Dwayne Johnson’s biggest hurdle in Hollywood isn’t landing blockbuster paydays—it’s convincing audiences he’s not just The Rock in a new wig. Great actors like Denzel Washington vanish into their roles, making you forget the man behind the myth. Even fellow wrestler-turned-thespians like Dave Bautista and John Cena have pulled off convincing transformations, shedding their ring personas in deeper projects. But Johnson, ever since he muscled his way into action flicks, has mostly been riffing on variations of his larger-than-life self. Frustrated with the typecasting, he dives headfirst into uncharted waters with The Smashing Machine, playing Mark Kerr, one of the UFC’s early trailblazers and a pioneer of MMA. It’s a bold swing, and for the most part, he connects—though not without some visible effort.
Directed by Benny Safdie and loosely inspired by the 2002 HBO documentary of the same name, the film chronicles Kerr’s brutal rise in the cage, his descent into drug addiction, and the turbulent romance that anchors it all. Johnson bulked up (naturally) and slimmed down his charisma to capture Kerr’s haunted intensity, and there are flashes where it works: you glimpse the broken fighter beneath the bravado, especially in scenes grappling with Kerr’s opioid spiral and his codependent bond with girlfriend Dawn Staples. The chemistry between Johnson and co-star Emily Blunt is electric—raw and messy, like a real relationship teetering on the edge. Blunt, as Dawn, is a revelation; she fully inhabits the role, blurring the lines between fierce protector and enabler in this toxic dance. You buy her as Dawn completely—flawed, fierce, and heartbreakingly human. Johnson? He’s 80% there. Moments of vulnerability land with real weight, hinting at untapped dramatic chops if he keeps pushing past the quips and grapples. But when he hits those emotional peaks—like a tearful breakdown—it sometimes feels like The Rock crying, not Kerr unraveling. It’s close, but a more seasoned performer might’ve sold the ache without the tell.
The movie itself is a bit of a mixed bag, structurally speaking. It nails the intimacy of Mark and Dawn’s push-pull dynamic, which is where the film truly shines—those quiet, charged exchanges cut deeper than any submission hold. The fight scenes, kept mercifully brief and visceral, serve the story without overshadowing it, though I found myself itching through them to get back to the relational meat. Where it stumbles is in pacing and focus: Kerr’s near-fatal overdose, which should’ve been the gut-punch turning point, gets rushed and sanitized—we see the wreckage, not the crash. Worse, the script shoehorns in too much of Mark Coleman’s parallel story (Kerr’s rival and mentor), a compelling tale that deserves its own spotlight but dilutes this one, leaving the narrative feeling disjointed and overstuffed.
Does Johnson merit Oscar buzz for this? Nah, that’s a stretch—he’s proven he can do more than one-liners and haymakers, but he’s not reinventing the wheel yet. The real awards contender here is Blunt, who navigates the moral ambiguity of her character with such nuance that you’re left questioning if she’s the hero or the heartbreak in Kerr’s chaos. The Smashing Machine isn’t a knockout, but it’s a gritty, worthwhile jab at something deeper. Fingers crossed this is the start of Johnson trading the spandex for more scripts like this.
Rating: 7/10 BSO Stars
