How to Blow Up a Pipeline is one of the most potent blends of style and politics in recent memory. It's a lean, unrelenting social thriller that makes the most of its cinematic influences — which it practically wears as emblems of honour — while still managing to cement a wholly original vision. Pipeline manifests as its own kind of heist movie, immersing viewers in its meticulous, high-wire take on eco-terrorism and its justifications with each carefully curated moment of tension.
The film's look into a specific cross-section of modern America is equal parts hypnotic and controversial. A young group of climate "terrorists" who attempt to blow up an oil pipeline in Texas to protest a wide array of social issues are the central characters and portrayed as an authentic, legitimate force for social progress. They even compare themselves to famous revolutionaries, including the founding fathers of America. It's fascinating to witness this eclectic crew meticulously plan, coordinate and execute their vision of activism with unfettered resolve.
Yet, this film's power doesn't solely lie in its hair-trigger sense of tension, which is so sharp it practically cuts through the screen. It's the bracing dialogue the tension provokes that thrusts both like-minded viewers and dissenters alike into a discussion that precariously navigates the thin line between activism and radicalism. The script forces audiences to ponder how many degrees they are separated from such militarized action, as they place themselves in the shoes of these disillusioned youth, who are each distinctly motivated to finally work outside of the system of the "oppressor."
Directed by Daniel Goldhaber, who co-wrote the script with Ariela Barer and Jordan Sjol, Pipeline reimagines Andreas Malm's 2021 novel of the same name, which posits that the targeted sabotage of greenhouse-emitting property (without human casualty) is the most effective way to bring attention to climate change as an imminent threat to civilization.
The film's depiction of such extreme activism is grounded in a stylistic approach and design that conjures the observational quality of the '70s and '80s thriller genre, while maintaining a noticeably modern lens. The grainy, never-still, never-gaudy cinematography of Tehillah De Castro simmers with a combustable edge, even in expository sequences. The whirring retro-synth score by Gavin Brivik and the pressure-cooker pace submerges audiences directly into the action from the first frame, skilfully cutting to backstories at precisely the right moment to answer why each of them is impelled to such drastic action (and how almost anyone could be).
As a result, Pipeline is a rhythmic, mesmeric account of militant activism that recalls William Friedkin's Sorcerer (which also features an iconic, synth-heavy score) and the counter-cultural ferocity of Sidney Lumet's Dog Day Afternoon. Its elegant mix of visceral and intellectual thrills dazzles in a manner that is rarely seen in contemporary American thrillers, coming together as a cathartic marriage of old and new, giving way to an experience that is as invigorating as it is deeply distressing.
The de-facto leader of the group, Xochitl (Barer, who radiates a quiet intensity), was raised amidst the miasma of California refineries. She convinces her friend Shawn (Marcus Scriber), a fellow member of a peaceful activist group urging divesture away from large energy corporations, to help her take the fight directly to the polluting culprits: the oil-pumping heartland of Texas. Theo (Sasha Lane), another one of Xochitl's friends, motivated by her terminal leukaemia from toxic chemicals and her inability to afford life-saving treatment due to the catastrophic shortcomings of the U.S. health care system (which is but one of the many systemic issues the film methodically bridges) also joins the cause. Theo's girlfriend, Aisha (Jayme Lawson), also enlists, though mostly out of support. Aisha serves as a key counterpoint in the film, often questioning Theo and Xochitl's dedication, strengthening the film's nuanced, self-effacing approach to its protagonists' point of view.
Dwayne (Jake Weary), a slightly older Texan, displaced by the oil company's seizure of his family's land, and the bomb-crafting Michael (Forrest Goodluck), an Indigenous American from North Dakota who is no stranger to persecution and marginalization, also become crucial cogs in the group's master plan. Rowan (Kristine Froseth) and Logan (Lukas Gage) are the wildcard couple of the clique, with their raw, animalistic impulses adding fuel to each of the plan's successes and shortcomings. They serve as literal manifestations of the uncontrollable passions that often bring out the best and the worst of history's most prolific activist movements.
Each member of the cast carries their weight, remaining utterly compelling and steadfast, bouncing off each other in the most natural of ways. All the actors imbue their characters with great subtleties, refusing to ground them in archetypes — a cliché that frequently plagues the heist genre. As a result, all of them shine in their respective moments. Goodluck and Weary who are the most memorable of the ensemble, vividly channel their characters' unyielding commitment and the tragedy that fuels it, communicating so much with the most understated of touches.
The flashback structure, while slightly muting the breakneck momentum, never becomes a gimmick. Instead, it gives force to the ecotage by underpinning it with new stakes, revelations and conflicts that stoke the blazing hotbed the narrative is built upon. Moreover, these flashbacks marry the health, racial and climate crises into one universal, prescient issue with succinct profundity, straying far from weepy territory and making it that much easier to see how such troubling solutions will only gain more steam in the near future.
How to Blow Up a Pipeline isn't afraid to endorse its characters ideas and actions, but remarkably doesn't compel audiences to feel the same way about them. Instead, the film confidently allows us to come to our own conclusions naturally — exactly in the vein of the saboteurs we are feverishly watching. It's a fusion of style, skill and politics the modern American thriller so desperately needs, and it couldn't have blasted onto the screen at a better time.
