The Surfer (2025)

As with any other workaholic auteur (Roger Corman, Steven Soderbergh, Quentin Dupieux, etc.), being a Nicolas Cage fan is a numbers game.  He simply makes too many movies for them all to be great—or even watchable—but it’s easy to find moments of greatness in each of them, and occasionally he’ll surprise you with a gem. It’s been a slow trickle of those gems among the typical flood of Cagian schlock so far this decade. At the end of the 2010s, the one-two punch of Mandy & Color Out of Space signaled a professional & artistic comeback that hasn’t really come together since. Instead, Cage has spent the 2020s putting his name & face on the exact middling trash you’d expect him in (The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent, Willy’s Wonderland, Prisoners of the Ghostland, Arcadian, Renfield, DTV actioners too dull to watch or name) and only occasionally landing in a project that’s actually worthy of his presence: Pig, Dream Scenario, Longlegs and, now, the beach-bum thriller The Surfer. An official Cannes selection helmed by an up-and-coming director of note (Vivarium‘s Lorcan Finnegan), The Surfer commands just enough art-cinema prestige to earn the intensely, consistently committed screen presence of our greatest living movie star. As with all of Cage’s greatest hits, he takes all of the glory for himself through that intensity, while his director-of-note sits quietly in the passenger seat and watches him work. However fallible, he is both actor & auteur, the total package.

The titular surfer (Cage, naturally) is a workaholic yuppie who drives himself mad trying to prove his manliness to a beachful of muscly, Australian bullies. He arrives in a linen suit and a shiny new Lexus, hours away from buying back the million-dollar beachside home his family owned back when his father was still alive and he was still happy. His stubborn mission to surf his childhood beach once again is abruptly cut short by a small cult of Bay Boys who police the area’s unofficial “LOCALS ONLY” policy, shouting “Don’t live here, don’t surf here!” in his face until he retreats in cowardice, humiliated in front of his teenage son. The gang of bullies is led by an Andrew Tate-type manliness guru (Julian McMahon), who’s transformed the beach into a Church of Toxic Masculinity, mirroring the yuppie surfer’s own status-obsessed relationship with the property. Unwilling to back down, the ostensibly wealthy surfer becomes a beach bum to reestablish his locality, going mad with heat exhaustion in the public parking lot while the guru takes everything he’s earned away from him: his board, his car, his food, his water, his house and, inevitably, his son. From there, the surfer must choose from the same diverging paths as the conflicted protagonists of Kitty Green’s The Royal Hotel: either join in the old-fashioned Aussie masculinity or burn it all down. Disastrously, his indecision on which path to take leads him to do nothing, and the stasis starts to make the audience as crazed as our desperately dehydrated antihero.

For his part, director Lorcan Finnegan dresses up The Surfer as a vintage Ozploitation throwback, complete with crash zooms, wildlife B-roll, heatwave distortions, and dreamily laidback, chimes-heavy surf rock. As the Aussie sun wears the surfer down, however, that 70s Ozploitation aesthetic is gradually taken over by a distinct resemblance to Frank Perry’s The Swimmer; Cage retraces Burt Lancaster’s surreal heat-stroke journey into his own macho psyche, hating everything he sees. Finnegan cedes control of the project entirely to Cage, at times shooting him through a fisheye lens as he maniacally harasses all visitors to his parking lot prison and at times lingering on close-ups where his face fills the entire frame. Whereas Finnegan’s debut put the broad practice of Parenthood on trial in an intensely artificial environment, The Surfer interrogates Fatherhood in particular, with Cage acting as an avatar for Patriarchal Failure. Things get unexpectedly philosophical as the Bay Boys gang chants, “Suffer! Surfer! Suffer! Surfer!” while Cage whines in agony, seemingly unable to escape his concrete limbo under Exterminating Angel-style supernatural force. At first, that stasis feels like an excessive indulgence in exposition & foreshadowing, but the longer the audience rots there, the more memory, premonition, and hallucination mix until they’re indistinguishable and all that’s left is the surfer’s pathetic ego. If you need an actor to perform that kind of total psychological breakdown, Cage is obviously your guy. You just need to go in knowing that once cast, he claims authorship through sheer charismatic force.

-Brandon Ledet 

Arcadian (2024)

Like most hopeless, depraved movie nerds, I’ll watch pretty much anything with Nicolas Cage in it, since he’s a reliably entertaining performer no mattery the quality of the project signing that week’s paycheck.  That means I’ve seen a lot of mediocre DTV action movies over the years, often ones where Cage’s prominence on the poster is outright dishonest about his prominence in the picture advertised.  I had somehow deluded myself into believing this slumming-it phase of Cage’s career was coming to a close, though, since recent projects like Mandy, Pig, and Dream Scenario were starting to reveal a light at the end of that particular sewer tunnel.  Cage’s latest made-for-streaming action horror Arcadian—which locally premiered at Overlook Film Festival last weekend—was a reality check on that delusion.  Between its post-apocalyptic setting, its grim-grey lighting, and Nicolas Cage dutifully showing up just along enough to earn a sizeable payment to the IRS, Arcadian feels as if it’s about five to ten years behind the times, even when it’s trying its hardest to show you something new.

