Digger

Alejandro G. Iñárritu's ambitious film is a tangled mess

Climate change has been a recognized problem for at least half a century, and by now the inaction has become as much a part of the story as the crisis itself. In an era of deepening polarization, and with the oil lobby pressing its interests, governments have been achingly slow to act, when they act at all. Art has been sounding the alarm for years, growing steadily more bombastic in its demands for urgency. Hollywood’s latest tactic for raising awareness seems to be satire, first with Don’t Look Up (2021) and now with Digger (2026).

Digger is a Brechtian story about Digger Rockwell (Tom Cruise), an American oil tycoon and one of the most powerful people on the planet. When one of his rigs explodes in the Arctic, an enormous ice sheet is launched at speed, set on a collision course with heavily populated areas. The ailing US president (John Goodman) comes to Digger for counsel. Rather than confront the disaster, the two set about “refocusing” the narrative and managing public perception. There is also a parallel story, absent from any of the promotional material, so I will not spoil it, that explores performance itself and the artistic value of comedy and introspection as a way of processing historical trauma.

Digger is Alejandro González Iñárritu’s latest, and his first English-language film since The Revenant (2015), more than a decade ago. The Mexican director is enormously capable, and with a sizeable budget here he has let nothing rein in his ambition. The result is a white elephant: a Hydra of a film that tries to comment on several levels at once, to be meta, witty, and self-deprecating, all while delivering a populist and accessible warning about climate change and government corruption. It is simply too much for one film to carry. What emerges is a mess, technically ingenious and full of wonderful practical sets, but muddled in both narrative and execution.

Don’t Look Up, Adam McKay’s version of the climate satire, was also messy in its sprawl. But it was at least linear. Digger works on so many layers, literal and symbolic, that it dilutes itself. Its metafictional devices are abrupt, which Brecht would have approved of, but they also function as slight cheats, a way to jump from one sequence to the next when Iñárritu could not write a smooth transition. The film ends up more interested in distraction, in impressing you with its own self-awareness, than in giving its characters or its story any depth. The whole thing feels like the kind of expensive undertaking where an auteur receives an enormous budget and too much free rein with too little oversight. It is a bold and romantic idea, and also a demonstration that a second pair of eyes helps on any project.

That said, with a budget this large and a director this skilled, the technical elements are a joy. I was astounded by how much practical craft is on screen, from the obviously real sets to the animatronics used for an ailing cat and the miniature models standing in for scenery. All of it is beautifully framed by the incomparable Emmanuel Lubezki, reuniting with Iñárritu after Birdman (2014) and The Revenant. The makeup department does impressive work too, transforming Cruise with a convincing fat suit and aging his skin and hair into those of a droopy oil executive.

Cruise himself, who has long cast himself as the savior of modern cinema through Mission: Impossible and Top Gun, cannot save this one from eating its own tail. He does, though, deliver his best performance in nearly two decades in what is plainly an Oscar-bait role. He has to move between two versions of the character as the film flips into its metafictional register, and he shows real range alongside obvious relish. The charisma is on full display, chewing the scenery and every line with commanding gravitas. Cruise has always had talent, most evident in the daring films of his early career, but he has settled comfortably into blockbusters where his range goes largely untested. Digger proves the hunger and the magnetism are still there, and one hopes the film’s failure does not send him back to his comfort zones for good.

In the end, Digger deserves credit for its daring and its noble aims, but it tangles itself into a muddled knot. By refusing to commit to a single idea, tone, or style, Iñárritu delivers something shallow and confused, a film that reeks of self-importance and seems to be patting itself on the back by the final scenes, while the audience is more likely to leave with a raised eyebrow and a sigh.

5.5/10