There’s a quip by the beloved humourist Dan Nilsen, who compared satire to pornography by evoking Supreme Justice Potter Stewart, who himself famously said (of the latter): “I know it when I see it” – and in the centuries that we’ve been analysing the subject, there are few descriptions more appropriate when it comes to satire than this one. Ultimately, it’s a topic that everyone perceives in their own way, and unlike more traditional genre or storytelling techniques, there’s very rarely a consistent, universally recognised criterion for what makes a good satire, other than the fundamental belief that it needs to be lampooning something recognisable, even if it is contained to a particular place and time. It’s a literary concept that has often been dissected from every possible angle in an effort to understand precisely what constitutes a strong satire, but we are no closer to knowing for sure than we were decades ago. Needless to say, there’s nothing quite as exhilarating as a well-crafted satire, especially one that is adamant in delivering a particular message without any reluctance, knowing that the more fearless and daring it is, the likelier it will be to age well, which is not always a guarantee with even the strongest entries into the genre. Alejandro González Iñárritu is not always the first person we imagine when discussing notable satirists – he’s made a couple of comedies in the past, but neither of them seems to be particularly bold in terms of satire (while still being exceptional in other areas), which is what made the prospect of Digger, his most recent directorial outing, so incredibly intriguing. The story, which follows the world’s wealthiest man who is confronted with harsh realities when he is informed that he is responsible for a catastrophe that is threatening to cause a global crisis, is one that is certainly very timely, especially in terms of how it reflects deeper social and political concerns that impact the entire world in ways that are often difficult to pinpoint at first, but which lays the foundation for one of the director’s most subversive and challenging works to date, and a film that is never interested in playing by the rules in any conceivable way. As deranged as it is fascinating, Digger is quite a strange film, and one that certainly earns our respect, even if it can sometimes be difficult to embrace at certain points.

Few subjects tend to be more prominent when it comes to satire than politics – it’s the one topic that is almost universally considered to be ripe for the picking for anyone who has the inclination, with many artists taking advantage of the fact that they have carte blanche to do whatever feels necessary to lampoon those in power. It’s very difficult to punch down when dealing with individuals who are usually extremely wealthy and influential, so mockery isn’t only allowed, it’s actively encouraged as part of the culture. Digger is yet another opportunity for an in-depth exploration of the political system, this time from the perspective of the world’s wealthiest man, an oil magnate who holds court as arguably the most influential businessman of his generation, so much that he even considers the President of the United States a close personal friend (and the allusions here are certainly not at all subtle), which makes every decision, whether big or small, politically relevant in some way. Iñárritu has always had an interesting perspective on politics as a subject, since many of his films look at it from a few different angles, but it was only in Bardo, False Chronicle of a Handful of Truths, where we find that he actively sought out ways to rework the topic into a satire. He continues that approach here, weaving together the story of someone who has earned unlimited power (although it is very likely the result of nepotism, as the film indicates that the Rockwell fortune comes from Digger’s ancestors, rather than him being the self-made man that he claims to be), but suddenly realises that he also has the responsibility to remedy a potentially destructive situation caused by his own negligence. It’s not a subtle film in any way, with the director openly exploring the subject of greed, grotesque wealth, environmental destruction and socio-political manipulation that is rampant in the global culture, using them all as the foundation for a blisteringly funny and often deeply disturbing deconstruction of how society has always functioned, where the majority are merely pawns used by an elite few as they attempt to grow richer and more powerful, not realising the extent to which their actions have enormous consequences, or at the very least being comfortable in the knowledge that they will be immune to whatever penalties emerge in the aftermath. It’s challenging and unconventional, and lays the foundation for a satire that has a remarkably large reach, even when it can often seem to be heading towards the unwieldy at times.

However, it would not be an Iñárritu film if there wasn’t some kind of surprise embedded somewhere in the story, since the director has been adamant in his desire to redefine the cinematic process, something that he has been actively pursuing for over a decade. At a glance, Digger seems like a relatively conventional political satire: broadly written characters, offbeat humour and a sense of urgency that is concealed under layers of irreverence. However, towards the end of the first act, we discover that this is not all the film is aspiring to be, as Iñárritu chooses this moment as the opportunity to turn the film on the audience, revealing that what we have been watching for the past forty minutes has been a rehearsal for a stage production, set in the near-distant future, in which actors are recreating events that happened in their timeline, as part of an anniversary production. This is a bold and daring choice for a film that was already attempting to challenge the audience, and now pushes an even more unsettling set of themes into the conversation, which both elevates the story and unravels it in a fascinating and deeply provocative way. There’s something so peculiar about how Iñárritu perceives art – he’s undeniably talented, but he has shown a strange relationship to the craft, which he both adores and sees as a vessel through which he can unsettle common social and cultural perceptions. Ultimately, Digger is not a film about art itself, but rather how life is a constant performance, where we are all actors in some way or another, going through life as if it is a series of scenes, which we can consider to be the foundation of this film. It isn’t a treatise against the arts as a whole (although there are some hilarious jabs directed at method actors), but rather a glimpse into how creativity can often be used as a means to both heighten the tension and soften the blow of reality, a chance to explore life through a more artificial lens, albeit one that is still very much recognisable, and where we ourselves become part of the artistic process by simply observing these fascinating and disconcerting flights of fancy. Iñárritu has a very specific vision that is extensively explored throughout Digger, which turns out to be far more nuanced than we had initially imagined, satirising not only the political system, but the overall cultural milieu as well, which is a surprising choice, but one that aligns perfectly with the director’s more confrontational style of storytelling.

