Tag Archives: Alejandro González Iñárritu

Capsules

CAPSULE: DIGGER (2026)

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DIRECTED BY:

FEATURING: , , Riz Ahmed, , Sophie Wilde,

PLOT: A narcissistic billionaire struggles to control the narrative after his oil drilling operation causes a global catastrophe.

Still from Digger (2026)

COMMENTS: Digger is, nakedly, Tom Cruise’s bid to finally land that elusive Oscar. Give him a producer’s credit and an 8-figure budget. A script for an issue film, but not on a super-polarizing topic like transsexualism: instead, make it a comedy with a populist spin about the ultra-wealthy screwing the little guy. Pair him with a director with a reputation for shepherding highbrow concepts into accessible, Oscar-friendly cineplex experiences. Add a top-notch supporting cast willing to concede the limelight. Throw money at the screen, promising a Vista Vision spectacle like only real Hollywood can do it. Given these resources, Cruise certainly does his part: under what looks like pounds of makeup and a fat suit that makes him unrecognizable except for the occasional Cruisian glimmer in his eye, he blusters his way through the madness, hitting every mark.

And yet, for all of this liveliness, box office receipts and reviews have already dug Digger an early grave. Which may be appropriate for a ghoulish comedy featuring a dying planet, a dying President, and a dying cat.

One drawback is that the film isn’t that funny. Iñárritu has a knack for contrived absurdity, but not for the sort of rollicking comedy that feels unforced and organic. Consider a moment in a high-stakes war room meeting when a general makes an off-color sexist remark, and President Compson (a gaunt Goodman) admonishes him to watch his language because there are ladies present. After a beat where everyone looks around the room in confusion, Goodman chortles, unable to sustain a straight face. That line would have been a screamer in Dr. Strangelove‘s 1960s, but, although it gets a reflexive laugh here, you almost immediately realize it doesn’t reflect contemporary reality: today, there would have been a Susie Wiles in that meeting, or at the very least a Natalie Harp. 

Which leads into the other major criticism of the film: it crams obvious messages into the shape of jokes, rather than finding the humor in the story’s situations. Digger is preachy, almost as hectoring as its caricature of a tycoon. And few enjoy being lectured at, even when they agree with the lesson. The script’s “meta” twist acknowledges this weakness, and comes close to apologizing for it; but in doing so, risks becoming even more condescending, explaining to the audience how satire is supposed to work and how you should process it. The tack the twist takes, however, ultimately serves a narrative purpose that is specific and surprising enough to avoid that pitfall. Still, the overall feeling that the film is talking down to the viewer is hard to shake.

Based on the sometimes brutal notices, that smug tone annoyed many critics. But in truth, it hardly ruins the film, which remains brisk and unpredictable. Digger is still strong when it focuses on uncomfortable truths. The centerpiece is a 10-minute (one take!) Cruise monologue where he speaks before some sort of court composed of a jury of ashen European extras from a film. Having given up on deniability in the face of a tsunami of death and misery directly caused by his choices, Digger surrenders to the inevitable opprobrium and tries the tactic of truth as a Hail Mary. Yes, we wrecked the environment. But what did you expect us to do? Ignore your demands for heat in the winter and air conditioning in the summer, jet fuel for trips to Mallorca, and Doordashed Big Macs? Forego squeezing every short-term dollar of shareholder value? Not kick the can of catastrophe down the road? Did anyone ever actually believe there was any way we would not ruin the planet? The message is heavy-handed… but it’s not wrong.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“…even when you bump against the Tom Cruise of it all, and there’s no denying the thrill of watching him apply his signature intensity to a role as strange as this one… Iñárritu… fares better when he trades slapstick for Hieronymous Bosch-like surrealism during the middle portion…”–David Ehrlich, Indiewire (contemporaneous)

I think this movie is weirder than average
I think this movie is better than average

List Candidates

APOCRYPHA CANDIDATE: BARDO, FALSE CHRONICLE OF A HANDFUL OF TRUTHS (2022)

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Bardo, Falsa Crónica de unas Cuantas Verdades

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DIRECTED BY:

FEATURING: Daniel Giménez Cacho, Griselda Siciliani, Íker Sánchez Solano, Ximena Lamadrid, Francisco Rubio

PLOT: A Mexican national film director receives an award in Los Angeles, causing him to reflect on his own artistic life and the Mexican immigrant/expatriate experience.

