Jason Momoa and Dave Bautista Unleash Island Mayhem in “The Wrecking Crew”

Olivia Bennett, 1/9/2026 Jason Momoa and Dave Bautista trade punches and pathos in "The Wrecking Crew"—a Hawaiian-set action hurricane where brotherhood, brawn, and buried truths collide. Ángel Manuel Soto stirs up spectacle and soul, promising laughs, bruises, and a dash of cultural reckoning beneath all that A-list bravado.

Director Ángel Manuel Soto, not one for muted entrances, grabs the buddy-action formula by its floral lapels and shakes out the sand, tossing viewers into a dynamic that reads part thriller, part therapy session—if the therapists were armed, deeply traumatized, and dressed for a block party. Early in the trailer, Stephen Root’s detective comes on like a referee at a demolition derby: “I can't have two guys who look like they eat steroid pancakes for breakfast turning my island into Beirut!” The line hangs in the tropical air, equal parts exasperation and grim foreshadowing.

There's nothing smooth about Jonny and James—half-brothers, co-stars, and inheritors of a family mess big enough to warrant federal insurance. Momoa, flexing his signature rogue charisma, collides with Bautista's granite gravitas. Jokes ricochet (“You just stir up trouble.” — “That’s what I do, because I’m a cop.”) yet underneath? Something indelible lurks: bruised grief, old betrayals, the metallic tang of suspicion after their father’s untimely, suspicious death.

And then—almost too predictably for a post-pandemic blockbuster, yet rendered fresher by Soto’s hand—the Yakuza glide into frame, all sharp collars and sharper motives. Paradise, apparently, is under siege from more than sunburn and real estate developers. “Take my word for it when I tell you...that I’m the bear,” Bautista rumbles, a line pitched somewhere between reassurance and prelude to a melee.

It would be easy to dismiss all the veiled tragedy and punch-drenched humor as set dressing for inevitable car chases. But mid-trailer, Soto’s fingerprints appear—he’s not just dealing in explosions. In a world itching for 2025 escapism, there’s a not-so-quiet urgency about displacement and greed, the kind that’s edged every headline on the island for years. Soto, having recently spoken of gentrification and the continuous erasure of Indigenous voices, laces the trailer with hints: beneath the spectacle, a reckoning simmers. Whether Hollywood can juggle heartfelt commentary with blockbuster spectacle is another question—not every action flick dares to.

The cast list reads like a who’s who of “oh, they got them too?”—Claes Bang, Temuera Morrison, Morena Baccarin, Jacob Batalon, and, of course, Stephen Root, who could wring gravitas out of a rotary phone. The unlikely ensemble gives the film a whiff of old-school ensemble swagger, where even background quips hit like throwback zingers.

What lingers most isn’t just the choreography of carnage or the comic timing—though both are there in abundance. It’s that bruised undercurrent, the sense that loss and loyalty are constantly fighting for the upper hand. Amid the flying fists and flying insults, Soto seems intent on doing what so few blockbusters manage: threading the carnage with consequences. This isn’t just shoot-one-liners-and-explode; it’s a meditation (albeit a loud one) on who pays the bill when paradise is plundered.

Come January 28, Prime Video will become a proving ground. It’s a tempting blend: the mayhem of “Fast & Furious,” sure, but swirling with the saltier flavors of generational drama and a distinctly Hawaiian reckoning. The question is whether that collision will spark genuine heat—cinematic wildfire—or simply another fleeting bonfire on the streaming shores.

Either way, it’s a bold cocktail: testosterone, tragedy, and just enough local color that the aftertaste lingers, more bitter than sweet. If 2025’s Hollywood needs a reminder that explosions are just set dressing for what really explodes inside, “The Wrecking Crew” looks poised to deliver, with every sun-drenched punch and reluctant embrace. Sometimes, the only thing more dangerous than digging up the truth is trying to bury it again.

If ever there was a hurricane disguised as a film trailer, “The Wrecking Crew” just battered its way onto screens—a blustery assault of Hawaiian sun, muscled mayhem, and brooding family history. One moment the hibiscus sway peacefully, the next, Jason Momoa and Dave Bautista come blundering through, all biceps and barbs, making about as much subtlety as, well, two sumo wrestlers in a glass-blowing studio.Director Ángel Manuel Soto, not one for muted entrances, grabs the buddy-action formula by its floral lapels and shakes out the sand, tossing viewers into a dynamic that reads part thriller, part therapy session—if the therapists were armed, deeply traumatized, and dressed for a block party. Early in the trailer, Stephen Root’s detective comes on like a referee at a demolition derby: “I can't have two guys who look like they eat steroid pancakes for breakfast turning my island into Beirut!” The line hangs in the tropical air, equal parts exasperation and grim foreshadowing.There's nothing smooth about Jonny and James—half-brothers, co-stars, and inheritors of a family mess big enough to warrant federal insurance. Momoa, flexing his signature rogue charisma, collides with Bautista's granite gravitas. Jokes ricochet (“You just stir up trouble.” — “That’s what I do, because I’m a cop.”) yet underneath? Something indelible lurks: bruised grief, old betrayals, the metallic tang of suspicion after their father’s untimely, suspicious death.And then—almost too predictably for a post-pandemic blockbuster, yet rendered fresher by Soto’s hand—the Yakuza glide into frame, all sharp collars and sharper motives. Paradise, apparently, is under siege from more than sunburn and real estate developers. “Take my word for it when I tell you...that I’m the bear,” Bautista rumbles, a line pitched somewhere between reassurance and prelude to a melee.It would be easy to dismiss all the veiled tragedy and punch-drenched humor as set dressing for inevitable car chases. But mid-trailer, Soto’s fingerprints appear—he’s not just dealing in explosions. In a world itching for 2025 escapism, there’s a not-so-quiet urgency about displacement and greed, the kind that’s edged every headline on the island for years. Soto, having recently spoken of gentrification and the continuous erasure of Indigenous voices, laces the trailer with hints: beneath the spectacle, a reckoning simmers. Whether Hollywood can juggle heartfelt commentary with blockbuster spectacle is another question—not every action flick dares to.The cast list reads like a who’s who of “oh, they got them too?”—Claes Bang, Temuera Morrison, Morena Baccarin, Jacob Batalon, and, of course, Stephen Root, who could wring gravitas out of a rotary phone. The unlikely ensemble gives the film a whiff of old-school ensemble swagger, where even background quips hit like throwback zingers.What lingers most isn’t just the choreography of carnage or the comic timing—though both are there in abundance. It’s that bruised undercurrent, the sense that loss and loyalty are constantly fighting for the upper hand. Amid the flying fists and flying insults, Soto seems intent on doing what so few blockbusters manage: threading the carnage with consequences. This isn’t just shoot-one-liners-and-explode; it’s a meditation (albeit a loud one) on who pays the bill when paradise is plundered.Come January 28, Prime Video will become a proving ground. It’s a tempting blend: the mayhem of “Fast & Furious,” sure, but swirling with the saltier flavors of generational drama and a distinctly Hawaiian reckoning. The question is whether that collision will spark genuine heat—cinematic wildfire—or simply another fleeting bonfire on the streaming shores.Either way, it’s a bold cocktail: testosterone, tragedy, and just enough local color that the aftertaste lingers, more bitter than sweet. If 2025’s Hollywood needs a reminder that explosions are just set dressing for what really explodes inside, “The Wrecking Crew” looks poised to deliver, with every sun-drenched punch and reluctant embrace. Sometimes, the only thing more dangerous than digging up the truth is trying to bury it again.