Nicolas Cage is no longer the joke he once was. Some might not believe this statement because he does still seem to choose niche projects with very strange creatives that allow him to play to a certain bigness such as Mandy and Color Out of Space. But he’s not the same Cage we had endless fun with in Face/Off, Snake Eyes, The Wicker Man, or Ghost Rider -and indeed that wasn’t the same Cage of Moonstruck, Raising Arizona, or Leaving Las Vegas. The truth is that he’s an actor with a lot more range than he gets credit for, and yet he’s been defined by eras of his career that have tended to hone in on one aspect -the most popular being the over-the-top expressionistic performance style prominent through his late 90s/2000s work that has made him a meme (and yet this era also saw him give his best performance in Adaptation that has sadly been forgotten amidst all the jokes about the bees). He’s had fun with it alongside us, and perhaps that is part of what has turned his popularity around, the irony with which people have loved his performances becoming more sincere as he’s become savvy to the joke. And in step with that he’s been pushing further in recent years, making some of the most interesting choices of his career.
Pig is a movie that seems pretty goofy on its’ head. Its’ plot, wherein a hermetic truffle forager in the backwoods of Oregon goes to extreme lengths to find his beloved pig that has been kidnapped, presumably enacting vengeance on those who stole her as well, reads like a parody of John Wick. Cage’s appearance in the movie, his face covered in a thick unkempt beard and dressed in dirty pale clothes -the archetypal mountain man (he also has a big gash of dried blood down his face for much of it), only makes it seem more amusing. And he’s extremely stoic, far too serious, and doesn’t understand a lot of social cues, simply repeating that he wants his pig back. We can’t be expected to take this seriously, can we?
The thing is though, that debut writer-director Michael Sarnoski wants us to, at least on some level. He lampshades on a few occasions the ridiculousness of this plot, but otherwise plays it straight, and gradually it starts to work. Pig isn’t really about the pig as it happens, or even the need to get her back, it’s about one mans’ tragedy and disillusionment -and his consequent loneliness.
Cage’s hut-dwelling Rob is actually Robin Feld, formerly a renowned chef in Portland, where he still has all the influence of a feared and respected mob boss, able to get into places and call in favours on the power of his name alone. What drove him to a reclusive lifestyle in the woods was the death of his wife, whom he still grieves through listening to mixtapes she had made him. These reveals, though not grandiose, have a subversiveness to them, particularly those concerning his former career -often replacing what might be an action beat in a film adhering more closely to the John Wick idea. But Rob gets the information he needs not by beating people up (on the contrary he himself takes quite a beating just for a clue), but through calculated contacts and a kind of enigmatic intimidation. In one of the best scenes of the film he reunites with a former pasta chef from his restaurant, whom he’d fired for overcooking, now running his own high-end place in downtown Portland; Rob spends the duration of their conversation quietly criticizing Derrick (David Knell) for opening a generic contemporary business rather than the English pub he’d been so passionate about during their time working together. This reminder of the compromise of his ambition breaks the poor chef’s spirit, and it gets Rob exactly what he wants.
Through this jaunt into bizarre avenues, Rob is accompanied by his regular seller Amir (Alex Wolff), whom he’s roped into this mission on the basis that the pig is essential to Rob’s truffle hunting. They make for a fine odd couple along the way as Amir, initially reluctant and frustrated, comes to learn more about Rob’s identity and his connection to the happiest moment of his parents’ marriage -his father (Adam Arkin) being a much more successful supplier, who it’s implied drove Amir’s mother to a suicide attempt. This trauma hanging around him serves as a great emotional link between him and Rob, and in a soft way, they become real friends over this journey. It’s wonderful, and Cage and Wolff are terrific together, the latter giving the best performance I’ve seen from him.
Cage himself, more dour than he’s usually seen, is nothing short of exemplary. That solemnity cuts to the heart, the weight of his tragedy vivid in his permanent graveness, as is his apathy. Because another notion of loss that this film reckons with is personal-professional integrity, most heavily in that aforementioned scene with Derrick. But all these other hints are dropped that the world in which Rob found his place as a chef is vanishing, and that that contributed to his reclusiveness and just general lack of care. His circles still exist, but they’ve changed and he’s not comfortable in them. A visit to his old baker is depressing, the dreary interior shot from a high angle to emphasize its’ shabbiness, has likely not seen significant business in years -they too have not acquiesced to new models and aesthetics, and have paid a price. It’s not so much a judgement though as it is simply something else Rob struggles to eulogize. He still cherishes that old world where personal creativity and passion drove his career, his old life where he was happy and successful; he recognizes the fleeting magic in it and the freedom it gave him. But he doesn’t know how to move on.
The one other thing he cherishes is that pig, and if you follow the emotional beats of the film properly, you know there’s only one way his journey can end. It’s beautiful, and once more graciously subversive, its’ tension being of a very different sort than you would imagine. The movie does not deliver what its’ set-up seemingly promises, and it would be a worse movie if it had. Pig uses a missing pig and a somewhat amusing obsession with rescuing her as a means of dissecting a broken man and his broken world -and yet not so broken that either is beyond relief. It’s fascinating and poetic, and I think I’d like to see it again. The film closes on Rob back in his comfortable solitude falling asleep to a recording of his late wife singing Springsteen’s “I’m on Fire”, a moody note to end on, but with a spark of sweetness that sets you at ease. Eventually Rob will be okay, with or without his emotional support pig.
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