Words by JANE CROWTHER
Of course we all adore Tom Cruise running and saving the day. But we also love it when he takes a gamble on a performance, when he doesn’t ask an audience to root for the character he’s carefully crafted, when vanity is thrown out the window. While we warm to Maverick and Ethan Hunt, we also relish the bitter repellence of Frank TJ MacKey and the corpulent twerking and pottymouth of Les Grossman. Digger Rockwell is Cruise unapologetically swinging for the fences, his movie star charisma buried under ageing, swelling prosthetics, and his character knowingly repulsive.
On that level alone, Alejandro G. Iñárritu’s bleak satire prodding at big business, environmentalism and the human need for stories (both in the news cycle and to process trauma) is an intrigue. Do you want to see Cruise with cowboy boots, paunch and an accent as thick as oil getting peed on by his animatronic incontinent cat? Yeah, you probably do. Writer-director Alejandro G. Iñárritu has called for care when reviewing his film in order for surprises to be preserved, but any viewer who has seen Birdman or Bardo should feel a sense of deja vu.
Themes and sensibilities from both are present in a broad satire that introduces us to Digger as he awakes in his palatial, willfully artificial and OTT mansion, his 30 year-old cat, Maggie, in his bed. A tycoon who built his business on the ethos of his grand-daddy and his humble shovel (which hangs with other trophies in his home), Digger has an infuriated sister (Sandra Hüller, wasted) and a big problem with his Alaskan operation. A piece of the ice shelf the size of Washington DC has broken off and is heading towards Europe, a cataclysmic situation that requires accountability, atonement and action. Digger and the US president (John Goodman) conspire to do the opposite…
With mentions of getting ahead of the narrative and the value of truth, plus Digger giving a baldly truthful speech about consumer complicity to a room of oatmeal men, Iñárritu strives to be both deep and relevant. But with a one-note tone that only operates at eleven (though MVP Riz Ahmed modulates for nuance), an unsatisfactory mid-film rug-pull which undermines any sharpness, and a preponderance for the grotesque, Digger feels like it does a lot of shouting without saying much at all.
Thank goodness then for Cruise – committing to the bit with the sort of dedication we expect of him, going gonzo in a manner that entertains even when the material does not. And production design, while bilious, is detailed and accomplished – worth looking at if Goodman’s bellowing is losing its charm. It’s a technically impressive film, with an all-star cast around the nucleus of Cruise and ambition for days. But it’s also messy, ugly and unfocused. And while it should buoy Cruise into the awards conversation, it will likely be him alone on the campaign trail.
Words by JANE CROWTHER
Images courtesy of WARNER BROS. PICTURES
Digger is in cinemas now
