Wednesday, October 12, 2011
If you can see past the vacant eyes, those mirrors reflecting a vacant soul, you will see something monumentally unpleasant.
Where the naive (or oblivious) among us might see a swimsuited pig slathering on the (possibly expired) sunscreen, we have no choice but to see a pig rubbing in the barbecue sauce. Compared to this genteel image, Mooch's presents an uncomfortable upping of the ante.
By recasting a pleasant recreation—the weekend at the beach we might plan for and happily anticipate sharing with our families—as a prelude to a grisly ritual, the pre-mortem pig upends everything we thought we knew. He approaches death as though it were a longed-for vacation, requiring merely a different set of clothes and the right accoutrements: bathing suit, barbecue sauce, tongs, last will and testament.