Interview: Dwayne Johnson and Emily Blunt Break Open The Smashing Machine — Obsession, Love and the Cost of Winning

Every so often, a press interview stops being promotional and starts feeling confessional. That’s what happened during the virtual Q&A for The Smashing Machine, a bruising, intimate drama that strips away the mythology of combat sports to expose what’s left when the lights go down. Before the conversation could drift toward safe territory, I opened the discussion on behalf of The TV Cave with a question aimed directly at the film’s emotional core.

I asked Dwayne Johnson which part of Mark Kerr’s life, addiction, vulnerability, or emotional conflict was hardest to confront on screen. His answer immediately reframed the entire conversation. “The hardest thing was trying to find grace,” Johnson said, explaining that playing Kerr forced him to reckon with unresolved feelings about his own father and addiction. It wasn’t a rehearsed response. It was raw, personal, and quietly devastating and it set the tone for everything that followed.

That honesty mirrors the film itself. The Smashing Machine, directed by Benny Safdie, charts the rise and unraveling of Kerr, a

dominant MMA fighter whose obsessive pursuit of victory corrodes every part of his life. The film doesn’t glorify the violence or the accolades. Instead, it lingers on the aftermath: the silence after a loss, the isolation backstage, the emotional shrapnel that hits the people closest to him, especially his partner, Dawn Staples, played by Emily Blunt.

Blunt’s performance is a slow burn that sneaks up on you. Dawn isn’t framed as a saint or a villain; she’s a woman clinging to love in a relationship defined by volatility. When another outlet asked Blunt about meeting the real Dawn Staples, she spoke about fear and trust, fear of revisiting that time in her life, and trust in the filmmakers to portray it honestly. That trust pays off onscreen. Dawn’s loneliness becomes one of the film’s most painful throughlines, particularly as Mark disappears emotionally in the weeks leading up to fights.

One of the film’s most harrowing sequences, a bathroom confrontation late in the story, captures that dynamic perfectly. Blunt later revealed that the scene was shot in a single take, which explains why it feels less like a performance and more like something you shouldn’t be watching. It’s messy, loud, emotionally violent, and completely unpolished. Safdie’s camera doesn’t rescue the audience from discomfort; it forces you to sit with it.

That approach extends to the film’s depiction of obsession. In another standout question from an international outlet, Johnson was asked how playing Kerr reshaped his understanding of obsession and pressure, especially as someone accustomed to roaring crowds. His answer connected Kerr’s self-destruction to something far more universal: the pressure to perform, provide, and win at all costs.

Safdie frames obsession as a parasite, the thing that convinces you that victory will save you, even as it quietly eats away at everything else. In The Smashing Machine, winning doesn’t bring peace. It delays the crash.

Johnson’s performance lives in that contradiction. As Kerr, he radiates physical dominance, but his eyes constantly betray him. The film repeatedly places him behind curtains and in locker rooms, moments before he steps into the spotlight. Those scenes feel lived-in, not acted, and Johnson later explained how closely they mirrored his own experiences in wrestling — leaving personal chaos behind the curtain in order to perform strength for an audience.

Blunt, meanwhile, grounds the film emotionally. Dawn’s relationship with Mark is built on cycles, love, conflict, reconciliation, repeat and the film never excuses the damage that causes. When asked about the toxic nature of the relationship, Blunt described it as codependent and addicted to drama, noting that fighting became their shared language. That insight makes the film’s quieter moments hit hardest: the silences, the missed connections, the times Dawn realizes she’s already alone.

As a film, The Smashing Machine is intentionally uncomfortable. It resists easy catharsis and refuses to soften its characters for audience approval. Safdie’s direction thrives on stillness and dread, letting scenes linger long past the point most films would cut away. It’s a choice that won’t work for everyone, but for those willing to engage, it’s deeply effective.

The conversation eventually turned toward awards buzz, including high-profile praise from Christopher Nolan. Johnson spoke about how hearing Nolan single out his performance left him stunned, not because of the attention, but because Nolan is known for precision and sincerity. Emily Blunt echoed that sentiment, emphasizing that Nolan doesn’t hand out compliments casually. The moment felt less like validation and more like recognition of risk taken.

Other journalists zeroed in on the film’s emotional themes. Johny Hoque from Bangladesh asked Emily, “Benny Safdie is known for immersive directing style. Was there a particular rehearsal that pushed you out of your comfort zone?” Blunt explained, “The gift Benny gave us was to live in the stillness and dread. Awkward moments, silences, even the small fails — that’s where the film hits hardest. It lets you breathe with the characters without forcing the story along.”

Meanwhile, Jasmine Stevens from the Was It Good Though Podcast pressed Johnson on the bond between fighters: “How important was it to highlight sportsmanship and genuine friendship, especially in such a brutal sport?” Johnson’s response was heartfelt: “It was everything. These men are physically dominant, yes, but vulnerable and lonely. The brotherhood they form is real. Even when they win, even when they lose, it’s the people around them that make the difference — that support, that connection, that humanity.”

As a film, The Smashing Machine is intentionally uncomfortable. It resists easy catharsis and refuses to soften its characters for audience approval. Safdie’s direction thrives on stillness and dread, letting scenes linger long past the point most films would cut away. It’s a choice that won’t work for everyone, but for those willing to engage, it’s deeply effective.

If The Smashing Machine signals anything, it’s that Dwayne Johnson is no longer interested in playing invincible. And Emily Blunt continues to be one of the sharpest, most fearless collaborators in the business. The film hits hard, sits heavy, and doesn’t apologize for either, which, frankly, feels like the point.