Jackass: Best and Last (2026) Review - Final Stunts

Let’s be honest: plot was never the point. The “story” here is a loose, self-aware pretense - the crew gathers under the flimsy excuse of a “best of” retrospective, only to realize they can’t just show clips. They need to do something. That setup leads to a series of set-pieces strung together by talking-head interviews, behind-the-scenes groans, and that familiar, skatepark-littered geography we know by heart. Director Jeff Tremaine once again functions as the ringmaster, giving just enough narrative scaffolding to remind us that these are real men with real families, then promptly throwing them down a flight of stairs.

There’s a melancholic throughline, though. The film opens with archival footage of the late Ryan Dunn, and Bam Margera appears only through old clips - a ghost hovering over the proceedings. It’s handled with surprising grace: no mawkish speeches, just a quiet acknowledgment that this obsession with hurting each other has always been a love story disguised as a demolition derby. The final act builds to a genuinely ambitious stunt - the details are best left unspoiled - that feels like a mission statement more than a gag.

The beauty of Jackass has always been its democratic masochism. Knoxville still leads with a cheerleader’s energy and a crash-test dummy’s bones, and while his face has turned into a roadmap of scar tissue, his timing remains flawless. Steve-O, now a gym-rat sobriety warrior, tackles each stunt with the enthusiasm of a man who knows he shouldn’t be doing this, which makes it funnier. Wee Man is still tiny and indestructible; Dave England is still a walking diarrhea joke; Preston Lacy’s weight is both the punchline and the payload. But the MVP here is Ehren McGhehey - aka “Danger Ehren” - who approaches every humiliation with a wide-eyed, trembling commitment that borders on tragicomic sainthood.

What elevates this beyond a greatest-hits reel is the physical storytelling. The gags aren’t just gross; they’re layered with consequence. When Knoxville gets knocked unconscious in one early bit, the crew doesn’t laugh - they check his pupils. That behind-the-scenes pause is more honest than any documentary about aging daredevils I’ve seen. The movie leans into its own absurdity, though, with a standout sequence involving a bull, a remote-controlled car, and a prosthetic limb that had me laughing so hard I worried for my own cardiovascular health.

The cinematography remains appropriately grimy - handheld, harshly lit, all Texas summers and dusty warehouse interiors. Tremaine isn’t trying to make this look cinematic; he’s trying to make it feel real, and that’s the right call. Sound design is a symphony of wet thuds, cracking bones, and Steve-O’s squealing cackle. Editing cuts at a pace that never feels rushed, letting each gag breathe just enough to anticipate the impact.

Is it perfect? No. Some bits drag - a recurring skit involving Pontius’s “Party Boy” character feels dated, and a few recycled pranks (the snake in the box, the pepper spray) don’t land with the same shock value as before. There’s also a lingering sense that the crew is holding back just a little; the truly life-threatening stuff is hinted at but never shown in full. That’s likely a wise decision for their health, but it slightly dulls the razor’s edge.

Pros

• The chemistry is undeniable; these men know each other’s rhythms by heart, and it shows.
• The tribute to Ryan Dunn and Bam Margera’s ghost is handled with genuine heart.
• Several stunts are instant classics, with a finale that’s both absurd and surprisingly emotional.
• 92 minutes is the perfect runtime - lean, mean, and no filler.
• The self-aware humor about their aging bodies adds a layer of poignancy.

Cons

• Some recurring bits feel tired, especially Party Boy’s reappearance.
• A few pranks are recycled from earlier films with minimal variation.
• The safety-first approach (visible pads, more crew intervention) undercuts some of the madness.
• If you’re squeamish, the final forty minutes will test your resolve.

Jackass: Best and Last does what the best final chapters should: it honors what came before, admits the time has come to stop, and goes out on its own ridiculous terms. It’s not a masterpiece, but it doesn’t need to be - it’s a monument to a unique brand of comic masochism that’s unlikely to ever be replicated, mostly because no insurance company would allow it. The TMDb score of 7.554 feels about right: a solid, crowd-pleasing send-off that gives the fans exactly what they want while gently easing the door shut on a franchise that never learned to quit. For the crew, this was never about the pain; it was about the company. And for 92 minutes, we get to be part of that mangy, laughing, bleeding family. Go watch it with friends, wince loudly, and remember that some things are best left young, dumb, and full of spunk - metaphorically speaking.