Over the course of his career, Iñárritu has collaborated with a number of notable actors, who seem ready to leap at the opportunity to work with a filmmaker who has a tendency to extract memorable performances from his actors. While it is a matter of individual opinion as to whether his actors have done the best work under his direction, it is clear that his ability to write roles for performers that are unlike anything they have done previously is very alluring, especially for those actors who have been shoehorned into particular archetypes, which the director often seeks to dismantle by giving them far more unique roles. In the case of Digger, we find that the film was constructed as a result of Tom Cruise wanting to work with Iñárritu, having been a fan of his work, which ultimately led to the creation of a character tailored to the actor. It’s not clear whether the film was based on something that the director and his co-writers had been thinking about previously, or if the entire project came about as a result of Cruise’s desire to collaborate, but the results speak for themselves. In a career that has mainly come to be seen as action and science fiction films with the occasional foray into other genres, Cruise has become a huge star, but not someone who is as reliable when it comes to stepping out of his comfort zone. Digger was designed to be the film to change that, being as much of a departure from his usual work as it could feasibly be – a darkly comedic satire in which he dons substantial prosthetics and a heavy accent, playing a singularly unflattering part that disproves any supposed allegation of vanity. It’s a fascinating performance, one that is perhaps more fearless than it is actually brilliant – but ultimately, isn’t that part of the appeal? Cruise is certainly a gifted actor when it is required, and Digger showcases both the skills that we know he possesses, such as an inherent eccentricity and a willingness to make fun of himself (albeit within reason), while also unlocking some additional layers that may not always be as extensively explored as they perhaps could’ve been – particularly the more dramatic material – but nevertheless have enormous value in bringing the part to life. Cruise is joined by a fantastic supporting cast, who may not have roles that are quite as bold, but nevertheless still bring something quite unique to the film – John Goodman, Riz Ahmed, Sandra Hüller, Jesse Plemons and Michael Stuhlbarg are all invaluable collaborators, helping the director realise his vision, while also having some stellar moments that all go into the demented mosaic of offbeat characters that make up this film.

Iñárritu is known to make a meal out of even the most abstract of concepts, and there is certainly a lot to be said about how he brings Digger to life on screen. While it is not entirely universal, it is evident that the general taste of modern audiences veers away from excess (unless it is in a genre where it is considered appropriate) and instead tends to appreciate more subtle and nuanced approaches to the narrative process. While his earlier works were grittier and more unfurnished, Iñárritu has seemingly embraced the idea of maximalism as a legitimate form of artistic expression, and we find that this is what fuels the majority of this particular film, perhaps more than ever before when it comes to assessing the director’s often unconventional style of filmmaking. Artifice is a very tricky quality to bring into a film, since it can be a magnificent addition, but needs to still be somewhat restrained, or else there is an inherent risk of the final product being an overly dense jumble – and while it is tempting to find ways to imply this is the case with Digger, it is clear that the director and his cohorts were driven by the opposite, in the sense that they attempt to make the film bigger and more elaborate than it perhaps needed to be, which is why I’d suspect those who are onboard with this film will find it appealing, as well as being the reason the film may not work for others. It’s deliberately polarising and certainly does not make any effort to soften some of the more abstract blows that this film gradually and methodically takes as it progresses. Digger takes place in a version of the future, one that is certainly recognisable enough to not be labelled as science fiction (although it probably can be considered speculative fiction to a certain extent), and the way the director brings his interpretation of the world as he imagines it will be in the next few decades is filled with fascinating visual choices – the brightly coloured life of Digger and his peers contrasts sharply with the muted colours that have encroached on the rest of the world (including in the chilling final scene, in which the credits take place over a harrowing, colourless landscape, the result of irreversible climate change), creating a bleak image of the future. The production design itself is quite inspired, the entire story taking place in an environment that is familiar enough to be considered realistic, but where everything is slightly off-centre and unconventional, giving Digger an enormously uncanny appearance that gradually envelopes the entire film, both visually and tonally.

There are many ways to judge whether or not a film is effective in delivering on certain promises. Some determine it on the story, or how it is executed. Others look at the more technical elements that go into the creation of these stories. For me, it has often been a case of adapting my expectations to a specific work, trying to assess every film for what it is, rather than asserting the same criteria over everything. In the case of Digger, what makes it successful over everything else is the pure ambition behind it, which is why I suspect that it will be more widely appreciated in the future. It is deranged by design, and while very few legitimate filmmakers are ever going to make something that is divisive just for the sake of getting a reaction, Iñárritu is someone who has earned our confidence enough to give him the benefit of the doubt, with the polarising response the film has received (and will continue to receive) being part of what makes it so incredibly intriguing as both a film with a specific message and as a cinematic object that we can observe from a distance, which is perhaps where it is more appropriately assessed, since this was never intended to be an easy or conventional film. Iñárritu possesses a very particular incredulity towards the status quo, and it has rarely been more obvious than here in Digger, which is constantly on the verge of collapsing, but somehow still manages to keep itself composed, even if only by a thread. This all sounds like a criticism, but it is assuredly not anything other than sincere praise – in a cinematic landscape driven by conventions, it’s refreshing to see a film take such wild swings that it actually becomes part of the identity. Not many filmmakers are intrepid enough to take such an enormous gamble, openly acknowledging that they are not at all trying to create something with widespread appeal, but instead a thornier, more complex depiction of humanity. It may seem shallow on the surface, but once we realise that Iñárritu and his team are not trying to only satirise the political system and the insatiable lust for power possessed by the elite, but also reworking the artistic process in such a way that the audience becomes part of the satire without realising it, the sooner its merits become clear. It’s bold, brash and a tad more vulgar than we may have anticipated – but structurally and conceptually, Digger is a fascinating experiment that reaffirms Iñárritu as someone whose perspective is always worth observing, even if the final product, an intentionally clumsy and off-the-wall metafictional satire, can appear as overly unwieldy at a cursory glance.