Cage stars as a single, grieving father who moves his surviving family to remote farmland at the start of The Apocalypse.  His twin boys get increasingly difficult to manage when they age into teenage grumps, which makes it even more difficult to survive the nightly attacks of the mutant creatures who ended modern civilization in the first place.  Since there is no shortage of reference points for this kind of doomsday prepper action-horror, Arcadian doesn’t put much effort into explaining the details of the world Cage & his boys are fighting to survive.  Whether it’s the artsy abstraction of It Comes at Night or the weekly soap opera of The Walking Dead, you’ve seen this exact setup before.  What you haven’t seen is the peculiar biological details of these exact monsters: hairy ostrich-wolves who clap their jaws like chattering-teeth novelty toys and travel as a pack in a rolling Ferris wheel formation.  There’s plenty of intrigue there for anyone drawn in by Cage’s name & face on the poster, which does a lot to make up for him spending half of the runtime offscreen, comatose.  When he suddenly perks up for the climactic fight against the impossible wolf-beasts, you can practically see him flipping on his It Factor movie star presence like a light switch.  It’s only a few seconds of screentime, but it’s exactly what you paid to see.

Arcadian is decently entertaining for a Shudder-brand creature feature, by which I mean its monsters’ design is inventive & upsetting enough to hold your attention despite the banality of their surroundings.  Director Benjamin Brewer’s most prominent IMDb credit to date is as the lead visual effects artist for Everything Everywhere All at Once, which shows here in the ambition & absurdity of the wolf-beasts’ hideous biology.  The dark, muddled color palette and handheld cinematography style are more befitting of a war drama than a creature feature, but again it’s worth pushing through that tedium to get a better look at the monsters.  And hey, there’s still making popular, big-budget Quiet Place sequels long after that series has maintained any purpose or novelty, so I can’t say this film is entirely out of date.  Brewer leveraged Cage’s image on a poster and piggybacked off a familiar mainstream horror template to show off his prowess for inventive, impressive visual effects.  I can’t be mad at that kind of Roger Corman marketing hustle, especially since Cage has lent this likeness to far, far worse.

-Brandon Ledet

Podcast #209: Moonstruck (1987) & Valley Girl (1983)

Welcome to Episode #209 of The Swampflix Podcast. For this episode, Britnee & Brandon return to Nic Cage’s heartthrob era by discussing two classic 1980s romcoms: Moonstruck & Valley Girl.

00:00 Welcome

04:48 A Handful of Dust (1988)
08:16 Lisa Frankenstein (2024)
10:15 Immaculate (2024)
15:00 The Telephone Book (1971)

19:32 Moonstruck (1987)
40:22 Valley Girl (1983)

You can stay up to date with our podcast through SoundCloudSpotifyiTunesTuneIn, or by following the links on this page.

– The Podcast Crew

Dream Scenario (2023)

There’s something distinctly Kaufman-esque about Dream Scenario, and it’s not just that the film stars Adaptation performer Nicolas Cage. All of Charlie Kaufman’s films are ambitious narratives that revolve around a man who is in some way, be it major or minor, removed from the reality of the people around him, and who ends up caught up in a widespread event that is (usually) not of their own making or volition. In Adaptation, meek screenwriter Charlie ends up caught in a criminal enterprise as a result of simply trying to adapt a non-fiction book into a workable film adaptation; in Anomalisa, Michael Stone’s apparent mental disorder causes him to see all faces as identical, and he gets swept up in a nightmare scenario of bureaucratic intrigue; in Synecdoche, New York, Caden Cotard’s creation of a nesting doll of reality takes on a life of its own and he is swept away inside of it. All of his works are also about a person being forced into a situation that is, to their mind, completely unfair, and their myopic reactions to it exacerbate the situation. It seems unfair to Joel in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind that Clementine has intentionally lost her memories of him, so he pursues the same avenue to have her removed from his thoughts; it seems unfair to Philip Seymour Hoffman’s character in Synecdoche that his wife has left him and taken their daughter with her, and his imaginings of the worst possible outcomes of that situation contribute to his declining health; the unfairness of a life of unfulfilled dreams causes the janitor character in I’m Thinking of Ending Things to fantasize a completely different life, which has its own horrors. 

