Movie Review – Pain & Gain
KSD - We began our "This Is America" series with Kelly Reichardt’s Wendy and Lucy, a quiet exploration of life’s struggles, but with Pain & Gain, we take a sharp turn into a more chaotic, darkly satirical take on American culture.
Personally, I’ve never been a fan of Michael Bay’s films. His hyperactive style—marked by rapid editing and constant cuts—often leaves me disengaged, as his movies resemble a never-ending trailer rather than a cohesive narrative.
That said, if you’re looking for a film that reflects an aspect of American life, Bay seems to have a finger on the pulse. His Transformers movies were essentially military recruitment ads, drenched in post-9/11 patriotism, complete with American flags waving in the background. Yet, beneath this veneer of jingoism, Bay’s films often convey a hidden disdain for his audience. Pain & Gain is perhaps his most cynical work, dripping with scorn for the very people it's meant to entertain.
Based on the horrific true story of the "Sun Gym Gang," Pain & Gain is set in 1994 and follows Daniel Lugo (Mark Wahlberg), a gym trainer in Miami with grandiose dreams of wealth and success.
Inspired by a motivational speaker, Lugo interprets the advice to "seize the day" as a call to violently take over the life of one of his wealthy clients, Victor Kershaw (Tony Shalhoub), whom he believes has made his fortune through crime.
Lugo enlists his co-worker Adrian (Anthony Mackie) and Paul Doyle (Dwayne Johnson), a born-again ex-con, to help him in his plan. The trio kidnaps Kershaw, holds him captive, forces him to sign over his assets, and attempts to kill him in the process. However, as often happens in such misguided ventures, their scheme quickly spirals out of control, and they find themselves deeper in danger than they could have ever imagined.
One of the most troubling aspects of the film is its handling of violence, particularly in a sequence involving the dismemberment and disposal of body parts.
The scene is played with dark comedy, almost as though the audience is meant to cheer for these criminals as they try to cover up their crimes. The tone here is jarring, blending comedy and tension in a way that makes the murders seem almost trivial.
For the family members of the victims, watching this play out must have been incredibly upsetting. This scene, like many others in the film, reflects Bay’s peculiar and tone-deaf approach to humor.
Another cringeworthy element is the film's reliance on a tired and offensive stereotype: the idea that "fat people are funny simply because they are fat." Rebel Wilson plays Mackie’s love interest, a nurse who is portrayed solely through her size and the implied joke that "black men love fat white women."
While appreciating people of all body types is fine, this scene reduces her character to nothing more than a punchline. Unfortunately, the nurse character never evolves beyond this stereotype, and her entire role in the film feels more like a gratuitous joke than an actual contribution to the story.
What’s most disconcerting about Bay’s approach is how it seems to mock its audience. Daniel Lugo, the protagonist, is the perfect stand-in for the type of viewer who enjoys Bay’s films: hyper-masculine, obsessed with wealth, and driven by an unhinged interpretation of capitalism.
His misguided belief in "seize the day" advice leads him to a violent pursuit of Kershaw’s fortune, capturing the essence of a culture that glorifies get-rich-quick schemes at any cost. Bay presents these characters with such disdain that it almost feels as if he’s criticizing the very people who are drawn to this kind of entertainment. However, in classic Bay fashion, he delivers this critique in a way that is just as shallow and misguided as his characters.
As the story unfolds, the trio’s actions become increasingly depraved, culminating in the brutal killing and dismemberment of two people they accidentally murder. The film’s editing, which often feels like a rapid-fire montage, intensifies the discomfort of watching these events play out.
Bay’s trademark style—hyperactive, frenetic, and cruel—mirrors the warped view of the world held by his characters. Yet, this has been Bay’s aesthetic for over two decades, and if anything, the film’s chaotic tone suggests that he has no deeper understanding of the characters’ actions beyond their surface-level traits.
To me, Bay’s America is a nightmarish landscape—one where power, wealth, and cruelty rule, and where human beings are reduced to shallow stereotypes. As grotesque as the setting in Pain & Gain is, there’s an unsettling truth to it. The Miami backdrop amplifies the moral decay of its characters, whose actions are as rotten as the sun-soaked city around them. Bay’s critique of American society may be exaggerated, but it isn’t entirely inaccurate.
Despite my issues with the film, Pain & Gain is the first Michael Bay movie that managed to hold my attention from start to finish. The film offers an unsettling glimpse into the director’s worldview, as well as a revealing commentary on certain American attitudes. The most shocking performance comes from Dwayne Johnson, who plays Paul Doyle—a physically imposing yet morally weak and evil character. This portrayal is a stark contrast to the heroic, larger-than-life persona Johnson has cultivated in the public eye. His role is a surprising deconstruction of the image he’s built, and it adds an extra layer of complexity to the film.
Pain & Gain is an uncomfortable, disturbing ride—a carnival of horrors driven by greed, superficiality, and hate. While Bay’s tone and style may not resonate with everyone, this film offers an intriguing and unnerving reflection of what America looks like from the inside out. It’s a nauseating yet compelling glimpse into a warped version of the American dream, one built on the backs of those willing to do anything to succeed.