The Smashing Machine

For decades, moviegoers have been waiting for Dwayne Johnson to emerge. Somehow, despite a twenty-five year acting career in which he's attained and retained so much mainstream caché that he was asked to run for President of the United States, his original, live-action features have made barely any lasting impact. Most of them barely exist relative to their budgets; the only thing people say about Black Adam is that it sucks, Skyscraper came and went with no fanfare whatsoever, and Red One immediately became a punchline. Even when he's slipped into an existing ensemble, he's never been the highlight of the film, nor given much of a chance to stand out. He chose big paydays over roles requiring effort, which isn't offensive in itself. But he took that approach to such an extreme that audiences and critics got tired of waiting and gave the thrown meant for him to Dave Bautista.

So it's ironic that nearly twenty years after dropping "The Rock" from his billing (except in Fighting With My Family), he's finally receiving his laurels for the first role to unambiguously build upon his past life as a professional wrestler. Mark Kerr was a pioneering mixed martial arts (MMA) fighter, so playing him wasn't a 1:1 translation of Johnson's abilities. But it would afford him the opportunity to act from the ring, a skill he honed during his many years as the face of the WWE. Additionally, Kerr's demeanor is nearly the opposite of Johnson's: he's soft spoken, gentle, and nonthreatening outside of competition. The requirement of Johnson staying as bulked up and physically imposing as possible in order to maintain believability during the fights made that an even more difficult task. That he pulls it off so seamlessly, the effort barely showing through, and the mask never slips for even a second, is truly remarkable. Any doubts of Johnson's acting abilities should be put to bed by his turn as Mark Kerr.

If only the rest of the movie was on his level.

The only other element that's truly there is the camerawork, which is quite fantastic. Maceo Bishop keeps it pretty loose and floaty, ensuring you always feel like a fly-on-the-wall, and enhancing the lived-in quality of its story. There are a handful of quietly showy yet effective shots, such as the oner from behind as Kerr gets more and more frantic searching the house for his opioids. Most notable is the handling of the broader image, a soft, warm memory when outside the ring, and a clear, razor sharp picture within it (save for the recreated VHS capture of his first wrestling bout, which is splotchy as hell while still being intelligible, as it should be). During fights, Bishop keeps his distance, so the only action we risk missing is when the combatants quickly drop to the mat at the edge of the frame.

But this rock solid core comes in support of a story that never figures out where to direct your attention. No single thread forms the backbone of the story. Kerr's participation in the Pride Fighting Championships (arguably the top MMA organization in the world during its existence) is the only throughline. Rivals come and go, his relationship with Dawn (Emily Blunt) fluctuates, his battles with addiction get worse before they get better, his close friendship with Mark Coleman (Ryan Bader) is a port in the storm, and Bas Rutten (as himself) helps him recover from a setback. None of these plotlines are bad per se, but the lack of focus on any precludes their weight. While we know Kerr has a problem with painkillers, we don't sense it worsening until the incident that lands him in rehab. After which it doesn't seem to effect him; despite his mentions that he's going through a difficult time in the weeks and months that follow, we see none of that. It's as if writer/director Benny Safdie was working his way down a plot point checklist, freeing his movie of each consideration as he did.

What's revealing is that this is essentially a dramatization of a 2002 HBO documentary of the same name, with some emotionally true scenes filling in for unseen moments in his life. Aiming for fidelity ends up as fealty, explaining the lack of narrative propulsion: real life seldom contains clean narratives that line up in any meaningful way, and closure rarely comes at the most cinematically satisfying moments. In a sense, this replication is a relief. The alternative is that Safdie chose to write Dawn as a horrible, flat stereotype, a shrill, nagging, self-centered girlfriend whose demands for attention threaten to derail her man's dream and who does not hesitate to throw his personal failings in his face during an argument. Blunt does everything she can to elevate the character, imbuing her with humanity as long as she possibly can. But its omission from the screenplay eventually boxes her into being as unsympathetic as they come, and serves as a great example of why the best adaptations are not simply perfect recreations.

This is most obvious in the dialog. Much of the runtime is spent on small, personal moments, for which no record exists, requiring Safdie to dream it up with his actors. And as unbelievable it would be if everyone spoke in soaring, self-aware or overly confident prose, the simplistic terms in which Kerr describes the world seems equally absurd, especially as it plays into the stereotype of muscle men being simpletons (see "I lift things up and put them down"). It's rare to hear someone accused of being "not nice" this many times outside of an elementary school classroom. While it may sound like nitpicking, it dulls the effect of the storytelling Johnson and (to some degree) Blunt are attempting. Their characters come off whiny and emotionally stunted, despite so much of the plot being about their grappling with their nuanced emotions. It hinders our ability to gain meaningful insight into their complex inner lives, keeping us at a distance. When handled carefully, this can be deployed deliberately to convey deeper truth about a character. Here, it's more distracting than illuminating.

By the time a series of "Where are they now?" title cards graced the screen over contemporary footage of the real Mark Kerr grocery shopping, I was no closer to understanding why this movie was made. That Kerr is a gentle, kind, soft-spoken man in a sport constructed around bloodlust certainly runs against popular perception of its practitioners, rightfully or wrongfully. But other than that, he's just not a very interesting subject matter. His life in the narrow band covered by Safdie's script is more or less the stuff of sports biopics, albeit with a couple unexpected wrinkles for those of us unfamiliar with Kerr's history. Unfortunately, those surprises fail to harmonize with the rest of the movie. His life wasn't all that cinematic or unique, rendering the deviations from the formula more confounding than interesting.

What is interesting is that it covers Kerr's golden period. After the events of The Smashing Machine, his career would hit a remarkable skid, as he'd win one more fight in 2000 before dropping ten of twelve across the next decade. Kerr was there at just the right moment to make an indelible mark on the sport, so it's fitting that the UFC inducted him into the pioneer wing of their Hall of Fame a few months ago. It makes you wish Safdie spent more time exploring the foundations of that legacy, rather than puttering around in his lackluster personal life.