Paul Matthews (Nicolas Cage) is, like many of the Kaufman protagonists listed above, a man with a fairly decent life, including a tenured position at a small college. He and his wife Janet (Julianne Nicholson) have a pleasant enough life, living in her spacious childhood home with their teen daughters, elder typical teen Hannah (Jessica Clement) and younger Sophie (Lily Bird). Paul isn’t a bad person, but he is hapless and overly invested in other people’s perception of him. The film opens in Sophie’s dream, where objects begin falling from the sky, and although she calls out to the Paul in her dream for help, he doesn’t react; when she tells her parents about the dream the next morning, Paul gets hung up on the fact that the dreamed version of himself was apathetic to his daughter’s concerns and worries about what his daughter thinks of him. On campus, he’s too focused on his students talking about him behind his back. He has the respect of his school’s administrator (Tim Meadows), but he yearns for acknowledgement from his former academic colleague Richard (Dylan Baker), who is known for hosting fabulous dinner parties for other people he considers elite. This seems terribly unfair to him, even though there are actions he could take to better himself. Instead of humiliating himself by pleading for a co-author credit from a different former colleague on a subject he claims to have conceived of first, he could stop talking about “thinking about writing a book” and actually do some of that research and writing himself. 

Despite his relative anonymity, Paul finds himself a sudden subject of internet virality. After running into an old girlfriend (Marnie McPhail) after a play, she tells him that she has been dreaming about him and asks if she can blog about the experience. In doing so, she links to his Facebook page, which results in a huge influx of notifications from hundreds, then thousands of others, all who have seen Paul in their dreams; Paul is flustered that he seems to be a passive observer in all of these scenarios. Suddenly flush with positive attention, Paul attempts to leverage this into a book deal, and signs up with a P.R. firm headed by the neurotic Trent (Michael Cera) and Mary (Kate Berlant), who swings back and forth between sycophantic and self-absorbed. In so doing, he meets assistant Molly (Dylan Gelula), who leads him to realize that doing nothing in people’s dreams is actually the best case scenario here. The general public turns on him for reasons I won’t spoil, and all of it is out of his hands. 

I couldn’t have imagined that I would reference the 2007 novel Mon Cœur à l’étroit (My Heart Hemmed In) by Marie NDiaye in a single review this year, let alone two. In writing about Beau is Afraid, I talked about how the protagonist of the novel awoke one morning to learn that all of her neighbors despised her, or perhaps that they suddenly all despise her at once, after years of apparent tolerance. Like her, Paul is a teacher here, and although the reason for the sudden change of heart among her peers results in not just the loss of academic prestige, but its conversion into outright hostility. Although the reason that the narrator of Hemmed is ostracized is less explicit than in Scenario, the reasons are nevertheless just as ethereal, and the horror comes from the way that something over which one has no control can completely destroy their life. Hemmed never mines that field for comedy like Scenario does, but they exist in the same rhetorical space nonetheless, wherein a fairly well-liked educator becomes a pariah because of circumstances in which they have no say. 

There’s a deft handling of the metaphor of fame in Dream Scenario that I really enjoyed. Like many people who achieve a modicum of viral fame, he didn’t do anything to make himself the center of attention, at least initially. His sudden appearance in people’s dreams has no explanation and isn’t the result of anything that he has done. Although he initially appears in the dreams of people who know him like his daughter and students, he only becomes known to the public because of his ex-girlfriend’s blog post, when strangers become aware that the man that they are seeing in their dreams is a real person. Like all internet fame, however, it’s fleeting, and his attempts to leverage it into achieving his actual desires are stunted when his dream persona moves from being an apathetic bystander in their dreams to an active participant and, eventually, a source of terror, all of it once again having nothing to do with anything that Paul himself has done. Sure, he’s hapless and selfish, but no more so than the average person, and it’s hard to blame him for wanting to use this unwanted stardom to get something that he actually wants. Although he is pathetic, letting his ego get the best of him, there’s nothing malicious about anything that he does, which makes his sudden turn into Twitter’s villain more pitiable; his poorly received, self-serving online apology makes things worse (as they often do, just look at Colleen Ballinger), but unlike a lot of the internet celebs whose attempted apologies are dissected to hell and back for their insincerity, Paul actually didn’t do anything to deserve his backlash. 

The film ends on an ambiguous and bittersweet note, which reflects the film’s slow turn from being a comedy about an upper middle class nobody to a horror story about being a public figure with no control over his perception. There are still comedic moments as the final minutes approach, including a scene wherein Cage goes full-camp in a photoshoot with a bladed gauntlet that is similar to but legally distinct from Freddy Krueger’s, as well as a visual call back to an earlier discussion of Paul’s Halloween costume from a few years prior, but it ends without setting everything in Paul’s reality back to where it was before, ultimately making it the kind of somber movie that so often plays so well during this time of year. 

