“No pain, no gain” is a phrase often heard in real life, but in Dan Berk and Robert Olsen’s Novocaine, the rules are different. Nathan Caine (Jack Quaid, once again taking a relentless beating) suffers from CIPA—congenital insensitivity to pain with anhidrosis. It’s not a superpower but a life-threatening condition, stripping him of any ability to feel pain while still subjecting his body to the full impact of injuries. Lars Jacobson’s script treats this anomaly as both a blessing and a curse, fueling an adrenaline-driven ride that positions Novocaine as a serious contender for one of 2025’s most exhilarating films.
The film firmly establishes its rules: Caine, nicknamed “Novocaine” in high school, may not feel pain, but his body still suffers the damage. He’s no Wolverine or Deadpool—even they feel pain. Nor is he as fragile as Mr. Glass or Bubble Boy. He’s a normie, stuck in middle management, whose condition makes him susceptible to undetected injuries and infections, shortening his life expectancy. When Novocaine thrusts this seemingly ordinary man into the heart of Hollywood-style action, the result is a wild, offbeat spectacle that balances between thrilling plausibility and sheer absurdity. It constantly walks the line between nonsense and clever storytelling, reality and sci-fi magic, empathy and detachment—all in service of an unrelentingly fun experience.
Everybody Hurts
The film opens with a montage of Caine’s carefully managed daily routine. He goes to great lengths to mitigate even minor risks: padding sharp corners, avoiding solid foods, driving cautiously, and setting alarms every few hours to prevent his bladder from overfilling without his knowledge. In the background, R.E.M.’s Everybody Hurts plays—a darkly ironic touch that underscores his reality. He might not feel pain, but he is far from invulnerable.
Yet Novocaine isn’t just an action film. For all its bone-crunching, blood-splattered set pieces, it is initially structured like a rom-com. Enter Sherry (Amber Midthunder, exuding both the badassery of Prey and the intrigue of Reservation Dogs), a bank teller who makes Caine feel truly seen for the first time. She challenges his fears, pushing him toward vulnerability and, unknowingly, setting the stage for both his awakening and his undoing.
Everything changes when a trio of armed robbers in Santa masks storms the bank, taking Sherry hostage. Brutal and efficient, they execute the bank manager without hesitation, mercilessly beat Caine, and gun down responding officers without a second thought. Something snaps inside Caine. He may lack any good judgment—or perhaps he cannot second-guess himself—but he resolves to hunt them down, risking everything to save the woman who makes him feel alive. And, true to the film’s theme, everybody hurts eventually.
Trailing him are detectives Mincy Langston (Betty Gabriel) and Coltraine Duffy (Matt Walsh), leading an understaffed police force against the robbers. Novocaine thrives in its most nihilistic moments, crafting action that is as over-the-top as it is strangely plausible. The way Caine discovers his body’s potential in real time injects a frenetic energy into the fight sequences without drifting into outright fantasy. One standout moment sees him grabbing a sizzling pan to attack the baddie, who instinctively tries to parry it—only to recoil in agony, highlighting the stark contrast to Caine’s lack of reaction to burns.
As the chaos escalates, so do the stakes. The film grows increasingly inventive in its set pieces, exploiting Caine’s unique physiology in unpredictable ways. The action plays like nihilistic slapstick, yet never overstays its welcome. Just as things begin to feel familiar, the narrative injects another surge of adrenaline, keeping audiences hooked—much like Caine himself, who relies on epinephrine shots to stay conscious.
Die-Hard, Literally
Quaid proves a perfect fit for the titular Novocaine. If anyone can embody a human punching bag, it’s him. While he recently showcased a darker edge in Companion, here he leans into the hapless nobody-turned-somebody persona that has defined his The Boys character. Caine is at his most comfortable in mundanity; his biggest prior risk-taking involves tanking in an MMORPG so his teammate, Roscoe (Jacob Batalon), can land the sucker punch — a fair foreshadowing of his role in this action flick.
When he does snap, his posture remains oddly convincing. His wiry frame and well-fitted suits might suggest a John Wick-esque charm, but his awkward combat style is more reminiscent of Colin Firth’s poised yet raw movements in Kingsman. Unlike a traditional action hero, he isn’t a natural fighter; even his attempts to shake off tension feel out of place. Yet his sheer determination separates him from the action hero persona.
His dynamic with the film’s main antagonist (Ray Nicholson, oozing his father’s signature psychopathic charisma with a sharper quip) is equally compelling. The villains feel almost superhuman in their brutality, making Caine’s fight against them all the more chaotic. Their confrontations defy logic at times, but that unpredictability fuels the film’s exhilarating momentum. Meanwhile, Batalon delivers a laid-back sidekick performance that adds an extra layer of unpredictability to the mix.
How much punishment can Caine endure before he finally goes down? The film dares audiences to detach from logic, warning that the harder they try to make sense of it all, the easier the fun slips away. Yet, much like its protagonist, Novocaine refuses to give up, even as the mayhem escalates.
Armed with a sharp premise and even sharper execution, Novocaine dials up the fun with Quaid’s undeniable charm—or lack thereof. It lays out its rules meticulously before diving headfirst into mayhem, growing more thrilling with each turn. The pain should be excruciating. But here, it’s all gain, no pain. Exhilarating.
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