Profound loss is a consuming force, born from a well of sadness that is, for many, inescapable. Michael Sarnoski's Pig is a culinary dirge, an bleak foray into the mythical pantheon of Portland's epicurean underworld that examines one man's endless bereavement. Featuring one of Nicolas Cage's finest performances, elegiac visuals, and a poetic, somber rhythm, this is one of the best films of the year.
An off the grid truffle farmer spends his days in solitude with only his prized pig as a companion. His solemn lifestyle is forever disturbed when the pig is stolen, setting the farmer off on a complex journey into the heart of the society he left behind. Sarnoski's screenplay creates three distinct worlds. The first is Cage's Rob's sanctum in the forest. Patrick Scola's immaculate cinematography presents the tranquility with an almost Rockwellian ambiance. While this is indeed a place on Earth, it appears too pure to be real. Once Rob begins his journey into the underbelly of food culture, the city is presented as a surreal nightmare, bifurcated by privilege. In one instance, a ritualistic fight club for restaurant staff is visited in a hellish subterranean vault and in the next, Rob is staring down ghosts from the past in a pristine premiere house of cuisine. While the Greek mythological metaphor can be a bit on the nose, the way Rob navigates these two worlds is fascinating.
Cage gives what is easily his best performance in years. One of the most surprising aspects of his turn is in how he remains subdued. Based upon the premise, it was easy to come into this experience expecting an over the top, lower budget John Wick, however, this is nothing of the sort and Cage's absolutely heartbreaking embodiment is what anchors the entire narrative, allowing minor imperfections to be forgiven throughout. He is supported by Alex Wolff's Amir, Rob's friend of inconvenience and his link to the world he left behind. Wolff also gives a landmark performance as a snobby, full of himself opportunist, who when confronted by his villainous father reveals a lifetime of emotional abuse.
Amir's father, Darius, portrayed with villainous zeal by Adam Arkin, is the potentate of the third world created by Sarnoski. An isolated mansion far above the daily toils of the restaurateurs beneath, its juxtaposition from the forest is telling, symbolizing the fates of two men who embrace different aspects of what it means to be a partner and a father. It is here that Sarnoski once again rebuffs simplicity and predictability, opting to present conflict through the power of a meal rather than petty bloodshed and the result is a haunting cinematic experience.
Debuting Friday in theaters, Pig is a monumental triumph. It's fitting that Nicolas Cage would make a movie about a living legend who abandoned everything in order to live in solitude. The parallels with Cage's reality are plentiful, and yet, the end read is an existential dissertation on the nature of anger, loss, and forgiveness. Lacking elements of violence and horror, what the viewer experiences is a modern day American myth, populated with fallen gods and living devils, all coexisting in a modern food centric Olympus. The result is a harrowing, thought provoking exploration on what it means to lose everything, to love something, and to ultimately let it go.
--Kyle Jonathan