-Mark “Boomer” Redmond

Honeymoon in Vegas (1992)

Allow me to introduce you to a 1990s romcom starring Sarah Jessica Parker as a lovelorn Manhattanite whose romantic rut dating commitment-phobic bachelors is disrupted by the attentions of a brash Big Spender.  Instead of talking it out over brunch with the gals, she’s rescued by a skydiving Nicolas Cage in an Elvis costume.  Okay, in all honesty, Honeymoon in Vegas has very little in common with Sex and the City outside of Parker’s casting.  If anything, the film is more weirdly predictive of the Adrian Lyne erotic thriller Indecent Proposal than it is of Parker’s signature HBO sitcom.  For one thing, its story is filtered through the perspective of her reluctant fiancée, a marriage-cynical private eye played by Nic Cage.  While Sex and the City is narrated by Parker’s voice as a cosmopolitan sex columnist, Honeymoon in Vegas allows Cage to narrate the story in 1940s noir speak, the film’s only notable stylistic touch (before it floods the screen with Elvis impersonators in the third act).  The closest Parker’s allowed to get to a full Carrie Bradshaw moment is in her casino-lobby outrage with Cage for getting them into an Indecent Proposal scenario in the first place, shouting within earshot of children & milquetoast Midwest tourists, “I’m a whore, Jack! You’ve made me into a whore. You brought me to Las Vegas, and you turned me into a whore!”  It’s impossible to watch this incredulous meltdown without recalling Bradshaw’s outburst at an Atlantic City craps table in the classic Sex and the City episode “Luck Be an Old Lady.”  That is, it’s impossible if you happened to have spent all of this year catching up with and thinking about Sex and the City for the first time in your life, which is exactly where I’m at right now.

I’m only focusing on Sarah Jessica Parker so much here because it’s rare to see her out of Carrie Bradshaw drag, whereas opportunities to see a frantic Nic Cage impersonate Elvis are much more plentiful.  See also: David Lynch’s Wild at Heart, SNL’s “Tiny Elvis” sketch, and Cage’s real-life marriage to The King’s daughter, Lisa Marie.  I guess it’s pretty rare to see him dressed up in the full Elvis costume, though, unless you’ve happened to be personally invited to tour his home full of Elvis memorabilia.  In order to justify this indulgence, Cage had to team up with workman comedy director Andrew Bergman, who cast him in two back-to-back mediocre romcoms as a hapless leading man: Honeymoon in Vegas & It Could Happen to You.  He’s less of a Nice Guy dreamboat here as he is in that latter film, spending most of his honeymoon tailing James Caan’s high-roller conman villain as he seduces Parker away from him.  Cage starts the film terrified of marriage because of a deathbed promise he made to his mother, but he loves Parker’s sweetheart schoolteacher character so much that he’s willing to go back on his word.  Only, he doesn’t act quickly enough, so Caan swindles him into a rigged card game, bullying him to put a weekend with his fiancée on the table as a substitution for poker chips.  Parker’s outrage with being “turned into a whore” isn’t played for the same moral or seductive complexity as Demi Moore’s own monogamy crisis in Indecent Proposal, even as she flirts with the idea of letting Caan sweep her off her feet (via helicopter).  Mostly, it’s just an excuse for sweaty, farcical Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World shenanigans as Caan elbows Cage out of the picture . . . until he skydives back into it dressed as Elvis.

There isn’t much on Honeymoon in Vegas‘s mind besides setting the stage for its ludicrous skydiving-stunt finale, which is emphasized in a marketing tagline that sells it as “A comedy about one bride, two grooms, and 34 flying Elvises.”  The Elvis costumed skydiving team The Flying Elvi has since become a legitimate Vegas attraction, boasting on their website to be “the only officially licensed skydive team by Elvis Presley Enterprises.”  The creation of that novelty act might be the movie’s only lasting triumph, but it’s at least more a more appropriate movie tie-in than, say, the Mardi Gras scooter gang The Krewe of the Rolling Elvi hosting a private screening of Sofia Coppola’s dour drama Priscilla (a real thing that recently happened at The Prytania; I cannot imagine the mood that took over that room by the end credits).  Otherwise, there’s nothing especially recommendable about Honeymoon in Vegas except for its opportunities to think about where it fits in its various players’ long-term careers.  James Caan coasts along as the comedic heavy.  Pat Morita & Peter Boyle give career-worst performances as a disaffected cab driver and a Hawaiian mystic, seemingly having gotten their scripts swapped in the mail.  Seymour Cassel is given the funniest character detail as a mobster named Tony Cataracts.  A young Tony Shalhoub is adorable as a nervous concierge who’s terrified of Caan.  An even younger Bruno Mars is even more adorable as the world’s tiniest Elvis impersonator.  Nic Cage gets in a few signature bizarro line-readings in his sing-songy angry voice, getting increasingly funnier as his character gets increasingly apoplectic.  And then there’s Sarah Jessica Parker, who gets one big scene where she gets to shout about being made into a hooker before being passed around like a trophy between the two male leads.  Luckily, she got a lot more to do down the line in the Sex and the City series, unless you want to take a really cynical view of Carrie’s long-term love triangle with Aidan & Big.

