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

They said it would never happen. For a while, it looked like they were right. After 2022’s Jackass Forever - a surprisingly tender victory lap that somehow made a man getting stung by a bee feel like a spiritual experience - the crew seemed content to ride off into the sunset on a wave of bruised testicles and fractured tailbones. But Hollywood loves a farewell tour, and on June 25, 2026, Johnny Knoxville and the boys returned with Jackass: Best and Last, a 92-minute, gloriously irresponsible eulogy for the dumbest franchise in cinema history. And honestly? It’s the perfect way to say goodbye.

Directed once again by the steady hand of Jeff Tremaine - the only man alive who can make chaos look like choreography - this fifth and final installment doesn’t reinvent the wheel. It doesn’t need to. Instead, Best and Last operates on a simple, brutal premise: the crew knows they’re old, they know their bodies are failing, and they’ve decided to punish those bodies one last time with the enthusiasm of condemned men ordering their final meal. The title isn’t a boast. It’s a mission statement. This is the best they’ve got, and it’s the last we’ll ever see of it.

The opening scene sets the tone immediately. Knoxville, now 55 and looking every bit the grizzled stuntman who has aged in dog years, sits in a wheelchair outside a hospital, staring at a sign that reads “EMERGENCY ENTRANCE.” “We’ve got about six hours before my hip replacement appointment,” he deadpans to the camera. “Let’s make ‘em count.” What follows is a montage that feels both triumphant and elegiac - a greatest-hits reel of slapstick violence intercut with the guys struggling to climb stairs, complaining about their knees, and Steve-O casually mentioning he’s got a doctor’s note advising against “any activity involving momentum.” The juxtaposition is pure Jackass: equal parts hilarious and horrifying, like watching a puppy chase a car.

The stunts themselves are a masterclass in escalation. Gone are the simpler days of shopping carts and rented bulls. Now, we get a sequence involving a rocket-powered shopping cart, a swimming pool full of mayonnaise, and a live alligator that Pontius insists is “just a big lizard, bro.” The production design has evolved too - there’s a set piece in an abandoned warehouse that looks like a Saw movie designed by someone on a sugar high, complete with a spinning bed of nails and a piano that falls from the ceiling at precisely the wrong moment. But the real genius of Best and Last is how it balances the chaos with genuine emotion. There’s a scene where the crew sits around a campfire, trading war stories and laughing so hard they wheeze. It’s unscripted, raw, and strangely moving. You remember that these are real friends who have spent two decades bleeding for each other.

The elephant in the room, of course, is Bam Margera. His absence looms large, but Tremaine handles it with class. The film includes a brief, touching tribute - archival footage of Margera in his prime, flipping off a camera while skateboarding off a roof - and a title card that simply reads: “For Bam.” It’s not exploitative. It’s a eulogy within a eulogy, a recognition that the franchise’s chaotic energy was always fueled by his unpredictable brilliance. The rest of the crew - Wee Man, Dave England, Preston Lacy, and Ehren McGhehey - all get their moments, but it’s Knoxville and Steve-O who anchor the film. Steve-O, now sober and rifling through his mid-50s with the energy of a caffeinated chihuahua, performs a stunt involving a bungee cord and a prosthetic leg that will make you question humanity’s survival instinct. Knoxville, meanwhile, delivers a final, glorious head-butting with a bull that feels less like a stunt and more like a declaration of love. He gets knocked out cold for 14 seconds. When he wakes up, he smiles and asks, “Did we get it?” We did, Johnny. We always did.

With a TMDb rating of 7.554, Best and Last isn’t just fan service - it’s a legitimately great farewell. It’s funny, it’s painful, and it’s surprisingly poignant. You’ll laugh until your stomach hurts, then you’ll choke up when the credits roll over a montage of the crew’s most iconic injuries set to a sappy acoustic cover of “Closing Time.” It’s the rare finale that understands what made the beginning so special: a group of idiots who loved each other enough to break their bodies for our amusement. So here’s to the last rodeo. Don’t cry because it’s over. Cry because you’re laughing too hard to breathe.