...Digger for the fans (spoilers!)

I was by no means excited to watch Digger - if anything I was somewhat dreading it. Its initially quite intriguing trailer (both in muted palette and absurd premise) had grown unfunnier upon every rewatch, and my anticipation was at an all-time low after a thoroughly underwhelmed critics’ response upon release. It was the end of a long week of settling back into university: after organising a new house and readjusting to 9am starts, watching what I was expecting to be a quite overstated, tedious film wasn’t exactly the relaxing finish I’d envisioned. Moreover, I was worried it would put an end to the hot streak of cinematic triumphs I’d been lucky enough to just be off the heels of (Resident Evil to Teenage Sex & Death at Camp Miasma to In The Mood For Love), and that didn’t seem a worthy price to pay to hear everyone’s favourite Scientologist putting on a Southern accent. But Digger delighted. It was a hugely enjoyable watch that left me with a lot to chew on, to the point that I was baffled by its polarising reception. So why do a lot of critics just not dig it? At the risk of overstaying my welcome, let’s dig in… 

This film is visually stunning. Iñárritu flaunts the gorgeous set with the opening shots imbuing the scenery surrounding our protagonist’s isolated estate with a Garden of Eden-like quality. This is a perfectly crafted paradise, its curtains drawn back to awaken our protagonist. This sense of serene dignity is immediately renounced as soon as Rockwell Digger, our titular character played by Tom Cruise, opens his mouth. Cruise plays a blustering, money-hungry, foul-mouthed, oil tycoon – quick to bulldoze past any grounded concerns that stand in his way with empty spiels on “hard work”. His humanity is only showcased through his love for Maggie the Cat, who is, for all intents and purposes, a meowing corpse. Digger’s composure is thrown quickly into disarray after an explosion at his oil rig in Greenland sets an ice shelf adrift on collision course to Europe. This first leg of the film is probably its weakest: its humour is at its most grating and its caricatures of capitalists and politicians at their most uninteresting and overplayed – generally reducible to the parodies of Trumpisms we’ve been drowning in for the last decade. This is not to say that there aren’t genuinely great moments and jokes that land, but my lack of excitement still seemed vindicated. The way in which this first act closes, however, very abruptly transformed my apprehension into complete absorption - if you are even somewhat intrigued, please stop reading now and give the film a shot. 

So here comes the reveal: everything we have witnessed thus far is part of the final rehearsal for a stage play. With the first act concluded, technicians hurry in to adjust the foreground, and Digger becomes the actor, Curtis Markson, also somewhat disgruntled by the script and tone, rushing away to his dressing room after some minor quibbling with the director. This had me very impressed – who doesn’t love a meta-narrative? A play within a film? And Cruise’s character seemingly validating my own qualms – critiques predicted and voiced within the film itself? Brilliant! This giddiness didn’t really wear off for the remaining runtime, making the next ninety minutes breeze by. But beyond the initial woah, what is the purpose of this re-framing? 

Digger is not a satire of broad Hollywood-funded satires, there is too much genuine joy in this play for Iñárritu to be deriding the genre outright. Instead, their complexity is embraced, and we are very directly confronted with the contradictions inherent in their very existence. It questions our relationship with these satires, and I’d say it is firmly in the camp of celebrating them in all their messiness. Subtlety is thrown out the window, and we veer into farce territory with some of the scenes in the late second act (notably the one set in the Presidential bedroom, which had me in uncontrollable laughter). But who needs subtlety when you’ve got unabashed hilarity whilst still hammering home a point? I mean, hell, the play is called “Fossil Fools”! Iñárritu doesn’t shy away from the murkiness surrounding the production of these, with the play being funded by the nephew of Rockwell Digger because DUN DUN DUN: it is all based on real events in the world of the film. 

This may be all going too far – risking being clowned on as the new Don’t Look Up whilst thinking it was so much smarter, that certainly seems to be where a lot of critics stand. Whilst a tad heavy-handed even for my more pedestrian sensibilities, especially with the closing reveal of the outside flooded world losing the contained nature of the rest of the film, Digger is still effectively sobering. Sure, climate panic is ubiquitous these days, but an occasional slap-in-the-face is more than necessary. I found myself somewhat seduced and defeated by Rockwell’s speech to the European Council - “you need oil” - and part of me was sold on it. But this is swiftly juxtaposed with the ridiculous reveal of a secondary ice shelf loose and en route to Alaska. There is always worse on the horizon and Iñárritu won’t let us forget this - swallowing any sort of black pill will only cement our fate, so we must fight. After all, it’s Digg or Die I’ve heard.