-Brandon Ledet

Episode #160 of The Swampflix Podcast: Wild at Heart (1990) & Heartthrob Nic Cage

Welcome to Episode #160 of The Swampflix Podcast. For this episode, Brandon, James, and Hanna discuss movies that cast Nicolas Cage as a heartthrob leading man, starting with David Lynch’s Wizard of Oz homage Wild at Heart (1990).

00:00 Welcome

01:08 Here Before (2022)
04:45 Field of Dreams (1989)
11:50 John Wick (2014)

20:50 Wild at Heart (1990)

40:10 It Could Happen to You (1994)
56:25 City of Angels (1998)
1:12:49 Captain Corelli’s Mandolin (2004)

You can stay up to date with our podcast by subscribing on SoundCloudSpotifyiTunesStitcher, or TuneIn.

– The Podcast Crew

The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent (2022)

Do you remember the great Bacon Craze of the early 2010s, when it was considered hilarious to burden your friends with bacon-scented candles and bacon-flavored chewing gum as novelty gifts?  Do you remember further back, in the mid-aughts, when you could buy “Vote for Pedro” t-shirts at practically any gas station?  How about “Mr. T in Your Pocket” talking keychains?  “Git-R-Done” trucker hats?  Big Mouth Billy Bass? 

Imagine someone handing you one of these ancient totems and expecting a full-bellied laugh in return, as if it were the darndest thing you’ve never seen.  The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent is a decade-old Nicolas Cage meme with nothing novel to say about his unique talents or celebrity.  It’s a faint but direct echo of the “Not the bees!” YouTube clip that kickstarted the massively talented actor’s meme era in the first place.  It offers nothing that Andy Samberg didn’t already accomplish with his “Get in the Cage” segments on SNL an entire decade ago, including bringing in Nicolas Cage as himself to emphasize that he’s in on the bit.  It might as well be an I Can Has Cheezburger? coffee table book or Chuck Norris Facts: The Movie; it is that outdated, that useless.

Nicolas Cage stars as two versions of himself: a has-been who can’t land a decent role & an imaginary-friend version of his younger, more successful self that occasionally swoops in for pep talks. Admittedly, it’s fun to watch these two Nic Cages make out in one of the only instant-classic Cagian stunts anyone will remember from this film after the next few months (thanks to its potential for “Not the bees!” style memeage).  The problem is that only one of those versions of Nic Cage ever existed in the real world: the imaginary one. He was a genuine Hollywood movie star in his youth; that is undeniable. It’s the positioning of the “real”, modern Nic Cage as a total loser who hasn’t been doing anything worthy of his talents since the action-blockbuster heyday of movies like Face/Off, The Rock, and Con Air that rings embarrassingly false.  While a lot of dismissive cynics consider Cage more meme than actor at this point, anyone who’s regularly engaging with his output knows he’s in his full-on auteur period, putting in consistently great, idiosyncratic work for smaller, more niche audiences that are always happy to see him. 

Pedro Pascal plays a true believer, a proud member of that niche audience who challenges Cage’s total-loser narrative.  His claim that “Mandy is a masterpiece” is the only acknowledgement that the Nicolas Cage brand is still going strong.  Most of the other references to his acting work are stuck in his 80s & 90s heyday, citing Guarding Tess & Captain Corelli’s Mandolin as Nic Cage deep cuts.  Pascal’s enthusiasm for Cage’s talents makes the film mildly affable, especially as Cage gradually bonds with his #1 fan as a genuine, cherished friend.  There’s a plot in which the real-life Nic Cage gets recruited by the CIA for a covert spy mission on Pascal’s remote island compound (again, covering territory already run into the ground by Samberg on Weekend Update), but the movie’s at its sweetest & most recommendable when it focuses on the two dudes just being good buds, talking about movies & enjoying each other’s company.  It’s too bad the premise is so outdated and the jokes are such a constant eyeroll.  When it’s not commenting on Cage’s memeability or lost celebrity, it’s halfway cute.

I will credit The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent with this: it got me thinking about Nic Cage’s Hollywood celebrity heyday in a way I haven’t engaged with much in recent years.  There was once a time when he could play Normal Guys in films like The Family Man & It Could Happen to You without raising an eyebrow.  That era has decisively come to an end and is likely worth revisiting, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been doing anything worthwhile in recent years.  Nicolas Cage is not a loser.  He is not a stale, stagnant meme.  He is our best working actor, and he gets more fascinating every year.  I likely should have looked to Keith Phipps’s new book Age of Cage for a more nuanced summation of where Cage is currently at (and where he’s already been) instead of expecting that kind of up-to-date critical analysis from a best-bros comedy about the CIA.  Still, it’s hard to laugh at a joke you’ve already heard a thousand times before, especially when the setup to the punchlines is no longer anchored to the modern world.

