Pig: An Anti-John Wick For A Beaten Down Age

(Major spoilers for the 2021 film: Pig)

In 2021, first time feature director Michael Sarnoski delivered a film that felt tailor made for the current cultural mood. Pig is a doomed journey of dread, fear, rage, sorrow, grief, and existential nihilism for a beaten down and defeated time. Rather than giving audiences a cathartic revenge tale soaked in an over-the-top self-satisfied bloodbath, the story takes us on a slow and steady journey of empathy and soul-searching across the upscale restaurant community of Portland. To the casual observer, the movie may appear to be another failed John Wick soundalike, which would be understandable. It begins with the theft of a beloved pet from a dangerous loner with a dark past who is consequently driven to reenter the world they had left behind in order to find those who took the pet away. It even stars an enigmatic Hollywood actor who’s seen a massive resurgence in recent years in Nicolas Cage giving what may prove his most lauded performance since 1996 when his turn as a suicidal alcoholic screenwriter in Leaving Las Vegas bagged him the Academy Award for Best Actor. But this is more or less where the similarities to our favorite puppy-avenger end. Pig has an altogether different story to tell, and its themes are intertwined perfectly throughout the film making themselves known repeatedly through plot, character, and dialogue.

The opening shot serves as an excellent thesis statement for the film, showing us a beautiful placid lake and then dissolving beneath the surface of the water suggesting we are going to dig deeper than your typical revenge tale. There is to be no savory justice for Rob (Cage) as he enlists the help of Amir (Alex Wolff) to take him on a long journey that ultimately ends at Amir’s childhood home since his father Darius (Adam Arkin) is the one who orchestrated the pig-theft in the first place. The tragedy of the film (which hits even harder on repeat viewing) is that the pig was accidently killed during the theft and therefore could never have been saved by Rob or anyone else for that matter. Darius serves as a fitting final nemesis and dark reflection of Rob. Himself a bitter widower, he shows what the cut-throat industry of high-end restaurant work requires of its top movers and shakers. Since it is common knowledge among the community that Rob has been living in self-imposed isolation in the Oregon wilderness since his wife’s passing 15 years ago, everyone he encounters (Darius included) are aware of Rob as well as his reputation for having been the greatest and most ruthless chef in the business. This renown earns him special access in some of the investigation stops, and multiple punches to the face in others. Darius validates Rob’s decision to leave society behind as well as the film’s overall tone when he tells him, “You had your moment but there’s nothing here for you anymore. There’s really nothing here for most of us.”

The secret weapon Rob does have up his sleeve is a near superhuman sense of empathy. In the most physically brutal trial Rob must endure on his journey, he takes Amir to an underground fight club called The Hotel Portland. Rather than unload a barrage of bare-knuckle beat-downs to get answers about the pig, Rob offers himself as a sacrifice and allows himself to be beaten within an inch of his life, only to then turn his cash reward over as payment for information. He earned this not only because of the respect gained in stoically taking his beating, but also in knowing how much these men in particular would want to beat him and to see him beaten. He exercises this stoic empathy again in the much-praised Eurydice scene in which Rob calls the head chef over to speak about the dish they’ve just been served. Rob not only recalls this young chef from when he fired him from his kitchen years ago, but he also remembers his dream of opening an authentic British pub. A dream which has gone unrealized. He gently strips the young chef of his social armor and professional demeanor by seeing through to his core and making him realize he’s been deceiving himself and perpetuating his own misery, asking him, “Why do you care about these people? They don’t care about you. None of them. They don’t even know you. … You live your life for them, and they don’t even see you. You don’t even see yourself.” This is all it takes to get the next piece of information implicating Darius as the one who set this whole plan into motion.

The final act of weaponized empathy comes at the finale when Rob cooks Darius the most perfect meal he’s ever had. It is a meal he remembers having with his wife before her health turned for the worse and she had to be put in a permanent care facility. The food is so exquisitely prepared that he is transported back to that night and the emotional turmoil it causes is immediate and severe. He can’t even finish eating and retreats to his office pouring a heavy drink and shaking with anxiety, screaming for Rob to get out of his house. Darius is emotionally shattered and after having already exhausted efforts to buy Robin off, he confesses to the death of the pig, sending Rob into a deep and heavy sob. Though it is a terribly tragic end, it does at least bring closure since Rob now knows the truth and can face it head-on. This sentiment is echoed in a subsequent scene in which Rob considers that if he’d never begun this quest, then in his mind the pig could always still be alive. Amir counters that in real life, she wouldn’t be alive. Rob quickly agrees, telling us that he’s reached a crucial level of acceptance.

In addition to acceptance, the film also elevates the importance of authenticity from start to finish culminating with this ending conversation. Rob’s disgust with the restaurant industry stems from the consistent inauthentic pedaling of oneself to the highest bidder. The Eurydice scene’s main thrust is to expose the fake, trendy claptrap of the dining concept and force the young chef to grapple with the passionless lie in which he’s implicated. Amir listens to loud classical music in his expensive sports car attempting to present himself as successful and cultured. However, the music is consistently interrupted by an audio instructor explaining why classical music is so revered so Amir and others like him can learn to voice the right opinions. Furthermore, Amir wants a successful career in the restaurant industry just like his father, but can’t even cook a simple omelet in his apartment without setting off the smoke alarm. Perhaps most tragic of all, Amir and his father maintain that Amir’s mother has died of suicide when in fact she is comatose in a permanent care facility.

The ending does not show Rob riding into the sunset and holding the leash of a new pig, having made the thieves pay with their lives as groovy guitar riffs rock us into the end credits. Instead, he accepts the imperfect friendship of Amir, he takes a long walk home to his shack ruminating on the events of his journey, and he lets himself listen to an audio message left to him by his late wife. She sings, “Woh, woh, woh, I’m on fire,” and like a phoenix rising from the ashes, Rob is ready to see tomorrow and keep moving forward. The ending isn’t exactly happy, but it is hopeful. And in a time of global pandemic, healthcare insecurity, rampant job loss, endless wars, stagnant wages, a militarized police force, and an ever-worsening climate crisis- happy endings were (and are) nigh impossible to swallow, often feeling like a bad faith attempt to pacify the viewer. Pig manages a legitimate message of almost-optimism in these truly miserable times through its themes of empathy and authenticity. The film offers a realistic glimmer of hope that there is a way forward, that there will be joy again, that tomorrow’s sunrise is always worth seeing.
Pig isn’t John Wick meets Babe.

It was never trying to be.