Xochitl believes she can change the world. Theo is dying from a rare cancer linked to the petrochemical industry, and Alisha will follow her through the gates of hell even if she’s no fan of self-sacrifice. Shawn is a wide-eyed idealist. Dwayne’s been dragged to idealism through eye-opening loss. Logan and Rowan think monkey-wrenching is cool. And Michael is so angry at the world that he doesn’t even care how much damage he does, or to whom.
Eight people, drawn together by a firm belief that the oil and gas industry needs to be stopped. Not altered. Not legislated. Not reformed. Stopped, dead in its tracks. And they’re brought together in the appropriately titled How to Blow Up a Pipeline, a political screed disguised as a Dirty Dozen-esque commando raid. Writer/director Daniel Goldhaber adapts Andreas Malm’s nonfiction treatise on violent eco-activism, How to Blow Up a Pipeline: Learning to Live in a World on Fire, into a fictional narrative about the octet targeting an oil pipeline across a deserted stretch of West Texas. They plan, they learn, they research how to construct and deploy a barrel bomb, and they risk their lives to send a message – that the cost of disruption of the oil supply, whether it be in short-term pollution or prison, is worth it.
Malm’s book is predicated on the necessity for direct action, and Goldhaber’s adaptation brings together an assorted group of Gen Zers, each with their own motivations revealed through flashbacks and philosophical discussions. Each becomes a personification of desperation, anger, and idealism at different levels, and for different reasons. Theo (Lane, a veteran of such social realism from American Honey) and Alisha (Lawson, Farewell Amor) are intended as the emotional heart of the story. Yet Alisha, the sole voice against violent direct action, also becomes the flint against which some interesting sparks are struck, while intrigue revolves around the exact motivation of seeming hipster tagalongs Logan (Gage, The Way Back) and Rowan (Froseth, The Assistant, Sharp Stick). However, the greatest tension revolves around two characters: Weary (It Follows) as taciturn farmer Dwayne, the redneck strange bedfellow who is quietly livid at the eminent domain ruling in favor of an oil company that took his land from him; and more especially around Goodluck (The Revenant, Blood Quantum) as Michael. Twitchy, dangerous, self-destructive, there’s an inherent burning nihilism to his embracing of the plan, and his willingness to be dubbed a terrorist against imperialism and the fossil fuel industry opens up fascinating avenues.
In a less interesting film, this would all be seen through the eyes of freshly radicalized documentarian Shawn (Scribner, black-ish), but Goldhaber amplifies the tension by keeping this an ensemble. There’s no single figure with whom to empathize, but rather a concentration on the issues, the justifiable rage about inevitable environmental collapse, and the nerve-racking tension of waiting to see what – or who – will explode.
It’s rare that a political or social manifesto is adapted into a narrative film, and when it does happen, as in the case of the risibly mawkish The Secret: Dare to Dream, it’s usually undertaken by unquestioning acolytes. After all, who else would want to take on a creed other than a true believer? The original book, published in 2021, is a moral justification for the destruction of infrastructure and resources relating to the oil industry, a pointed rebuttal to peaceful protest as not only too little, too late, but discredited as a tactic. Arguably, Malm has already done all the philosophical heavy lifting for Goldhaber and his co-writers, Jordan Sjol and cast member Ariela Barer, who also plays the fiercely idealistic Xochitl.
Moral queasiness comes from Goldhaber’s selection of a site for the bombing. The presentation of a “no harm, no foul” victimless target, along with a narratively satisfying opportunity for martyrdom, may feel like a cop-out. That feeling may be amplified by the idea that the bombing is not intended as a major strike in its own right, but a battle cry to encourage similar actions – an accusation that may well end up being leveled at the film itself. Accusation, or source of adulation? That will depend on the viewer’s perspective.
This article appears in April 7 • 2023.
