Pig

Some­where in the vast wood­land out­side Port­land, Ore­gon, Robin (Nico­las Cage) and his pig live a sim­ple life. Their days are spent for­ag­ing for prized truf­fles in the for­est. Evenings bring the respite of a warm hearth and home-cooked mush­room tart.

Occa­sion­al vis­its from young buck city slick­er Amir (Alex Wolff ) to trade the fruits of their labour for essen­tial sup­plies are a nec­es­sary incon­ve­nience. Their rur­al idyll is shat­tered when intrud­ers arrive in the night, assault­ing Robin and abduct­ing his porcine part­ner. When he regains con­scious­ness, cov­ered in blood, he limps toward civil­i­sa­tion (and the rem­nants of the per­son he used to be) in search of his attackers.

This out­line of Michael Sarnoski’s debut might appear to share sim­i­lar­i­ties with revenge flicks such as Tak­en or John Wick, and the cast­ing of Nico­las Cage in the cen­tral role might hint at an inevitable on-screen freak­out, but Pig defies expec­ta­tions at every turn, cre­at­ing a mov­ing nar­ra­tive about grief, mem­o­ry and the val­ue of food to con­nect us to a per­son or a place.

As Robin and a reluc­tant Amir trav­el through Port­land search­ing for the miss­ing pig, details about Robin’s for­mer life as a renowned fig­ure in the city’s restau­rant scene emerge. The rea­sons for his self-imposed iso­la­tion, as well as Amir’s cock­sure over­com­pen­sa­tion, unfurl slow­ly, cre­at­ing an invest­ment in these char­ac­ters so lov­ing­ly brought to life by Cage and Wolff.

Their rap­port as an odd cou­ple in the great cin­e­mat­ic tra­di­tion is exem­plary, but it’s the way they imbue their char­ac­ters with a nat­ur­al ten­der­ness that solid­i­fies them as two stand-outs of the year. It’s Cage’s most thought­ful and restrained per­for­mance in a long time, exhibit­ing a gen­tle­ness we don’t often get to see.

There are rev­e­la­tions, tears, and some exquis­ite shots of food. Sarnoski’s rev­er­ence for the nat­ur­al world and appre­ci­a­tion of a meal made with love and care evokes Kel­ly Reichardt’s First Cow, while Alex­is Grap­sas and Philip Klein’s sub­lime score adds a melan­choly, almost aus­tere qual­i­ty to the sound­scape. There’s a vis­cer­al edge to Pig and Patrick Scola’s cin­e­matog­ra­phy imbues an ethe­re­al, folk­tale qual­i­ty: from the sticky squelch of blood on a hard­wood floor to the dim glow of a bak­ery counter at dawn.

Robin and Amir share the weight of famil­ial frac­ture and bond over their respec­tive scars. It becomes evi­dent that some­times the only way out of anguish is through con­fronting the trau­ma of the past head-on.

In fact, Pig calls to mind the lyrics of David Byrne: ​“I’m just an ani­mal look­ing for a home / share the same space for a minute or two.” There’s beau­ty in even the most fleet­ing moments (a beau­ti­ful meal, cooked with care; a per­son you loved, no longer around) and that’s worth savour­ing in a world as cru­el as ours.