Alejandro G. Iñárritu (The Revenant, Biutiful, Babel, 21 Grams, Amores Perros) directs this black comedy satire he co-wrote with Sabina Berman, Alexander Dinelaris Jr., and Nicolás Giacobone based on a story he, Berman, and Jez Butterworth concocted about Digger Rockwell (Tom Cruise), a blowhard oil tycoon whose company unleashes a potentially world-destroying disaster in Greenland. (129 min.)
Editor’s note: Anna Starkey is walking the Camino in Spain, so former Palm Theatre employee and current Atascadero English teacher Meghan Higdon is stepping in for a couple of weeks.
Glen This film’s going to drive some people crazy. We were in a theater with six people, and two of them walked out midway. It’s a film that requires viewers to strap in and let go of expectations, and yes, it’s a bumpy and abrasive ride, but I think its final destination is worth the discomfort. Cruise is over-the-top as Digger, a character that hovers somewhere between his smarmy studio exec Les Grossman from Tropic Thunder (2008) and his “seduce and destroy” dude guru Frank T.J. Mackey in Magnolia (1999). He’s the perfect villain—wholly unlikeable, venal, and mendacious. But the story plays a neat trick on viewers. It turns out we’re the villains.
Meg If Birdman (2014) and Biutiful (2010) had a baby, it would be this film, with spiritual foundations laid by Orwell and Brecht. I love art that forces me to sit with my existential discomfort and stew, and Iñárritu certainly refuses to let his audience passively enjoy this film as mere entertainment. It was not a fun movie to watch. It’s didactic seemingly by design, and in some places it edges on preachy. It felt like a direct indictment of the audience as passive yet ravenous consumers of everything in our lives: food, oil, relationships, information, TikTok. But it’s done with all the stylistic verve Iñárritu is known for, with performances from Cruise and John Goodman (who plays the president of the United States) that shoulder much of the weight of a hefty script.
Glen Holy shit! As crazed as Cruise is, Goodman doubles down. His President Compson is positively unhinged. His face is so expressive. I also loved Robert John Burke as Fitzgerald, the general for whom dropping bombs is always the first choice. He’s channeling George C. Scott from Dr. Strangelove (1964), and the best sight gag in this picture is when the military is dropping a bomb on a dislodged iceberg to break it into smaller pieces, and the writing on the bomb says, “Suck it, nature.” Brilliant! The only thing missing is Slim Pickens riding it into the berg. This is definitely another film that will divide audiences, but Iñárritu—while arguably being self-indulgent—is also brilliant. What I really want to know is how long did Tom Cruise have to sit in a makeup chair to make him look his actual age? Bravo, badass!
Meg The thing that really stuck with me as I keep mulling over this cinematic behemoth is the question that seems to be at the heart of the film—who controls the narrative? The English teacher in me hopes that we’re always asking who is the speaker and what is their ethos? But alas, passive consumption prevents us from engaging with this critical question. The scene haunting me most is when Digger gets Dr. Ganesh to go against his vehemently stated morals to eat a piece of endangered tuna, simply by telling him a persuasive story. What saves this movie from being overly self-indulgent for me is the way Iñárritu shows us the power of a well-told story. It can literally move us to action, for better or worse. So, who will tell the story of what happens to us? And who will stand to benefit from it? ∆
Arts Editor Glen Starkey and contributor Meghan Higdon wrote Split Screen this week. Comment at gstarkey@newtimesslo.com.
This article appears in Oct 8-15, 2026.