-Brandon Ledet

Pig (2021)

I thought I knew what to expect out of a Nicolas Cage revenge thriller about a disgruntled chef’s John Wick-style fight to recover his stolen truffle pig.  Even now, I can picture exactly what that movie should look & feel like from start to end.  Pig is not that film.  It defies all expectations of its over-the-top genre premise & Cage’s late-career casting in its violence, performances, purpose, and tone.  Just about the last thing I expected was that I would be struggling to see the screen for the final third of its runtime because crying into my mask was fogging up my glasses.  It’s not any showier in its emotional beats than it is in its revenge-genre payoffs, but it still choked me up in ways I’m finding difficult to articulate.  It’s a quietly powerful, surprisingly thoughtful film about Nic Cage’s stolen truffle pig.

Nicolas Cage makes dozens of movies every year—most of which are rightfully ignored straight-to-VOD action thrillers—but there are only two kinds that typically get any wider attention: muted actor-showcase dramas like Joe and mindfuck genre-flicks like MandyPig can’t comfortably be sorted into either of those categories, since it continually flirts with being both.  Cage plays his unwashed Oregonian wildman with a quiet dignity & deeply felt sense of hurt – both for loss of his pig and for a greater loss suffered in his mysterious past as a big-city hipster chef in Portland.  His journey to recover the pig is an exaggerated, absurd caricature of the Portland culinary scene, though, complete with underground BOH fight clubs & violent mafioso food distributors.  It’s an understated execution of a preposterous premise, refusing to behave either as a sober return-to-form showcase for the often-mocked actor or as fodder for his infinite supply of so-bad-its-good YouTube highlight reels.  It’s its own uniquely beautiful, tenderly macho thing, with more to say about culinary arts than the peculiar flavors of Nic Cage’s screen presence.

Like in the high-fashion revenge Western The Dressmaker, the violence & cruelty suffered by our battered antihero in Pig is not avenged with more violence & cruelty; it is avenged with art.  Nic Cage ends the film caked in blood, as he does in Mandy, but his weapon of choice in seeking revenge are his skills as a chef.  His carefully-worded criticism of another chef’s menu choices or his own perfectly balanced, deliberately unpretentious cooking are delivered as skull-crushing blows to his enemies, undercutting the typical hyperviolence of the genre with food-culture commentary.  Pig covers a lot of ground in its food-scene philosophizing, from the cutthroat competition of food trucks to the self-aggrandized pageantry of fine dining.  I specifically got choked up by its focus on the ways passionate, authentic food preparation can trigger powerful sensory memories in us, an emotional effect deployed here like the detonation of a well-placed bomb.  I started to sorely miss sharing luxuriant meals with people I care about, an experience that’s been in short supply over the past 17 months, and one I never expected to be weaponized in Nic Cage’s pig-themed John Wick knockoff.

Nic Cage is my favorite working actor.  I know that bias makes me sound like an irony-poisoned hipster, but I genuinely find his choices in roles & performance ticks to be thrilling in a way few better-respected actors allow themselves to indugle.  Even so, I admire how Pig breaks through the expectations and boundaries typical to the modern Nic Cage Film.  At the very least, it’s his best work since Mandy, which Swampflix highlighted as our collective favorite film of the 2010s.  It’s especially worth seeing for anyone who’s ever worked a BOH position in a commercial kitchen, since its draw as restaurant-culture commentary often overpowers Cage’s consciously muted performance.  There’s a chance it’s both too restrained and too absurd to earn its place in the Nic Cage Hall of Fame, but it deserves that kind of recognition.

-Brandon Ledet

Color Out of Space (2020)

Richard Stanley is back, baby. After decades of Film Industry exile (documented in the bizarre saga Lost Soul), the witchcraft-obsessed genre freak has re-emerged fully charged and ready to explode. It would be inaccurate to claim that Stanley’s comeback feature hadn’t missed a beat since his early-90s nightmares Hardware & Dust Devil. The director seemingly also hasn’t been keeping up with modern filmmaking trends & aesthetics either, though. If anything, Color Out of Space finds Stanley regressing back to the grotesque 1980s sci-fi creep-outs of horror legends like David Cronenberg, Brian Yuzna, and Stuart Gordon. His comeback’s practical gore effects, neon lighting, and ominous synth score all harken back to an era before Stanley’s own heyday. He even mines Stuart Gordon’s pet favorite source material to achieve the effect: public domain short stories penned by H.P. Lovecraft. The only blatant difference between Color Out of Space and its 1980s predecessors (beyond its casting of a post-memeified Nicolas Cage) is that Stanley appears to be a true believer in the spooky, occultist forces that his imagery conjures – opening the movie up to some genuinely heartfelt moments of supernatural familial trauma.

