There’s no solving a problem like Tom Cruise’s “Digger”

commentary Alejandro G. Iñárritu's film indicts its audience when it should point the finger at itself Published October 5, 2026 9:00AM (EDT) Tom Cruise in "Digger" (Warner Bros. Pictures) This article contains spoilers for "Digger" To film Alejandro G. Iñárritu’s new movie “Digger,” a satirical black comedy about an aging oil tycoon facing a potentially apocalyptic crisis he fathered, Tom Cruise needed extensive prosthetics — six hours of prosthetics, to be exact. Upholding his reputation as the most intense person in any room, Cruise has proudly touted that, by encouraging the makeup artists (and running drills with them using a stopwatch), they worked the entire process down from six hours to less than one. As this is basically unheard of, the anecdote plays great on a press tour. But Cruise’s story is also an ironic reflection of “Digger”: an undeniably ambitious project whose assuredness belies a stubborn disregard for everyone but itself. Typically, that kind of thing isn’t so bad in a movie. More filmmakers would do well to be so confident in their vision that they successfully tune out intrusive thoughts about what anyone else will think, refusing to dull their boldest ideas and temper their biggest swings. But “Digger” complicates this certitude, weaving its audience into the fabric of its story so tightly that they’re bound to their seat, forced to sit with their eyes peeled open as Iñárritu points his finger back at them. His thematic concepts and narrative red herrings rely on the viewer’s presence. Without us, there is no one to hoist blame upon when the film reveals its layers, no one to compare to the film’s wide-eyed spectators of global collapse. (Warner Bros. Pictures) Tom Cruise in “Digger” Iñárritu reduces our connection to art to a distraction. While that notion may be true for some, it’s not universal, and Iñárritu’s haughty assumption only reflects how disconnected “Digger” is from the very reality it presumes to understand well enough to satirize. “Digger” can’t be a great film on its own; its success relies on generating strained discourse, on the cowardly option to chalk up its seismic errors in judgment and smug self-satisfaction to a difference in intellect. “This film is supposed to be annoying,” it argues time and again. “It’s supposed to move at a slug’s pace, and be lit with the putrid pallid color of a corpse’s husk. If you don’t get that, you must not be able to understand that this movie is already our reality.” To make a movie about the end of the world that asserts the viewer needs to understand their own complicity assumes an uncharitable worldview that keeps a vertical mile’s distance between the art and its spectators. With “Digger,” Iñárritu commands — to quote “Real Housewives of New York” alum Kelly Bensimon — “You come up to me; I don’t go down to you.” But I’ll play ball. Americans did, of course, elect Donald Trump a second time. It’s fair to assume many of us require a stern talking-to, like dogs who need their pills hidden inside the cheese that is Cruise’s Mr. Movies persona. But the problem with Iñárritu’s approach is that he’s fashioned “Digger” as a satire for a post-satire world, a state of living where every day is almost comically bleak. The more glaring issue, though, is that he seems to think this is a novel concept, one he can mine with a twist that strips “Digger” of its parts to examine the relationship between the audience and the artistic outlets (like this very movie) they use for a blip of respite between the horrors. Once Iñárritu peels the skin off, he resumes taking cheap shots at the exposed wound, reducing our connection to art to a distraction. He assumes that, these days, the public goes to see movies or plays, watches television, or reads books either to avoid this dismal reality or absolve themselves from it. While that notion may be true for some, it’s not universal, and Iñárritu’s haughty assumption only reflects how disconnected “Digger” is from the very reality it presumes to understand well enough to satirize. Saying all of this broadly without context would be an argument as compelling as Iñárritu’s — which is to say, not very. That does, however, mean that a key spoiler for the film, which occurs about 40 minutes into its runtime, is just ahead. If you would prefer not to know more, pause here. (But bookmark this page to return to, won’t you?) Iñárritu spends the film’s first quarter setting the scene and characters — strangely quite literally, raising what looks like a stage curtain but is revealed to be a window shade. Cruise’s Digger Rockwell rises from bed and tries to feed his bizarrely acting cat before learning of an explosion on his oil rig in Greenland. Lively scientist Dr. Nirav Ganesh (Riz Ahmed) warns Digger that the explosion has sent a massive ice shelf toward Norway, which will flood the coasts and hundreds of thousands of people. But it’s only the beginning. The explosion has triggered more movement, with another glacier headed toward Alaska. To avoid panic and stay ahead of the narrative, Digger meets with the president (John Goodman) and the military to discuss next steps. As Digger and the president peer out a