’ documentary and Safdie’s film, faded away entirely as MMA has been consumed by the Ultimate Fighting Championship, which has subsequently gone on to help define a particular brand of intensely self-conscious masculinity. Because The Smashing Machine isn’t just a period piece, but a full-on imitation, there are few opportunities for Safdie to comment upon a bloodsport that would eventually find itself entwined with the manosphere. The closest he gets is by overemphasizing a few basic observations about his meat-mountain lead: He knows that fighting gives him a high even better than the drugs he keeps jamming into his veins, he can’t even conceptualize what it’d be like to lose a fight, and he desperately needs his girlfriend Dawn (Emily Blunt, succumbing to a shrill caricature) to treat him “like a man”—whatever that means.

These knee-to-the-head points incapacitate any subtlety created by the quietly observational moments in this familiar sports narrative. Where the rest of the film mostly avoids tackling its audience to the ground and pounding them with cliché story beats about opioid addiction, balancing a violent career with a socially acceptable home life, and the persistent struggle to make ends meet, Safdie’s adaptation conspicuously leans towards obvious simplicity whenever given the opportunity. But The Smashing Machine never fully embraces being a glossy awards-bait drama either. Safdie splits the difference, striving to replicate the gritty, in-the-moment documentary feel of the source movie he clearly admires, and coat it in the triple-A Hollywood sheen befitting this kind of serious star vehicle.

One the former side of that equation is the close, shaky handheld camerawork from Maceo Bishop (who worked on Safdie’s reality TV satire The Curse) and the cast conspicuously filled out with fighters—like Ryan Bader (playing Mark’s pal and peer Mark Coleman) and Kerr’s real trainer Bas Rutten (playing himself)—out of their depth as actors. On the latter side is a sound mix overwhelmed with flashy needledrops, melodramatic moments of domestic conflict, and exposition aimed at the lowest common denominator. (A lingering shot of a clear vial full of liquid painkiller zooms on a warning label that might as well say “Do Not Get Addicted To This!”) The most recognizable element pulled from Hollywood and stuck into this true story is the characterization of Dawn, slotted neatly into every trashy, troublesome stereotype to ever be partnered to a male protagonist.

Like so many cynically conceived remakes, The Smashing Machine draws attention to its mediocrity simply by existing at all. Rather than Disney seeking dollars for a film that’s already been made, this seems driven by The Rock seeking Oscars. But without any additional depth, a new artistic vision, or raw personal commentary, it’s just an impression. And sure, there’s fun to be had at karaoke. But nothing ruins a cover like a singer who has no voice of their own, just the conviction that they’re as good as the real thing.

Director: Benny Safdie
Writer: Benny Safdie
Starring: Dwayne Johnson, Emily Blunt, Ryan Bader, Bas Rutten, Oleksandr Usyk
Release Date: October 3, 2025