Tom Cruise isn’t playing a hero in Digger. He’s playing a man who thinks he is. And that’s the whole point. The film, a $125-million climate satire from Alejandro González Iñárritu, opens with Cruise as Digger Rockwell — a Texas oil baron whose mansion is less a home and more a museum of excess. Taxidermy. Weapons. A cat named Maggie, on her last legs, who may or may not be the only thing keeping him tethered to humanity. Then Greenland blows up. Ice shelves crack. Methane floods the atmosphere. Civilisation tilts. And Digger? He doesn’t panic. He calls a meeting. His response: blame someone else. Hide something. Keep drilling. Because the world runs on his kind of thinking. Even if it’s ending. Especially then. So what happens when the man who built his empire on taking things out of the ground finally has to face what’s being taken from him? Not just the planet. But himself. The answer lies in Cruise’s performance, unrecognisable, grotesque, and utterly committed. No Maverick. No Hunt. Just a bloated, drawling, self-justifying monster who believes he’s doing God’s work. And he’s so convincing that you start wondering: is this satire? Or is it prophecy? Riz Ahmed plays Nirav Ganesh, the environmental scientist trying to explain the end of the world. He’s the only one with a spine. The only one who sees the absurdity. But even he can’t stop the machine. Ahmed doesn’t shout. He flinches. He sighs. He’s the quiet counterpoint to Cruise’s roar. And somehow, he steals every scene without trying. John Goodman shows up as a President with rectal cancer and a crumbling ego. Sandra Hüller is Digger’s sister, a woman who knows the truth but chooses silence. Emma D’Arcy is Lina, the assistant who keeps the chaos running. All of them orbit the central absurdity: a man who refuses to admit he’s wrong, even as the sky burns. The film’s visuals are too perfect. Too composed. Emmanuel Lubezki’s camera lingers on details like they’re meant to be noticed. Dennis Gassner’s sets feel designed for a dream, or a nightmare. Nothing feels accidental. That’s the trick. This isn’t realism. It’s a fever dream dressed as a warning. And yet, the film’s biggest revelation isn’t the plot twist. It’s the tone. Digger isn’t trying to be Don’t Look Up. It’s not a broad political joke. It’s a slow burn of denial, wrapped in spectacle. You don’t laugh at the satire. You feel it. In your gut. The backlash is already building. Some call it pretentious. Others say it’s too long. But the real question isn’t whether it works. It’s whether we’re ready to watch it. The film releases Friday. The world is still burning. And Tom Cruise? He’s still pretending he’s saving it.