This article originally ran in 2014 and has been updated.
Nicolas Cage is one of the most maddening, incomprehensible, deeply strange, committed, passionate, unhinged, unconventional stars to ever reach A-list status. After starting out as a journeyman and dipping his feet into the waters of romantic comedy, his Academy Award for Leaving Las Vegas in 1995 cemented him as one of the notable actors of his time.
The feverish way in which he approached every single role was admirable, if questionable at times given the projects in question. But in an industry that prizes buzzworthiness and the vestiges of “cool” over almost anything else, Cage is a madman in a movie star’s body. He’s one of the closest things America has to a Klaus Kinski type (more on the Herzog connection later), an actor whose very existence seems to suggest that he lives beyond any measurable or understood standards of what it is that makes a movie star.
This isn’t to say that he’s batting a thousand. In fact, quite the contrary. Much of the cult of Cage is built around some of his famously over-the-top performances in both good and bad movies, and without either of those elements he couldn’t exist. He inhabits a world between those of the revered Method actor and the B-movie ham, and it’s nigh impossible to conceive of him in any other way.
In a 2014 interview with The Times, Cage acknowledged that he’s not entirely unaware of this perception, either: “I’m proud of the chances I’ve taken. They haven’t all worked, but I had a concept, and I’ve pushed for it. It’s probably annoyed a lot of critics and a lot of people who didn’t get in step with it, but I’m proud I did it.” Whether you perceive him to be a genius or a punchline or both, his performances are almost always memorable, even in the most unbearable movies.
As his latest creative endeavor, Pig, hits theaters today (July 16th), we’ve selected the best and worst of his performances. These are our essential Cage movies, ranked in order from intolerably terrible to astonishingly great.
— Dominick Mayer
15. Left Behind (2014)
For all of Cage’s over-the-top turns in bad movies, the worst thing he can be is boring. There’s nothing more dismaying than watching one of the greatest, most interesting actors of his generation slum it in direct-to-video fodder, much more so when he’s given so little to do. And so it goes with Left Behind, where a sad, bloated Cage slums it in a slim-budgeted adaptation of the (first half of the first book of the) best-selling Christian thriller series, where the Rapture happens while Cage (as airline pilot Rayford Steele) has to deal with an airliner with half its passengers missing.
There’s nothing more haunting than a Nic Cage performance you have nothing to say about. But that’s him in a nutshell here: slumped over a blue-screened cockpit, dutifully saying his lines and waiting for the check to clear. That it also doubles as a culture-war shot across the bow for a godless America makes it even ickier. — Clint Worthington
14. Deadfall (1993)
When you imagine the cliches of a bad Nic Cage performance — the gurning, the teeth-gnashing, the attempts to disappear into ever more ridiculous costumes and prosthetics — it’s hard to top his small but mighty cameo in brother Christopher Coppola’s lukewarm neo-noir Deadfall. Ostensibly, it’s a vehicle for Michael Biehn, whom no one else but James Cameron seems to know how to use properly, but everything else about the movie is forgettable.
That is, for Cage, who shows up in a Tony Clifton wig and suspiciously-darkened skin to play Eddie King, a boozed-out maniac who sucks up most of Deadfall‘s entertainment value for all the wrong reasons. Every line delivery is a new test to see how high Cage’s voice can go, how loud he can shout, how long he can hold the exact wrong syllable in a sentence. He’s truly let out of the Cage here, and it’s the ideal case study for when Cage’s unchecked instincts go wrong. — Clint Worthington
13. Fire Birds (1990)
This is, arguably, where the darkness begins. The shit job that paved the way for other shit jobs. The first dalliance with Disney where our young, hungry, and hunky hero first contracts the venereal disease of the soul that lies dormant for decades before erupting in VOD sores. Imagine this streak: Raising Arizona, Moonstuck, Vampire’s Kiss, Wild at Heart. Wow. The kid’s on fire. So what’s next? Fire Birds, aka Wings of the Apache … and it’s a real dick move.
What’s Cage’s motivation to put himself behind the cockpit of this obnoxious, yet fascinatingly heterosexual, rehash of Top Gun? Perhaps he was already knee deep with his bookies, or maybe he just had a Tom Cruise-sized itch to scratch. Regardless, there’s no excuse for this leftover Bush-era relic about a maverick Apache helicopter pilot battling Mexican drug cartels (somehow employing Russian whirlybird assassins who look like fat Sean Connerys to do their dirty work).
In the role of, yeah, Jake Preston, Cage enters the film like a ketamine James Dean. But as he masters his new trillion-dollar war toy by overcoming a dramatically weighed eye dominance problem, wins over a too-good-for-this-shit Tommy Lee Jones, and romances a fading Sean Young through the lost art of panty snatching, the Cage awakens and almost pumps this Top Gun Xerox to campy watchability.
