Remember that time last week when I said I was done with the Cage Challenge for now?
I lied.
35. Pig (2021)
The Movie: One of the charms of Thieves' Highway, the Jules Dassin movie from 1949, is that it sets a story of noirish intrigue among the West Coast fruit trucking business. Getting those tasty apples to the markets in San Francisco ahead of the competition becomes a life-and-death affair. Such nefarious deeds associated with such a prosaic topic. There's a theme at work here -- the contrast between the surface glimmer of those delicious fruit and the sordidness that lies underneath. I thought of Thieves' Highway as I watched Pig, which ludicrously proposes the haute cuisine scene in Portland, Oregon, as a venue for all sorts of skulduggery. That's only the beginning of unexpected developments in Pig, which refuses to hew to any genre conventions. In its own peculiar way, it's one of the strangest movies I've ever seen. It was described to me before I saw it as "John Wick but with a pig." That's wildly misleading, not to mention a good example of missing the forest for the trees. Yes, the movie begins with a loner having his beloved pet stolen from him. But if you think you know what's going to happen next, you'll be consistently wrong. In the end, the only thing I can confidently say this movie is about is loss, which is another way of saying it's about being human. It's not about the pig, you see. Although in some ways, it's very much about the pig.
Cage: Early on, I thought Cage was doing a gruff, grizzled thing as a recluse in the woods, using a minimalistic approach and centering his performance behind hollow eyes and a matted beard. But there's a moment nearly halfway through the movie, as he delivers a monologue about what I suppose could be called the geomorphology of Oregon, when you realize that Cage is playing a man who has collapsed in on himself, so awash in grief and bitterness that, upon being forced back into human society, he sees only greed, cynicism, and doom. None of this is ever openly stated. But with Cage's performance giving life to a peculiar script, it doesn't have to be.
Standout Cage Moment: Cage, whose character was a chef, has a quiet conversation with a former employee and the current hot chef du jour. And with only a few concise remarks, he discombobulates the other man so thoroughly that it lays bare the hypocrisies of the character, fine dining, and commercial endeavor itself. Also, at another point, Cage says, "I don't fuck my pig."
Cage's Take:
Sus Domesticus, the domestic pig. I think it was Francois Rabelais who said that the nose of the pig reflects the soul of man, always seeking, never satisfied. Or maybe it was Frankie Rabola, who used to play the trombone in my middle school band. Later, Frankie and me played in the same horn section when we went on tour with Men at Work in 1979. In some ways, Rabelais was the trombonist of French renaissance humanism.
I saw this role as a chance to investigate porcine methods of theatricality. In Ancient Greece, there were plenty of pigs who played leading roles. Then that tradition got carried over to America in the 1920s. Some of the earliest vaudeville stars were half pig. That Dr. Moreau stuff is based on real life, you know. Anyway, that's how I ended up building a shrine to George Burns and Porky Pig in the backyard of my second smallest Rhode Island mansion. But it's a mistake to use pigs to find truffles. I learned that once when I was staying at Daniel Day-Lewis' place in Florence. You need werewolves instead.