(Elevation Pictures)The film's look into a specific cross-section of modern America is equal parts hypnotic and controversial. A young group of climate "terrorists" who attempt to blow up an oil pipeline in Texas to protest a wide array of social issues are the central characters and portrayed as an authentic, legitimate force for social progress. They even compare themselves to famous revolutionaries, including the founding fathers of America. It's fascinating to witness this eclectic crew meticulously plan, coordinate and execute their vision of activism with unfettered resolve.
Yet, this film's power doesn't solely lie in its hair-trigger sense of tension, which is so sharp it practically cuts through the screen. It's the bracing dialogue the tension provokes that thrusts both like-minded viewers and dissenters alike into a discussion that precariously navigates the thin line between activism and radicalism. The script forces audiences to ponder how many degrees they are separated from such militarized action, as they place themselves in the shoes of these disillusioned youth, who are each distinctly motivated to finally work outside of the system of the "oppressor."
Directed by Daniel Goldhaber, who co-wrote the script with Ariela Barer and Jordan Sjol, Pipeline reimagines Andreas Malm's 2021 novel of the same name, which posits that the targeted sabotage of greenhouse-emitting property (without human casualty) is the most effective way to bring attention to climate change as an imminent threat to civilization.
The film's depiction of such extreme activism is grounded in a stylistic approach and design that conjures the observational quality of the '70s and '80s thriller genre, while maintaining a noticeably modern lens. The grainy, never-still, never-gaudy cinematography of Tehillah De Castro simmers with a combustable edge, even in expository sequences. The whirring retro-synth score by Gavin Brivik and the pressure-cooker pace submerges audiences directly into the action from the first frame, skilfully cutting to backstories at precisely the right moment to answer why each of them is impelled to such drastic action (and how almost anyone could be).
As a result, Pipeline is a rhythmic, mesmeric account of militant activism that recalls William Friedkin's Sorcerer (which also features an iconic, synth-heavy score) and the counter-cultural ferocity of Sidney Lumet's Dog Day Afternoon. Its elegant mix of visceral and intellectual thrills dazzles in a manner that is rarely seen in contemporary American thrillers, coming together as a cathartic marriage of old and new, giving way to an experience that is as invigorating as it is deeply distressing.
The de-facto leader of the group, Xochitl (Barer, who radiates a quiet intensity), was raised amidst the miasma of California refineries. She convinces her friend Shawn (Marcus Scriber), a fellow member of a peaceful activist group urging divesture away from large energy corporations, to help her take the fight directly to the polluting culprits: the oil-pumping heartland of Texas. Theo (Sasha Lane), another one of Xochitl's friends, motivated by her terminal leukaemia from toxic chemicals and her inability to afford life-saving treatment due to the catastrophic shortcomings of the U.S. health care system (which is but one of the many systemic issues the film methodically bridges) also joins the cause. Theo's girlfriend, Aisha (Jayme Lawson), also enlists, though mostly out of support. Aisha serves as a key counterpoint in the film, often questioning Theo and Xochitl's dedication, strengthening the film's nuanced, self-effacing approach to its protagonists' point of view.
Dwayne (Jake Weary), a slightly older Texan, displaced by the oil company's seizure of his family's land, and the bomb-crafting Michael (Forrest Goodluck), an Indigenous American from North Dakota who is no stranger to persecution and marginalization, also become crucial cogs in the group's master plan. Rowan (Kristine Froseth) and Logan (Lukas Gage) are the wildcard couple of the clique, with their raw, animalistic impulses adding fuel to each of the plan's successes and shortcomings. They serve as literal manifestations of the uncontrollable passions that often bring out the best and the worst of history's most prolific activist movements.
Each member of the cast carries their weight, remaining utterly compelling and steadfast, bouncing off each other in the most natural of ways. All the actors imbue their characters with great subtleties, refusing to ground them in archetypes — a cliché that frequently plagues the heist genre. As a result, all of them shine in their respective moments. Goodluck and Weary who are the most memorable of the ensemble, vividly channel their characters' unyielding commitment and the tragedy that fuels it, communicating so much with the most understated of touches.
The flashback structure, while slightly muting the breakneck momentum, never becomes a gimmick. Instead, it gives force to the ecotage by underpinning it with new stakes, revelations and conflicts that stoke the blazing hotbed the narrative is built upon. Moreover, these flashbacks marry the health, racial and climate crises into one universal, prescient issue with succinct profundity, straying far from weepy territory and making it that much easier to see how such troubling solutions will only gain more steam in the near future.
How to Blow Up a Pipeline isn't afraid to endorse its characters ideas and actions, but remarkably doesn't compel audiences to feel the same way about them. Instead, the film confidently allows us to come to our own conclusions naturally — exactly in the vein of the saboteurs we are feverishly watching. It's a fusion of style, skill and politics the modern American thriller so desperately needs, and it couldn't have blasted onto the screen at a better time.
