Methodical, deliberate, and painful is this ponderous and bracing examination of the power of food, memory, drive, and the bonds of life. Gordon Ramsey goes into the woods finding a path to smothering his pain of loss and the toll of his being a chef. He is a broken man finding solace in the serene and a partner in his pig. Once it is taken from him, we get the idea of a Grizzly Adams John Wick, dive into “food workers Fight Club”, but mostly get a beaten and bloody The Limey in the cutthroat Portlandia food world. It is sorrowful, meditative, and horrific in parts; everyone here is crushed by the grinding meal wheel in some form.
Cage is a pillar of potency, pathos, and purpose. The intensity of his glare only heightens his crippled innards and heighten his husk of who he used to be. We are fed crumbs that hint at the changes he has undergone and his metamorphosis after going underground. One of his better performances as of late as his hardened jaw bears witness to his heartbreak, both scarred and fresh. His powerful but withered presence is juxtaposed with the good work of Alex Wolff; brash and flashy but equally tortured, sympathetic, and seasoned with sadness by the end.
The soberness and earnestness with which Cage is shown is exalted by the natural splendor of Oregon and the savory dynamism of the food at play. The water, purifying, unprocessed, and potent, bookends the film, cleansing the metaphorical palette and reaffirming the natural process. The resplendent trees or the catch of the wind flows through the film. Its power is equaled in the magic of the food. Food is both a savior and oppressor, with its trendy, posh, and capitalistic expressions being an exploiter and the ultimate purveyor of pain & some pleasure.
It's a rending cinematic experience, barren of much lightness or solace, but it cultivates its attention and appetite for empathy. I would attest to this meal’s satisfying sway despite how sour it may rest on the tongue.