To oversimplify Lovecraft’s fifty-page short story, Color Out of Space is about a horrific, unearthly color that crashes to Earth via a meteor and puts all of humanity in potential peril. In classic Lovecraftian fashion, this unfathomable hue (represented onscreen as a searing neon purple) drives anyone who gazes upon it absolutely mad, representing a kind of forbidden, otherworldly knowledge the puny human mind cannot handle. This global-scale phenomenon is presented in Stanley’s adaptation as an intimate drama among a nuclear family unit, with an increasingly unhinged Nicolas Cage centered as its figurehead. Cage’s family lives on an isolated alpaca farm (a Mad Libs-style variation on the source material’s story template), driving each other into a sweaty, self-cannibalizing mania as the titular cosmic hue spreads from its meteoric landing pad to the plants, animals, and other wildlife who share the farm with them. The prologue before the meteor crash is a little creaky & awkward, recalling the tone of a VHS-era fantasy movie that never quite earned the forgiving lens of cult classic status. Once the horror of the Evil Color fully heats up, however, the movie is genuinely just as disturbing as anything Stanley accomplished in Hardware – if not more so.

Most audiences are going to treat Color Out of Space as an excuse for yet another memeable Nic Cage highlight reel to pass around via YouTube clips. The movie’s exponential mania setup provides more than enough fodder for that kind of ironic mockery, eagerly leaning into the humor of Cage’s patented freak-outs. If all you want from the film is some classic Nic Cage stunts, you’ll get what you paid for: Nic Cage milking alpacas, Nic Cage ferociously gnawing on vegetables, Nic Cage foaming at the mouth while repeatedly firing a shotgun. He even revives his classic Vampire’s Kiss accent fluctuations to update them with erratic backslides into Donald Trump parody. When his petrified children ask each other, “Dad’s acting weird, right?,” it’s a hilariously cautious understatement. This movie totally delivers on the Nic Cagian absurdity that ironic goofs recently searched for in the much more somber Mandy, only to find it in isolated scraps. I just think framing Stanley’s film as a pure indulgence in over-the-top buffoonery is selling its merits short. As consistently fun as the Nic Cage Freak-out is as a novelty from scene to scene, the movie at large registers as a genuine, heartfelt nightmare. The thing about Stanley’s 90s films is that they were always a little cheesy & over-the-top, but they were also legitimately scary. So is his decades-delayed comeback.

The Lovecraftian theme of forbidden, maddening knowledge can be (and has been) applied to a wide range of metaphors, from the philosophical to the psychosexual to the purely surreal. As I took it, Color Out of Space finds deeply personal resonance in the source material specifically as an illustrative metaphor for the spread of cancer. Mirroring Stanley’s mother’s death by lymphoma in real life (as well as bit player Tommy Chong’s real-life struggle with prostate cancer), the nuclear family unit at the film’s center immediately starts the story off in a grim mood, suffering the aftershocks of their mother figure’s battle with breast cancer. The supernatural, maddening growths that later mutate from the purple meteor crash site aren’t entirely contained to the plants & animals in the area. They also scramble the cells of the family’s cancer-survivor mother figure so that she’s an unrecognizable, difficult-to-stomach burden on her family. Meanwhile, her loved ones devolve into increasingly hostile maniacs, unable to maintain their cool as the mutinous growths resulting from the meteor tear their bonds to shreds. On the surface, Color Out of Space is a genre film throwback to Lovecraftian horrors of the 1980s like Society, Possession, and From Beyond. What really enables it to terrorize its audience, however, is that it’s also a fucked-up family drama about cancer wreaking havoc on a household. It’s just as heartbreakingly grim as it is colorful, Nic Cagian fun.

I was genuinely horrified by this film’s total nightmare of a third act; it’s the same lingering chill I picked up from Hardware, Stanley’s powerful debut. He may not know how to construct a recognizably human prologue before his supernatural plots take off. Nor does he know how to conduct a Normal conversation, if his recent interviews and past clashes with potential financiers are any indication. He sure does know how to deliver an upsetting, fucked-up horror show, though, and I hope it doesn’t take another two decades before he’s allowed to stage another one.

