Rating: 4 out of 4.

I’m not the first person watching Pig to land on “John Wick, but for chefs” (even writer/director Michael Sarnoski makes this observation), but that comparison mischaracterizes Nicolas Cage’s latest opus. Cage is Robin Feld, a gruff recluse living deep in the Oregon forests, who is reluctantly but determinedly drawn back into society when his truffle-finding pig is violently stolen. What follows is a beautiful, melancholic, and strangely sentimental journey, centered on one man’s resolve to recover his last living friend. At first glance, this reads like a comedy in the vein of Raising Arizona, but this film is as earnest and straight-faced as they come—with the occasional grin of appreciation that accompanies trying to unpack any Cage performance.

Cage enthusiasts will be delighted to know he is front and center throughout the film. The beauty and fascination with watching Cage is wondering which Sir Nicolas will be showing up (shoutout to an entire Community B-plot devoted to understanding Cage’s decisions). Cage is channeling his simmering intensity from Leaving Las Vegas, Bad Lieutenant, or Mandy; he’s never been a boring performer, but there is nothing ironic or winking about his performance in Pig. (Well, one sillier element had me snickering: Cage’s Robin is so talented a chef that he can remember every detail of every meal he served to every customer in his decades-long career. Sure.) When we’re introduced to Robin, he is a detached, cabin-dwelling, isolationist who has sworn off humanity; it’s nothing new, despite Cage always being compelling. But as we discover more about Robin’s backstory and history, the more nuanced Cage’s performances and interactions become. We understand Robin’s grief and sorrow, and the self-actualization and moral clarity that can arrive in the face of overwhelming loss. The revelation of Robin’s backstory—and the importance he’s placed on reclaiming this pig—is ultimately simplistic, maybe even predictable, but Cage’s honesty and solemnity delivers the necessary dramatic weight.

(I did say this wasn’t a winking comedy, but one moment left me guffawing like an idiot. At one point, Cage, who spends the entirety of the movie dirty and disheveled, with no mode of transportation, steals a bike off a Portland neighborhood porch. The bike owner rushes to confront him, and without breaking stride, Cage merely bellows at him, and continues on with his successfully-won bike.)

Given that this is Sarnoski’s directorial debut, it’s impressive how expertly he complements Cage’s on-screen presence with a grim, haunting atmosphere and a deliberate, confident pacing. Sarnoski has an eye for gorgeous visuals that show the majesty of the Oregon mountains and claustrophobia of the city life that Robin is eager to escape. The script is thoughtful and economic with its dialogue and exposition. I was initially skeptical of the story’s ability to satisfy its slow-burn momentum—until a gripping exchange where Robin grills an old chef acquaintance and sycophant with pointed, existential questions about abandoning his idealistic career dreams. Robin’s unrelenting criticism reveals his disgust with the transactional, shallow world around him, and is a perfect showcase for Cage’s magnetism throughout the film and Sarnoski’s command of the story. From that point, I was complicitly and eagerly riding shotgun with Sarnoski and Cage to whatever storytelling climax they’d cooked up: an emotionally-resonant voyage for a damaged man looking for his lost truffle pig.

PSA: For the last few years, Utah cinephiles have gathered during the first week of January to celebrate the birth, life, and works of Nicolas Cage. Anyone interested in obsessing over the choices and captivating mystery of Nicolas Cage, should follow the Salt Lake City-based account Cage Week (@cageweek).

Pig is currently playing in theaters. It runs 92 minutes and is rated R for language and some violence.