The must-see for all Cage aficionados is an over-the-top flight simulator scene where Cage mistakes playing cocky for giving birth, and the way he Risky Business slides into a laundromat during his Sean Young nookie quest. But the movie’s as bland as the bubblegum his character insistently chews. It’s greedy. It’s artless. And it sows the seeds of the many mediocrities that come later. — Roy Ivy
12. The Sorcerer’s Apprentice (2010)
Cage’s other Disney endeavor, The Sorcerer’s Apprentice, did not in fact kick off a new franchise, as was the film’s clear aspiration. It seemed like a good idea at the time: rejoin Cage with National Treasure director Jon Turtletaub, use a beloved Disney property as a jump-off point, ???, profit. The problem was that the original Fantasia segment on which this film is (VERY) loosely based was not feature-length, and so Disney had to take creative licenses such as turning the apprentice into a nerdy scientist (Jay Baruchel) interested in Tesla coils and Cage into…well, a homeless man, apparently.
The film was buried not only by the unfortunate decision to release it only two days before Inception became the definitive cultural juggernaut of summer 2010, but by the odd lifelessness of the whole thing. Much like John Hammond before them, Disney spared no expense at any level, but aside from one memorable sequence involving a series of mirror-based teleportations, there’s nearly nothing about their would-be franchise film that’s particularly memorable. And in a film that could really use a man of Cage’s manic skills, you’d think he’d be offered more to do than growling his way through endless exposition and staring furtively from beneath one of his many notorious hairpieces. — Dominick Suzanne-Mayer
11. Season of the Witch (2011)
By now we all knew of Cage’s financial foibles, but he hadn’t quite hit the gutter yet. Still slightly bankable, and still lovable after Bad Lieutenant and Kick-Ass, fans had good reason to expect a good time from Season of the Witch. But there’s no wattage in the Cage bulb in this dull, dull, dull … oh my God, it’s just one of the most boring movies ever made. You’d think Dominic Sena would bring some hyperactive, faux-Bay flair to this snoozer about knights escorting a Black Plague-carrying witch to the safety of a monastery. You’d even think Cage would get off on going medieval on these witches. You deserved a Wicker Man-esque freak-out of Cage bellowing, “WITCHES!!! WITCHES!!!”
But no, he plays this thing uncharacteristically sullen, emitting not a single kilowatt as he slogs from one green screen to another as this cauldron of cold soup drags along. Ron Perlman tries to add some Perlman gruff to his role as the sidekick, but Cage bogs it all down by denying us even a single shred of frenzy. His performance is like a sad, old hooker who just lies there, refusing to grunt out even a single kegel for those who trotted out to one of his increasingly rare theatrical releases. But all that matters is he got paid, and he didn’t have to leave Louisiana to sleepwalk through one of his worst films. — Roy Ivy
10. Trespass (2011)
This movie exists, whether or not you’ve ever heard of it. If Trespass had the same cast and crew in the mid-‘90s, we’d be looking at a $100 million grosser (co-star is Nicole Kidman, director is Joel Schumacher). Sadly, the movie came out in 2011, a time when everyone involved was a little more weathered and more than a little played out.
It isn’t entirely fair to say Cage doesn’t care just because numerous movies he’s starred in have either been delivered straight to VOD or had a short shelf-life in theaters, but numerous Razzie nominations back me up on this and obviously do not do him any favors (numerous nominations, but no “wins”). — Justin Gerber
9. Joe (2013)
“It’s time to get back on the horse,” I imagine Nicolas Cage saying to himself when approached by fellow comeback craver David Gordon Green for the Southern Gothic bummer of Joe. “You know what, hold my calls for a few months,” he tells his haggard personal assistant. “I gotta live in this role for a while, and I’ve got a real beard to grow.” Acting … really fucking acting his heart out for the first time in years, Cage comes back from the dead in the role of an ex-con trying to make good. Actually, he’s just playing a dog trying his damnest not to be a dog, and it borders on goddamn triumphant watching the Academy Award-winning actor bury the bones of his indebted alter ego.
