One would not imagine needing a tissue at the final holding card of a Benny Safdie martial arts movie starring Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson in a heavy layer of prosthetics and shaggy toupée. And yet, “The Smashing Machine” beautifully concludes its examination of the sacrifices that come with trailblazing by earnestly nodding at the often unspoken cruelty of legacy. 

Let’s take it back a step. Benny’s solo directorial debut after years of directing with brother Josh (“Good Times,” “Uncut Gems”) tells the real-life story of Mark Kerr (Johnson), the American two-time UFC Heavyweight champion, wrestler, and mixed martial artist legend. Based on the 2002 documentary of the same name, “The Smashing Machine” first finds its subject in a modest Brazilian arena, about to fight his debut MMA tournament after establishing himself as a household name in the wrestling world. His broad, imposing figure feels at home trotting down the long corridor to the ring, the crowd cheering echoing the rumbling of his descent. 

That initial tussle establishes an essential dynamic in Safdie’s drama: the ring is off limits. Alongside cinematographer Maceo Bishop, the director mimics the distance between the audience and the arena that permeates both live and broadcast fights, shooting from outside the squared circle looking in. Braided steel cables frame bulky bodies as muscle hits the ground with a loud thud, knuckles ripping skin as blood stains the rubber mat. But it’s the moment that succeeds the judge’s whistle that properly sets the tone for what is to come next, when a victorious Kerr delays his celebration in favor of checking the state of his opponent. 

Such preoccupation shifts the focus from the machine to the person, introducing a soft-spoken, highly articulated man with a clear understanding of the rules of his sport and those of basic human decency. Without a skilled hold of this fragile dichotomy, Safdie’s examination of Kerr would crumble under the weight of the pastiche. However, Johnson’s performance roots the film in a sharp subversion of expectation. The wrestler-turned-actor, who originally brought up the idea of the project to the young director, takes the pressure of his metatextual starring role and gnaws at it with the hunger of someone who knows that the only way out of a box is through. 

Johnson leans into the absurdity of a heavy set of facial prosthetics that make him look like the spitting image of O.J. Simpson, playfully swaying between wide Colgate grins and beaming beady eyes buried under beefy brow appliances. The latter is often aimed at Dawn, his high-maintenance first lady, played by Safdie’s “Oppenheimer” scene partner Emily Blunt, with the kitsch flair the dramatic housewife begs for. Showered with rounds and rounds of hairspray and a bosom pointedly propped up all the way to her chin, Dawn is initially a bundle of harmless blunders and good intentions. Once Kerr’s opioid addiction leaves the realm of the intimate to interfere with his ring persona, Dawn becomes clouded by resentment and prone to callousness. 

The couple’s sparring gives “The Smashing Machine” its mirrored ring and, in this one, Kerr is not quite as courteous. Safdie coreographs these scenes with the same attention as he does the fights, aware of the contrast between Blunt’s gazelle-like frame and Johnson’s towering presence, often letting Dawn storm into rooms and angrily roam as if the chaser to Kerr’s prey, just to upend that dynamic entirely in one shocking split second of sheer rage. Despite this welcome insight into the muddy rules of their relationship, the approach to Kerr’s addiction is the only time “The Smashing Machine” feels a tad slight, the filmmaker proving perhaps a bit too close to its subject to properly gnaw at the ugliness of chemical dependency and rehabilitation. 

This proximity proves triumph when it comes to Safdie’s direction of his actors, with the director surrounding the A-lister leading duo with a cleverly cast parade of real-life MMA fighters. While Dutch-American Bas Rutten is a delight in a small role as Kerr’s coach, Ryan Bader is the clear standout as best-friend-turned-opponent Mark Coleman. The kind-eyed breakout credibly offers an insight into the emotional maturity of the relationships between these men so easily dismissed as brutes, tangibly attesting to “The Smashing Machine’s” grasp of the refined sensitivity that keeps the ring from becoming a mere slaughterhouse. [B+]