Gunda

And Vegetarianism

I hope you like pigs, because “Gunda” is as piggy as it gets. This is one of those hardcore documentaries. No talking heads, no voiceover, no context. I’m not even sure it’s conveyed that this was apparently filmed at two farms. We see some animals, and I guess we have to assume some of the animals are the same as the ones we just saw. I guess I’m being a racist if I said it would help to see their skin tones to differentiate them, since the movie is black and white. I’m sorry for being racist, piglets. You know what? That was never gonna come out sounding good.

Gunda is meant to be the name of the sow at the heart of the film. With this stark black and white cinematography, we watch Gunda go about their daily pig life, feeding the kids, nuzzling bales of hay, chewing and hoofing it up. If you ever wondered what a pig does when they’re not on the job, here’s your hint. Credit to producer Joaquin Phoenix, who is a committed vegetarian who may have had an ulterior motive in capturing the regular activities of a pig. Then again, he made “Joker: Folie a Deux”. Maybe ulterior motives are lost on him. And that was an unnecessary low blow, you’re welcome.

This was released in the heart of the pandemic, with theaters meekly open to show some of the smaller, more eccentric fare. I had a newspaper subscription, and it was tragic to see how the Friday movie section had shrunk given the lack of product available. It’s one of the few times a movie like this could even remotely be considered bankable. It seems as if there’s no manipulation of the animals. There are cows, and they quietly mill about, slapping their tails everywhere. The smaller piglets seem to always be falling down when they’re not feeding. Gunda (I presume) looks over them with what feels like confidence, the idea that Gunda knows where and how they are at all times, and isn’t bothered by it.

The chicken is the closest to a side character as this movie actually has. Mostly because he seems ornery and difficult, largely due to hopping around on his one foot, the second one having been long gone. He is very much like the older, now-handicapped old man at the BBQ, milling about, proudly flaunting wounds from war, from an accident, from whatever. It’s not important you’re aware of the handicap, it’s significant that you be reminded that he’s still going. “Gunda” is a long 97 minutes, but I would have watched an extra twenty minutes with this little guy.

Among the galloping around and the stumbling back and forth, Gunda is that charming pig that Jules Winnfield spoke of in “Pulp Fiction”. They are amused by the fall of rain, tap tap tapping against their considerable nostril. And there is a moment when Gunda lies still, their children climbing all over the animal, and they wear a suspiciously human look on their face. Is that… contentment? In that moment, it’s as if Gunda is looking into the camera and saying, “You see this? This… is Heaven.”

I don’t know what it says about me that Gunda did not convert me to vegetarianism. Maybe I’m sick that way – after prison, I struggle with the idea that I should in any way limit what I eat, within reason. I can still take a bite of bacon and simultaneously think of that blissful grin on Gunda’s face, knowing there’s a possibility Gunda is who I’m eating. I’m sorry, Gunda, but pork is delicious.

I’m not sure what it’s like for others with more sensitive diets. In the feds, it seemed as if “special plates” for vegetarians or vegans were often the same meal the rest of us had, only less. I remember bean pies being a regular meal for them, sometimes even a plant-based patty that simply did not stand up to scrutiny. But in holding, where I sat in a jail for fifteen months, I don’t think the vegetarian option existed for people. If the dinners weren’t a slab of colorful-looking meat (with God-knows-what baked into them) they were some sort of stew filled with beef morsels, the better to stretch out the remaining meat. I lost fifty pounds in my first three months in holding, and that was by eating as much of those beef stews as possible. I can’t imagine how much smaller people would get if they had any sort of dietary restrictions. I suppose the message here is that if you’ve seen “Gunda” and felt for the poor pig, maybe don’t get yourself to jail.