Still from Bard , a false chronicle of a handful of truths (2022)

WHY IT MIGHT JOIN THE APOCRYPHA: No director can adopt 8 1/2‘s self-reflective template without risking charges of narcissism, pretentiousness, and plagiarism. Iñárritu changes ahead anyway, and proves that there are still unexplored territories in the subgenre—and that you can keep a slice of the audience’s attention, as long as you keep it weird.

COMMENTS: If Bardo, False Chronicle of a Handful of Truth‘s daunting title doesn’t scare you off, maybe the 200 minute (scaled back from the 222-minute version that met with a mix of indifference and mild hostility at its Venice premiere) runtime will. Whenever a director decides to pursue a semi-autobiographical project in a surreal style, and amasses an epic budget to realize his dream, red flags start going up: get ready to gaze at a navel not of your own choosing. For these reasons, I approached the prospect of previewing Bardo with trepidation. But I’m happy to report that the movie, while it lags at times and never finds a way out of its own desert, delivers the necessary audacious panache to justify its aspirations.

Bardo begins with a shadowy man flying (well, jumping so high that he might as well be flying) over an endless desert scrub brush, reminding us of Guido’s opening dream of artistic escape. Later, a passerby addresses Silverio, our director protagonist, as “maestro.” Backstage at a popular Mexican TV show, he must weave through a throng of strongmen, dwarf matadors, a white pony, and primping showgirls in pink fur, a scene as chaotic as any Fellini circus. A character critiques the director’s latest movie (or the one we’re watching?) as “pretentious and pointlessly oeneiric,” surfacing Silverio’s own internal doubts.  Silverio sneaks out of an obligation to face the press just like . Silverio’s friends and family show up in a dreamscape in the end as a brass band belts a march that could have been written by Nino Rota in a mariachi mood. There are probably more 8 1/2 references stuck in Bardo, and of course the entire structure of the film—the leaps backward and forward in time, the confusion between reality and fantasy, the reappearance of vanished past memories in the present—comes straight from the maestro’s playbook. Iñárritu  could not have ignored Fellini’s influence without appearing like a thief, so he wisely honors the spirit of his filmic ancestor with these respectful tributes.

Where Iñárritu departs from Fellini is in his explicit Mexicanness, and his explicit politics. Fellini’s films were always completely personal; if they helped define the world’s view of what an Italian  man was, that was simply because Fellini could not exist in a world without pasta and palazzi. He had little interest in the partisan issues of the day, however. Iñárritu is far more didactic in his approach: a completely realistic breakfast conversation between the director and his teenage son exposes the tension between Mexican Americans who primarily identify with their homeland and preserving its heritage, and those who prefer to assimilate and embrace the opportunities of their new home. At other times, the symbolism is broad and powerful: in a centerpiece of the story, Silverio climbs a mountain of corpses in downtown Los Angeles, only to find Hernán Cortés sitting on top: the conquistador bums a cigarette, and they discuss colonialism.

Bardo is about 50% personal and 50% political, and while not all of it works—which is almost inevitable in a work of this scope—almost every scene has a weird dream twist to it to catch your interest. Sometimes, Silverio speaks without moving his lips, to the annoyance of his family. When the director meets his father in a men’s room, his own body digitally shrinks to the size of an eight-year-old. And there’s a great—shall we say “spare”—rendition of ‘s “Let’s Dance” on a crowded dance floor. By casting some element magically off-center in every scene—and occasionally throwing a curve ball to surprise us with sequences that are completely realistic—Iñárritu builds a dreamlike portrait of a man, of a diaspora, and of the tension between the two.

