Alejandro González Iñárritu has never been one to shy away from ambition. The Mexican director, who won back-to-back Best Director Oscars for Birdman (2015) and The Revenant (2016), now teams up with Tom Cruise for Digger – a film that aims to be a scathing eco-satire in the vein of Dr. Strangelove. It is, without question, one of the boldest and wildest films of 2026. It is also one of its most spectacular misfires.
The premise is pure Iñárritu: Digger Rockwell (Cruise) is an aging oil tycoon whose reckless drilling in Greenland has triggered a methane explosion, dislodging a glacier the size of five Washingtons D.C. Named Judy by the media, this renegade ice chunk is drifting straight toward Europe. As President Compton (John Goodman) and his generals debate blowing it up – one suggests, crudely, to “blow that frozen cunt up” – the film sets up a familiar critique of American hubris and trigger-happy geopolitics.
The satire is broad but initially entertaining. It skewers the Trump administration's business-first crisis management, the arrogance of American exceptionalism, and the way Europe is often dismissed as a collection of “little boys pissing sitting down.” Riz Ahmed, as Dr. Ganesh, the film's environmental scientist, delivers a grounded performance that feels like it wandered in from a Wes Anderson set – a welcome respite from the cartoonish excess around him.
But just as the farce threatens to become exhausting, Iñárritu pulls a metatextual rug from under the audience. The twist, which we won't spoil here, explains the deliberately one-note performances from Cruise, Goodman, and Sandra Hüller (who is reduced to shouting as Digger's half-sister Emma). It harks back to Birdman, with Iñárritu going full postmodernist, turning Digger into a satire about satire itself – a Twain-esque meditation on how tragedy plus time equals comedy.
It's a promising idea, but the execution falls flat. The screenplay, co-written by Iñárritu, Alexander Dinelaris, Nicolás Giacobone, and Sabina Berman, never digs deep enough into the social criticism, distraction, or catharsis that satire can offer. The jokes are sparse, and the film's mordant aspirations are undermined by a lack of genuine wit. Instead, it relies on Cruise's over-the-top efforts to carry the entertainment value.
Cruise, to his credit, throws himself into the role with prosthetic belly, terrible comb-over, and a Foghorn Leghorn drawl. But this is not the vehicle that will finally earn him the Best Actor Oscar that has eluded him for decades. His performance is larger-than-life but ultimately unrewarding – a pantomime of excess that mistakes volume for depth. As for Iñárritu, Digger is far too sanctimonious for its own good, and it's hard to see the Academy rewarding him a third time.
A hollow postmodern gambit
The film's technical merits are undeniable. Emmanuel Lubezki's cinematography and Dennis Gassner's production design are flawless, saving the film from complete disaster. But once Iñárritu pulls his metatextual trick, the narrative collapses into a bloated folly that announces its themes through didactic speeches.
One character, played by Jesse Plemons, delivers a monologue near the end that might as well be addressed directly to the audience. It essentially tells viewers that if the film feels too on-the-nose, that's by design – and if we're not in awe, we're just not getting it. This is the kind of self-justifying pretension that has become Iñárritu's signature, and it wears thin.
The film's environmental message is timely, especially given the ongoing debates about Arctic drilling and climate change. But Digger is so heavy-handed that it undermines its own intentions. It's a cautionary tale that can't get out of its own way, a satire that forgets to be funny, and a postmodern exercise that mistakes self-awareness for depth.
For European audiences, the film's premise – an American-caused environmental catastrophe threatening the continent – might resonate. But the execution is likely to leave them as cold as the Greenland ice. As Cruise himself has argued, audiences crave the real, and Digger offers only hollow theatrics.
In the end, Digger is a fascinating failure – a film that means well, knows where it wants to go, and breaks every fourth wall in its path, but ultimately can't escape its own finger-wagging. It's a bold experiment that will be studied by film students, but for general audiences, it's a two-hour reminder that high concepts are always to be applauded – even when they don't quite work.
