My day with Dwayne Johnson began with an unexpected masterclass: the intricate evolution of his famous wrestling punch. As he relaxed, barefoot and in a Willie Nelson T-shirt, I mentioned my limited knowledge of pro wrestling, recalling only Razor Ramon. Johnson’s face lit up with his trademark, blinding smile as he confirmed that he, early in his career, had meticulously studied and copied Ramon’s unique punching style.
He recounted how, back in 1996, before he became ‘The Rock,’ a critique from veteran Pat Patterson — ‘Your punches are horrible’ — became a pivotal moment. Patterson’s lesson was simple yet profound: even a staged punch must convincingly convey real impact. Johnson then demonstrated the dramatic difference, culminating in Razor Ramon’s powerful, full-body twist and a theatrical slap against his own thigh, creating a thunderous illusion. This performance highlighted a crucial lesson: dramatic pain, even if fake, demands absolute commitment and respect.
Johnson’s new film, “The Smashing Machine,” is a stark departure from his usual upbeat blockbusters. It delves into the intense, often brutal, true story of M.M.A. fighter Mark Kerr, known as ‘The Smashing Machine.’ Kerr’s raw portrayal in a 2002 documentary captivated Johnson, who saw parallels to his own struggles and a path not taken. This role became deeply personal, offering a chance to express a hidden vulnerability often masked by his public persona.
The interview experience itself was remarkable. Despite a highly structured schedule, Johnson personally greeted me and our conversation, initially slated for four hours, stretched to over eight. He displayed an almost insatiable curiosity, frequently turning questions back on me, listening with intense focus, and punctuating revelations with deep, rumbling affirmations. The overarching theme of our discussion, and of his new film, was pain – how we inflict it, absorb it, and ultimately express or deny it.
When asked about his own worst pain, Johnson paused, his famous smile gone. After a long silence, he spoke of a pivotal moment at age 15: being evicted from Hawaii and sent to live with his father, Rocky Johnson, only to be rejected. Dwayne arrived in Nashville to find his father absent, instead being housed with a stranger in a cheap motel. This betrayal compounded the initial pain of eviction, especially as his mother was driving cross-country, unaware of the fresh heartbreak awaiting her.
His father, Rocky, was a self-made legend, a pioneering Black wrestler who carved out a career despite immense hardship. He mastered ‘living the gimmick,’ maintaining an illusion of success even in poverty. Yet, Rocky’s relationship with his son was deeply complex, marked by explosive arguments and a limited capacity for love, stemming from his own traumatic childhood abandonment. When Dwayne announced his desire to wrestle, Rocky famously retorted, “What do you think you possibly have to offer?”
Years later, Rocky published an autobiography containing fabricated quotes from Dwayne, claiming credit for all his son’s success. This act of narcissism led to their final, furious argument. When Rocky died, Dwayne, on set, heard his father’s mantra, ‘The show must go on,’ and buried his grief, returning to work. At the funeral, while others praised Rocky as an amazing friend, Dwayne confessed to me, ‘He wasn’t my friend either. No, sadly. No one’s ever asked me that. But no. I wish. I wish. I think that my mom was my friend.’
Through Mark Kerr’s story, Johnson confronts this painful legacy. In the film, he delivers an unscripted line, a phrase from his father: ‘A day without pain is like a day without sunshine.’ This profoundly ambiguous statement, delivered with a smile, captures the essence of Rocky’s complex philosophy and Dwayne’s own journey. In ‘The Smashing Machine,’ Johnson sheds his invincible persona, finally allowing his authentic, vulnerable self to truly shine through, honoring his father’s complicated teachings by fully embracing the art of dramatized pain.