Bardo, False Chronicle of a Handful of Truths streams exclusively on Netflix starting December 17.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“The whole thing is supposed to run on a dream logic reminiscent of Jean Cocteau or Ingmar Bergman, but rather than immersive or contemplative it’s just confusing and weird.”–Jennifer Heaton, Alternative Lens (festival review)

Capsules

CAPSULE: BIRDMAN (2014)

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Birdman or: (The Unexpected Virtues of Ignorance)

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DIRECTED BY: Alejandro González Iñárritu

FEATURING: , , , , , , Amy Ryan, Lindsay Duncan

PLOT: Aging actor Riggan Thomas, who became a superstar anchoring a blockbuster superhero franchise in the 1990s, writes, directs and stars in a Broadway show in an attempt to be taken seriously as an artist; unfortunately, he’s simultaneously battling the voices in his head, as his old alter-ego presses him to sign up to do “Birdman 4.”

Still from Birdman (2014)

WHY IT WON’T MAKE THE LIST: Birdman is a movie that adopts a weird methodology to tell its story, but it’s only weird by the diminished standard of movies that will be nominated for multiple Academy Awards.

COMMENTS: Birdman starts with a strange conceit. It’s about a former superstar actor, star of a superhero tentpole franchise, trying to be taken seriously as an artist by producing, writing, starring and directing a Broadway play based on a Raymond Carver short story. To throw a wrench into things, the actor is also insane, believing that he has telekinetic powers, and he hallucinates that his Birdman alter-ego is taunting him for his artistic pretensions. So, given that this is your story, why not sweeten the weirdness by scoring the film to solo jazz percussion and shooting the entire movie in what appears to be one unbroken take?

Birdman is not like any other film you’re likely to see this year, or anytime soon. It is a movie that (on the surface) insists that plays are more authentic artistic expressions than movies. It’s an extremely theatrical movie, one that’s bursting with smart dialogue, numerous subplots, and memorable monologues. It’s no wonder that a top-notch cast was attracted to the project. Most notable is Edward Norton, in a flamboyant role as an arrogant actor with so much talent he’s compelled to sabotage himself just to keep things interesting. Keeping pace is Emma Stone as Riggan’s wayward daughter, just out of rehab and more adept at spotting others’ b.s. than her own. Even Zach Galifianakis impresses in a rare straight-man turn as Riggan’s lawyer. Still, Keaton, willing to let the camera linger on his thinning hair and explore his deepening crow’s feet, carries an impressive load of the film’s ambition on his shoulders. Keaton, Norton and Stone will all be remembered come awards season.

The cinematography (by Emmanuel Lubezki, coming off an Oscar for his work on Gravity) plays as big a role as any of the stars. Unlike long-take record-holder Russian Ark, Birdman is not really a one-take movie, since it has at least a couple of invisible edits (as did Rope). The extended tracking shots, which wander around the labyrinthine theater ducking into various dressing rooms and rehearsal spaces, are nonetheless highly impressive. The long-take gimmick is impeccably realized, but it isn’t really formally necessary. This would essentially be the same movie if it were conventionally edited. You could argue that the one-take technique gives the camera a “gliding” sensibility (like a bird), or that it mimics the dangerous unpredictability of live theater, but I think the real reason the filmmakers did it is simply because it was difficult to do. Like art itself, its very unnecessariness is its justification.

It’s hard to believe that many people will find Riggan Thomas’ struggle—whether to turn his back on his colossal financial success and create something meaningful, or just give the idiots the pabulum they crave—very relatable. The implied insults to fans of superhero movies are a bit much, as is the strawman of a snobby theater critic who plans to shut down the show—sight-unseen—simply because it has the stink of Hollywood about it. (Pre-emptive shots at critics are almost always cringeworthy, and Birdman really should be above such shenanigans).  Birdman is Hollywood insiders navel-gazing, hang-wringing, and soul-searching about how to be taken seriously as artists, sure. But it’s also the best Hollywood has to offer: it’s unpredictable, bold, and unapologetic, manned by a completely committed cast and crew working at their collective peaks. By doing so, they ensure that they are taken seriously as artists, even though their movie has exploding helicopters and a guy gliding through digital clouds in a molded plastic bird costume.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“It’s a near-seamless concoction of onscreen surrealism that would make the likes of Terry Gilliam, Michel Gondry, and Spike Jonze green with envy.”–Gary Dowell, Dark Horizons (contemporaneous)