I’ve been here before. Here in this place. Figuratively. Literally. Metaphysically. It’s a familiar feeling. That eerie sense of déjà vu. It started just the same as before. I began to hear about the faint rumblings of a new Nicolas Cage movie. A psychic itch developed that begged to be scratched. To top it off, the film was set in Portland, Oregon. A town I called home for fifteen years or more.
The first time it happened was twenty-six years ago. I was living in Portland at the time. The film was called Leaving Las Vegas; a movie that both disturbed me to the core and indirectly shaped my future.
Now, the movie is called Pig.
Hot damn, this is a fine, fine movie. I rented it on my birthday. And what a birthday present it is. Nicolas Cage shot back into the realm of my favorite male actors – joining Tom Hanks, Paul Giamatti and Ben Foster.
Don’t call it a comeback.
The years since Leaving Las Vegas have not been kind to Mr. Cage cinematically speaking. But they have been lucrative. You can’t begrudge the man that. There were some moments of genius in there. (See also: Bringing Out the Dead, Adaption, World Trade Center, Kick Ass) The National Treasure series were quite fun and I often find myself wishing there were more. But there are a lot of stinkers clogging his filmography. There’s no getting away from that. (See also: Ghost Rider) As a fan it really felt like he was saying yes to the paycheck rather than the role. Most of these films I just ignored.
Still, this is Nicolas Cage. Battered and broken, he still remains the high priest of manic acting and if he doesn’t get an Oscar nod for Pig, then I’ll eat my shoes.
I watched Pig back to back with another movie shot in Portland; Leave No Trace, featuring Thomasin McKenzie and the mighty Ben Foster. I got my PDX fix in real good.
And then I watched it again. The Leaving Las Vegas curse strikes again.
But this time I wasn’t disturbed. I was in awe.
The Portland scenes were bittersweet for me. I had lived there throughout my twenties and well into my thirties before moving on. The most recent time I visited was a few years ago and I hardly recognized the place. The skyline was different, the people were different. The whole place was one giant and sterile Brooklyn. It wasn’t home anymore. It’d lost the stink that made it so memorable.
Still, there is probably no more cinematically appealing city than Portland, Oregon. (See also: Drugstore Cowboy, My Own Private Idaho, Leave No Trace)