When used with just enough lack of subtlety, a filmmaker can turn the intensity and punch of a movie up three, maybe four notches just by laying on the foley. Too much, though, and you end up with the empty, woofer bombast of Cutthroat Island. The boosted sound effects of everyday life enhance the escapism. When you stumble out of a theater, the movie's world still cloudying up your head, you want every mundane action to be loud, crisp, clear. Lighting a match roars like a forest fire.
Knuckles cracking are thunderbolts, full of menace.
The deafening thud gets people's attention, all right. Most foley artists would probably follow the editor's credo, whereby you don't notice their work if it's done well. No, not necessarily. But if I was there, kneeling in broken glass, shaking a large ring of keys, I would make it all a little too big.