Almost as if the scene below knows you’re to rendezvous with one of Sin City’s treasured residents. Luminescent tentacles fan into the hillsides. Atop the vistas of Vegas, the city’s thorax stretches at a 15 degree angle. A greasy yellow dot matrix in the humming heat. On the drive out from LA, the World’s Tallest Thermometer in Death Valley’s adjacent Baker, CA, flicks its tongue upwards to 112. “It can be about the relationship between Rob and the pig, but it could also be that one element, on another layer, that is actually obscuring the deeper well of loss, and it’s all coming back now.” “And that is the other thing,” he reflects. That truffles must be dug from the ground, symbolically unburied, is not lost on Cage. He looks at me with a slight wryness and says, “Well, I did get to prepare an incredible dish.” This is a scene in the film, and it yields sought-after truths. I ask Cage if he did a deep dive of sorts into mycology for the film’s preparation. “I didn’t expect a Nicolas Cage film to be the voice of this moment. intensely quiet and soulful” - The Spectator a profoundly moving turn” - The Independent Following the theatrical premiere a couple of weeks after our shoot in Vegas, Cage’s performance wins accolades: So, Pig presents pain-and its bedfellow grief-through a convex panorama of estranged family and haute cuisine and micro-fame and arthritically revisionist purpose. Pain is liminal, fractal-felt in many ways. That the hair-raising scream Brandy belts out, as she’s being thieved in the night, is not unlike that heard by the daily thousands inside this country’s omnipotent corporate farming complex. Cage plays Rob, an isolationist truffle forager on a quest to retrieve his stolen bestie, Brandy. See what I did there? Pig, of course, is about a pig. Defining Cage and his work is elusive at best.Ĭage’s latest phoenix, in fact, takes the shape of a pig. Not from those of tragedy or dejection, but of presupposition. He also loves to metaphorically phoenix from the ashes. It’s easy to imagine Cage an admirer of the Phoenix.
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Remember The Phoenix? Said to have emerged from this egg, which feels extra gargantuan today. The sun was thought to be an egg, laid every day by the celestial goose. “We did something kind of historic-photographing in 117 degree weather and building sandcastles.” And he adds with a twinkle, “I don’t think that’s been done before.
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“We were out there doing our thing,” Cage will recall of the photo shoot a couple weeks later. While I’d never suggest Cage a narcissist-contrarily, I find him groovily grounded and a wonderful listener-I would suggest his surrealistic metamorphosis over time is unequivocal to anything in Hollywood.
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The painting’s hero, Narcissus, features not as a tragically gorgeous man, but that of his immortalized incantation-a gold and white flower. Amongst a fantasia of toppled, opulent infrastructure, eggs survey the scene like owls. One particular Dalí piece, Metamorphosis of Narcissus, comes to mind. So let’s briefly consider the godfather of surrealists, Salvador Dalí, who adored egg symbolism.
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The suggestion of a long, bizarre, and morbidly poetic day ahead in the cracked and tormented Mojave desert.īut what of eggs? As Hollywood’s finest surrealist, who has remarked in interviews that he committed much of his early career to building mythology around his public persona, Cage invites- no, teases-conjecture. She points the unforgiving heel of a glossy black stiletto into his slightly glistening temple. His relatively new wife, Japanese actor Riko Shibata, hovers over him. Cage has just been crawling around on the cooking concrete in a custom Saint Laurent suit. Nicolas cage is frying eggs over easy on the pervertedly flat and even sidewalk of the Las Vegas Strip.