Review by
Eric Hillis
Directed by: Carlota Pereda
Starring: Laura Galán, Richard Holmes, Carmen Machi, Claudia Salas, Irene Ferreiro, Camille
Aguilar, Pilar Castro
I've never been able to corroborate this, but a Spanish friend once told me that among the many films banned by Franco's fascist regime were
those that featured talking animals. Franco was reputedly concerned that
such movies might lead viewers to become vegetarians and thus cause
damage to the country's meat industry. Anyone who has visited Spain will
tell you the country takes its meat very, very seriously.
Writer/director Carlota Pereda's Spanish thriller
Piggy opens in a butcher shop and climaxes in a
slaughterhouse. The meat being sliced up in the opening is that of the
animal variety, while in the climax…well, you can imagine.
Overweight teenager Sara (Laura Galán) is constantly targeted by
a trio of the meanest girls imaginable. They've nicknamed her "Piggy",
are always taunting her with insults and even come close to drowning her
as she bathes in the local pool before running off with her clothes,
forcing Sara to walk home in her bikini.
The three assholes concerned post a picture to Instagram of Laura and
her parents, labeling the post "The Three Little Pigs." In an ironic
twist, the girls become the three little pigs when a big bad wolf comes
to town in the form of a serial killer (Richard Holmes). On her
way home, Sara comes across the killer as he loads her three tormentors
into the back of a white van. After exchanging a knowing glance he
throws a towel to Sara and sets off.
When the body of the pool's lifeguard is found, and another lifeguard
is reported missing, Sara realises just how much danger her bullies are
in. After weighing up whether she should tell the police what she
witnessed, "Fuck them" is her decision.
For her feature debut, Pereda has taken elements from two of her
country's most notable genre movies – Eloy de la Iglesia's
The Cannibal Man, in which a butcher takes extreme lengths to cover up his accidental
killing of a cab driver, and Victor Erice's
The Spirit of the Beehive, in which a young girl imagines Frankenstein's Monster as her saviour
from the hardships of the Franco regime. The latter has been reworked
several times recently as stories of troubled young people befriending
monsters – see
Halloween Ends,
Martyr's Lane
and
Slapface
– but Pereda might be the first to put a psychosexual spin on the
premise. Sara finds herself attracted to this dangerous man who has
inadvertently done her a favour, and at one point the pair even come
close to sharing a kiss.
Galán is excellent as the constantly tortured Sara. Her torment is so
palpable that few viewers will be frowning upon her choice to keep her
knowledge of her bullies' fate a secret, but the guilt eats away at her
to such a degree that it becomes harder to endure than the daily
bullying she previously suffered.
The film works best in its opening buildup, which does a fine job of
establishing how awful it can be to be marked as a figure of mockery in
a small, insular community, and in its middle section, as Sara weighs up
her guilt while being drawn to the killer, who continually lingers
around the town. It's let down by a generic climax that feels like a bit
of a cop-out as it veers away from the dark conclusion it seems
naturally bound for.
As a director, Pereda has made a strikingly assured feature debut.
Sequences are pieced together with the studied skill of a veteran rather
than a debutant. A standout set-piece sees Sara and the killer attempt
to avoid the parents of the abducted girls, who are searching for them
in the local woods. There's a Spielbergian quality to how Pereda and
cinematographer Rita Noriega employ the lights of the parents'
torches as beacons of threat, glancing just past Sara as she attempts to
keep out of sight. It's reminiscent of the opening of
ET or that nerve-wracking basement scene in
War of the Worlds. Might Pereda have a Jaws in her?
