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I’m not one for the horror flicks these days here in middle-aged-boiler-gut territory, but I was compelled to see Pig Hunt as it was exec-produced by Robert Mailer Anderson, his better half Nicola Miner, and about a hundred other folks according to the credits. Okay about 8. Mr. Anderson has a cameo role as well.
The general plot is not unusual: five pseudo-yuppies from the city (San Francisco) decide to go hunting at John’s (the protagonist) uncle’s ranch in Mendocino County (presumably near Boonville as one of the locals speaks Boontling). John used to live there and is known to the locals. Two of the local hillbillies decide to tag along. From there it’s bad news for all involved as there’s treachery, retaliation, and the possibility of a 3,000 lb porcine behemoth in their midst.
Those who have read Mr. Anderson’s “Boonville” (a copy of which sits on the nightstand at about 3:25 into the movie) will see a few similarities between the characters between “Boonville” and Pig Hunt: Hap and Charlie the storekeeper (played by the most excellent bluesman Charlie Musselwhite); Daryl and Jake; Kurts and Ricky; Aslan and the hippie stranger, etc. And like “Boonville”, Pig Hunt is full of stereotypes: angry black dude, nerdy inept white guy, dumb and violent rednecks, asian chick doing tai chi on the steps of the general store, and weird-for-no-freaking-reason hippies.
None of it really matters because it’s not high art, it’s a horror flick. Despite some awkward flow now and then throughout the movie, horror fans are pretty much getting what they want. Add to that a pretty decent soundtrack featuring Les Claypool (who also makes a cameo) and you have a worthwhile horror film.
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Of the dozens of quirks I have that my wife puts up with, the one she chuckles at is my affinity for seemingly odd locales. Tombstone, Arizona: I’ve consumed volumes about the OK Corral gunfight and all the characters – minor and major – associated, and have visited on several occasions. Kalapana, Big Island, Hawai’i: One of the 4 places Jake Halpern highlighted in one of my faves, Braving Home. A little oceanside Hawaiian village that was nearly wiped off the map by Madame Pele’s wrath, Kalapana’s only transgression was being downhill from the Pu’u O’o vent of Kilauea Volcano. I’d live there in spite of this, if I could.
Boonville, California.
Having spent my formative years in nearby Sonoma County, Boonville was a curious stop on the way to Camp Navarro, a summer camp for Boy Scouts two towns north on Highway 128. Camp counselors knew (or pretended to know) Boontling, the local pidgin created around the early 20th century to fool outsiders. We chuckled as passed through at the few signs in Boontling (Horn of Zeese, or cup of coffee, and Bucky Walter where the word “Telephone” should have been over the phone booth).
However it wouldn’t be until 2001 when my fascination with Boonville would come full bloom, which was when Robert Mailer Anderson came out with Boonville. A sharply funny piece that skillfully interweaves the pastiche that is rural Northern California: rednecks, hippies, and those in between that are trying to get away from…something. As soon as I read Anderson’s introduction where he tells hippies verbatim to “eat shit”, I was hooked. No offense, earthy types.
Since reading Boonville (several times), I’ve visited Boonville about three times; the last time just this past weekend. I’m itching to go there again, spend the night for the first time, see if I can get hammered with locals and somehow end up collapsing on the yellow divider lines on Highway 128. Wooden squirrel statues optional.