Pig (2021)

There is almost no greater achievement in art than that of becoming part of a person’s identity; imparting wisdom, however vague, at times where it’s needed desperately or even just being there to comfort someone in their darkest hour. Moments like these are what can turn a simple story into something more akin to a religious text, and are really what the magic of storytelling and escapism is all about, no matter the material. 

Well, today’s film reached me in a similar way back when it first hit home video last year, although I didn’t realize it then. I enjoyed it and concurred with critics about all the things they loved, I disagreed with the vast majority of people who were angry it wasn’t more like what the trailer promised (aww, did those mean old trailers trick you into watching a good movie for once?) and I was ready to file the whole thing away under “Intriguing - Further Review Pending” until just recently when I suffered from that most mundane of tragedies - a beloved pet’s passing - and found myself desperately needing something therapeutic to watch to both keep me distracted and help me cope. The first thing that sprang to my mind was this film, a film I was sure would mean more in the context of mourning, and boy: was I ever right.

Now, for those of you who don’t know, this film’s premise is dead simple, almost comical really: Nicolas Cage plays an old hermit whose beloved truffle pig is kidnapped by methheads, forcing him to attempt to reintegrate himself into society and follow up with old friends in order to find out who's got his pig and where they're keeping it. If you’re anything like everyone else on the internet who actually still watch trailers, you’d probably assume this to be some kind of violent revenge flick ala John Wick, only starring the world’s most deranged actor, and I’m fairly certain that’s just what Pig wants you to think. This is a film that excels in setting you up for one thing, only to pull the rug out from underneath you again and again with quietly intelligent moment after quietly intelligent moment. There isn’t even any of the vanity that usually comes with such subversion, where it feels like the film is getting off on the idea of fucking with you. Here, the film is doing it for your own good, like a loving but strict parent or grandparent, and it seemingly takes no pleasure in doing so.

"Leave the gun. Take the cannoli."

So while it is true that this is a textbook crime plot - a move by a “boss” of sorts to hurt his competition backfires when the worst possible bystander (Cage’s character) is impacted and becomes involved - this is far from standard genre fare. You see, this so-called "crime film" is rooted in the real-life Portland, Oregon culinary scene for one thing. You see, our protagonist, Rob, used to have a big name for himself as a gourmet chef in this town back before whatever mysterious tragedy led to him exiling himself, and so now he has to call in favors if he ever hopes to track down his stolen pig. So how strange is it when, in a scene just after his pig’s abduction, Rob goes to his buyer Amir, explains the situation, and one cut later we’re arriving at the home of the methheads who unambiguously stole the pig. That was easy, right? Well, too bad, because they don’t know shit; someone else hired them, and they were never privy to his name. They seem too zonked out to even recall what the man looked like. So that gets us nowhere.

I guess I should also mention that nobody in that scene gets violently interrogated or threatened with bodily harm like in numerous films, TV shows, and video games that followed in the wake of 24. For example: in the very first scene of the film, we get a closeup of Robin’s truffle knife/scoop/whatever it's called, which he leaves stuck in a nearby log next to his bed. The fact that they make sure to show us this must mean it'll come in handy later right? Well, actually... later on that night when the methheads come to take the pig, they just bowl Rob over right away and take the pig with little-to-no resistance from him because he’s an old man who has just been concussed and not an impossible badass who never ages. It reminds me of Clint Eastwood’s The Unforgiven. In fact, it reminds me of another film I’m having a hard time placing the name of once we get to the film’s weirdest scene: the underground fight club for restaurant workers. We assume Rob is going there to kick ass and get some information, but he instead lets himself be beaten to a pulp to prove a point and... still get the information, just minus a tooth or two. Fuck man, this ain’t John Wick: this is Passion of the Christ!

But all of this is only in the first third of the film, which sets you up for the last two beautifully by forcing you to quickly adjust your expectations for something decidedly more… humane? But the subversion never stops: the film’s climax is probably the most effortlessly clever, intelligent, and touching reversal of the big action shootout one could ever hope for, relying on empathy and understanding to change a person’s position rather than violence. It’s a very adult moment in a very adult movie, which pays off a narrative that continues to broach the difficult but relatable subject of grief, loss, and mourning by having all of the principal players, protagonists and antagonists alike, get together and sob into their own hands in separate corners of someone’s study until they feel better.

Things to care about

None of this would mean so much if it weren’t for the characters, which also defy cliche and betray endless amounts of humanity through their actions and mannerisms. Rob is the clear standout, as his suffering is almost biblical, and yet he soldiers on. His steely demeanor initially seems offputting, but it slowly reveals a portrait of a man who can cut someone to the bone just by talking to them, but who also genuinely seems to excel at listening to others and understanding them better than they even understand themselves. Rob uses this talent throughout the film to great effect, and it makes him a unique character as opposed to a totally silent cowboy type or any sort of hobo poet.

But Amir, his young protege, is every bit as strong, and Alex Wolfe’s portrayal of him is every bit as great as Cage’s much-lauded one as well. He’s young and ambitious, and kind of a big phony. His dad wishes to harden him and make him a total phony, whereas Rob encourages him to hold on to the things that he actually cares about rather than the things he’s supposed to. The tragedy that he’s gone through has left him feeling unable to mourn and constantly wracked with guilt thanks to his desire for it to end. The same tragedy leaves the film’s antagonist in a place where he must bury his pain deep inside and avoid ever facing it head-on lest he realizes that his way of dealing with it isn’t very healthy. No one is a clear hero or villain here, they’re all just people going through something that we will all have to go through at some point: letting go of something that we love.

Rest assured that the filmmaking is every bit as considered, patient, and pleasantly surprising as the screenplay. Performances are universally strong, and the folky score with its jangly electric guitars was a constant highlight for me as well. The whole thing is at some sort of odd crossroads between heartwarming and stark. Its approach is as light as a feather and as refreshing as a cool drink of water, no matter what aspect of it you discuss. And even though I didn’t understand it fully the first time I watched it, I’m glad that it stuck around in my brain until I needed it, because it was the perfect film to watch when I had no idea how to move forward. 

I would heartily recommend Pig to anyone who is willing to sit through something that’s sad and a bit slow, but which will reward your attention far more richly than anything else that’s out there.