Pig ★★★★½

Grief is such a fascinating concept. It manifests not only in loss through death, but through abandoned dreams, through splintered relationships, through simply growing older. Grief interweaves itself so quietly. It creeps up on you. It curls its hands around you and squeezes. It runs its fingers through your hair, a tender gesture until it hits a knot and that’s when the sting of pain comes. I’m a firm believer that the two most universal experiences of our lifetimes come in the forms of love and grief. You cannot have one without the other. Their coexistence feels almost cruel and yet it is also such a miraculous thing to witness and experience. How can I be someone lying on the floor, wracked with sobs, a figure rigid with the anguish of grief, and yet also someone who can smile, heart bursting with warmth at the mere memory of love. The feelings are too big, too complex for my tired bones and yet they take residence in my ribs and refuse to leave me, no matter how desperately I wish to rid myself of them. 

Pig feels so quiet. So comfortingly familiar. It whispers reassurances throughout its runtime. Its simply story hides relatability and affirmation in its details. We are all searching, we are all slipping, we are all seething. We are all living, breathing people at one time or another and we are all experiencing those sharp sensations of love and grief again and again and again. What a beautiful message to have embedded in a story about one man’s quest for his beloved pig. 

I feel whole. I feel seen. I feel alive. 

2021 Ranked

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