window, a light flickers. A tree in the distance falls, and a giant hand emerges from the ground to put it back in place. Iñárritu reveals that all of this is rehearsal for a new production of the cult-classic play “Fossil Fools,” about a real-life climate disaster and its players who changed the world forever. Digger and all the characters we’ve met so far are actors. This explains their blowhard nature. Their constant screaming and yelling is a feature of the play’s meta-satire. Unfortunately for us, the film’s audience, it doesn’t make watching the rest of the rehearsal any more enjoyable. Want more from culture than just the latest trend? The Swell highlights art made to last. Sign up here If anything, the “twist” — in quotes because I tend to see anything that occurs less than an hour into a two-plus-hour film as a plot point rather than a twist — blunders the viewer’s goodwill. The jokes are less funny because they don’t occur within the film’s natural rhythm. The overacting is exhausting because it’s not only Iñárritu’s creative choice, but rather the methods employed by the play-within-a-movie’s director. Every single frame of “Digger” is thrust through an extra two meta layers. This is an interesting exercise for the filmmaker, surely, but the rest of us are stuck waiting for Iñárritu’s larger message to come into play. Placing the narrative left turn so early into the film almost feels like a tactic to curb theatrical walkouts. Those who resist the urge to use their precious time doing anything else will be rewarded not with payoff, but indictment. You there, yes you, the one sitting in seat 11E; you’re no better than the doomed dunces coming to see this production of “Fossil Fools.” Like them, you want the satire to make you feel smart, to make you feel like you’re one of the good guys? Too bad. By simply continuing to exist and endure this life you didn’t choose, you are no better than Digger Rockwell. (Warner Bros. Pictures) John Goodman in “Digger” Iñárritu portrays the average person as a seal, ready to bark and clap at anything that so much as alludes to reality. His film has ill will spewing from every pore, a complete loathing for humanity. Yes, we all have some level of complicity in the world’s eventual end. Tell us something we don’t know. The film, of course, doesn’t say this in so many words. But it doesn’t have to, either. Cruise’s character is an intentional parallel to his own cinema-championing schtick, an actor who believes every scene he’s in should carry some semblance of the truth. But when he argues veracity’s importance, the play’s producer, Kenny (Jesse Plemons), reminds him truth doesn’t matter to the audience. The people are coming for catharsis. They want to cheer on Digger’s demise. This momentary cleanse won’t save them, but it will keep them going. There is no shortage of ideas to dredge from this truth, about how we use art to cope, sometimes to our own detriment. When “Digger” briefly strikes this resonant note, its warring aspects begin to coalesce, before Iñárritu strikes them with a shovel and breaks everything up again. Just after the opening night’s audience gets their emotional release, a tone fills the theater, with a voice cautioning of a “Level 4 warning.” (What convenient timing, this happening after the play has finished!) Without surprise, the audience dons their luxury PPE — branded “LUNGZ,” complete with a cutesy “Z” at the end, because all these sheep adapted to their new normal so willingly — and makes their way into war-torn streets patrolled by drones and robot cops. Roll credits, roll eyes. As if this whole affair weren’t self-satisfied enough, Iñárritu jabs his finger at the audience one last time. After about 90 seconds, the film’s end-credits song is interrupted by the same “Level 4” warning, this time aimed at the viewer trudging out of the theater (or, in the near future, asleep on their couch). In a film full of contrived indignities, this is the most maddening, suggesting that anyone watching the film is no more clever than the “Fossil Fools” audience members. Iñárritu portrays the average person as a seal, ready to bark and clap at anything that so much as alludes to reality. His film has ill will spewing from every pore, a complete loathing for humanity. Yes, we all have some level of complicity in the world’s eventual end. Tell us something we don’t know. Riffing on the human need for emotional engagement through the arts with such venom is not just a slap in the face; it’s evidence of Iñárritu’s gnawing insecurities. By lampooning the desire to see our experiences in art without crafting any emotional resonance of its own, Iñárritu comes off as unjustly malicious, upset that his films are too sprawling and cluttered to pull off that connection consistently. How brutally ironic that “Digger” is Warner Bros.’ last film before being swallowed by Paramount–Skydance. It may have ambition, and it may have exactly the kind of role Cruise needs to pursue. But the film merely gestures to its own unfortunate place in history, without ever cementing it as a tragedy. Dig into one’s ideas too much, and eventually they’ll become hollow. Related Topics ------------------------------------------ Related Articles