-Brandon Ledet

Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)

In the abstract, the concept of a 2010s CG animation Spider-Man origin story sounds dreadful. In practice, prankster screenwriter Phil Lord explodes the concept into a wild cosmic comedy by making a movie about the world’s over-abundance of Spider-Man origin stories (and about the art of CG animation at large). Into the Spider-Verse is a shockingly imaginative, beautiful, and hilarious take on a story & medium combo that should be a total drag, but instead is bursting with energetic life & psychedelic creativity. I wouldn’t believe it myself if I hadn’t seen the feat achieved onscreen with my own two eyes – which are still sore from the vibrant, hyperactive swirl of interdimensional colors & spider-people that assaulted them in gloriously uninhibited 3D animation.

Even if Into-the Spider-Verse had stuck to a single, straightforward Spider-Man origin story, it chose the exact one that could have kept the formula fresh for a modern audience. Afro-Latino teen dweeb Miles Morales is a welcome deviation in representation from the countless white-boy Peter Parkers who have swung across the screen over the years. Miles inhabits a hip-hop centric version of NYC that’s largely missing from the rest of the Spider-Man canon- represented in graffiti bombing, boomboxes, earbuds blaring legitimate radio-rap tunes, and a social pressure to code-switch when attending a predominately white school for the gifted. It’s a refreshing perspective for a Spider-Man universe NYC . . . until the obligatory machinations of the Spider-Man origin story take over the plot. When Miles is bitten by a radioactive spider, the audience has an all-too-clear idea of where his story will & should go as he transforms into an unlikely, geeky superhero. Except, Phil Lord immediately dislodges this story from that well-established groove to chase something much more unpredictable & self-aware.

Two distinct narrative deviations disrupt the typical Spider-Man origin story trajectory once Miles is bitten by that spider. First, he becomes aware that he’s living in a comic book. His inner thoughts become deafening narration he cannot escape, and his world is suddenly contained in Ben Day Dots and sectioned-off panels. Second, he becomes aware that his is not the only Spider-Man comic book. In fact, there are countless variations on the Spider-Man origin story that exist in a vast multiverse that begins to perilously overlap with his own. These variations include novelty spider-people like Spider-Man Noir (Nic Cage) & Spider-Ham (John Mulaney), whose outlandishness could not be further from Miles’s grounded hip-hop version of reality. Miles’s first-act run-in with a radioactive spider (and subsequent heartbreak with the tragic death of a family member) may be as consistent with Spider-Man lore as the NYC setting, but the comic book environments & quest to reconstruct the multiverse in proper order that result form that bite feel wildly imaginative for the material.

Those comic book environments & psychedelic multiverse overlaps do more than just open the Spider-Man origin story to exiting new avenues; they also allow for experimentation in CG animation that feels like a huge creative breakthrough for the medium. Where most modern animation pictures feel flat & unimaginative in their design, Spider-Verse is overflowing with ideas. The Ben Day Dots, panel divisions, and deliberately off-set screen-printing effect of its comic book design afford it a distinctly retro visual style, one enhanced by the claymation effect of its off-kilter frame rate. The endless possibilities of its collapsing multiverse also invite a total surreal meltdown of psychedelic colors & shapes, transforming Miles’s grounded NYC into a melted-candy nightmare. I usually dread CG animated kids’ movies even more than I dread the latest needless reboot of Spider-Man. Both of those well-worn mediums subverted & exploded my expectations for what they could achieve in this out-of-nowhere visual stunner, often multiple times in a single scene.

The only arena in which Into the Spider-Verse falls a little short is in eliciting a genuine emotional response for Miles’s journey from geek to hero. It’s a little difficult to lose yourself in his story when the visual language of the film is so (literally) flashy, and when other Spider-Men are on-hand to make self-aware, Deadpool-lite references to things like the character having “an excellent theme song & a so-so popsicle.” Every time a new, outlandish spider-person appears to announce, “Let’s start from the beginning one last time,” it’s an amusing joke at the expense of the character’s endless parade of reboots. However, by extension that also means it’s at the expense of Miles Morales, who likely deserved to have a straight-forward, gimmick-free Spider-Man origin story more than any other version of the character we’ve seen in the countless live action adaptations before him—one that’s likely to never arrive now.

The most emotional I got in Into the Spider-Verse was in an end-credits acknowledgement of the character’s creators – Steve Ditko & Stan Lee, who both died last year. Whether or not its boundless creativity left room for genuine pathos, Into the Spider-Verse feels like as perfect of an encapsulation of everything that collaboration inspired as you’ll ever see – both in its scramble to gather every variation of the character it can and in its vivid graphic artistry. I went into Spider-Verse expecting a humorous, satisfactory reboot of a character who’s been through the ringer too many times to yield any true surprises. I was frequently surprised and more than merely satisfied by the psychedelic, playfully meta spectacle that unfolded, then imploded before me instead. By the end of the film I could only cite one unturned stone that felt like a true missed opportunity, and then that exact gag ended up being a standalone scene after the end credits. The movie is that good.

-Brandon Ledet