The movie isn’t perfect. In fact, it’s downright annoying at times, as Green bogs down a somber character study with cartoonish villains (save for the real-life homeless, and real-life dead Gary “G-Dawg” Poulter). But watching Cage become a surrogate father figure as he tries, and repeatedly fails, to reign in his criminal impulses turns the film into an entrancing tightrope act. As Cage fans, we want to see him go wild. But as Joe fans, we’re dreading the moment he finally comes unglued. This movie has no commercial appeal. It’s not rewatchable. It’s no fun. It’s a return to form in many ways, but it’s unlike anything he’s done before. It’s a passion project, and that passion shows. Plus, it’s a nice touch that Joe’s into death metal, and I’m assuming that Pantera shirt is Cage’s own. — Roy Ivy
8. National Treasure (2004)
It’s still strange to think about how massive a hit National Treasure was. For all the convoluted “gotcha!” logic of the film and the fact that it’s essentially predicated on Nicolas Cage responding to claims he can’t steal the Declaration of Independence with a “naw, chill, watch this” from start to finish, the film made $173 million in the US and matched that worldwide to boot. It was a savvy strategy: before Sony could get their adaptation of Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code into theaters, Disney struck while the iron was even hotter and offered the story of Benjamin Franklin Gates, a descendant of the founding fathers who discovers a map to the Templar Treasure on the back of the Declaration.
National Treasure is far from the worst movie on this list, but it’s preposterously silly, Cage meandering through national landmarks with a permanent half-smile and an increasingly silly series of monologues designed to illustrate just how hyper-intelligent Gates is that end up having the side effect of making him insufferably smug at times. One longs for any kind of inspired weirdness when he has to deliver endless diatribes about subjects such as why there’s a pyramid on the back of a dollar bill, as rendered in detail. This installment isn’t totally Cage’s fault, given the writing he had to work with, but it’s still an uncommonly dull performance. — Dominick Suzanne-Mayer
7. Con Air (1997)
If Face/Off is the unironic masterwork of Cage’s ’90s action heyday, Con Air is surely a close second. The dipshit younger brother to Michael Bay’s The Rock, Con Air has the kind of country-fried action premise that’s already perfect when you hear it: a plane hijacking movie set on a plane carrying the world’s dangerous convicts. And in the middle of it is our own flaxen-haired John McClane, Nic Cage’s tanktop-loving Cameron Poe — who naturally is only in jail because his skills make him too dangerous to be in the general public after accidentally killing a guy accosting his wife.
Simon West’s over-amped action picture is still a giddy joy from start to finish, Cage surrounded by a star-studded cast of character actors all doing The Most (especially John “Make a move and the bunny gets it” Malkovich). But Cage is clearly the tone-setter here, injecting a bone-deep sincerity to Cameron that clashes wonderfully with that mulleted mane and universally-giffable twinkle in his eye. (Not to mention the Foghorn Leghorn accent that gives additional herbs and spices to lines like “It’s not exactly mai-tais and Yahtzee out here — but let’s do it!”)
For all the bad action pictures Cage has done, we need to treasure the great, silly ones, and Con Air certainly passes that particular checkpoint. — Clint Worthington
6. Adaptation (2002)
As great Cage performances go, you can’t get much Cagier than a movie that lets him play two wildly different brothers, each of whom are manifestations of screenwriter Charlie Kaufman’s own neurotic personality, one of which is supposed to be a direct proxy of him, and whose troubles combined form the spine of Adaptation, one of the great films of the 2000s to date. Despite being at the center of a story that also concerns orchid theft, euphoria-inducing drugs, swamp critters, Meryl Streep playing an equally loose riff on real-life author Susan Orlean, and a scene in which Brian Cox deconstructs not only this movie but also most other movies as the film itself unfolds, Adaptation is always grounded by Charlie and his struggles to table his anxieties for long enough to write his masterpiece.
When Charlie is hired by a major studio to adapt Orlean’s The Orchid Thief for the big-screen treatment, he’s frustrated not only by a studio system that can’t understand his work and by his own inability to even finish, but by Donald, who understands the rigid three-act structure of traditional Hollywood, and renders it to hilarious perfection. Cage is every bit as morose and painfully sad as Charlie as he is dopey and excitable as Donald.
Like Armie Hammer as the Winklevoss twins in The Social Network, he delivers two different performances in the same body. Donald is like a golden retriever manifested as human, while Charlie is a total mess, struggling through his self-loathing and Hollywood’s relative disinterest in his more acutely observed story. As showbiz satire, as a commentary on the writing process, and most of all as a showcase for Cage’s skills when given material he can truly disappear into, Adaptation is a rare kind of masterpiece. — Dominick Suzanne-Mayer
5. Leaving Las Vegas (1995)
This Mike Figgis film has a number of problems, despite the countless award nominations bestowed upon it nearly 20 years ago. It has a weird story structure and is undone by unbelievable coincidences along with a bad, pointless Russian mob subplot. It’s as though Cage’s perfect performance stumbled onto set after a bad bender and sobered up quickly enough to get out. Every moment he’s on screen, we’re reminded of both how great he is as washed-up screenwriter Ben Sanderson and how bad everyone else is (Elisabeth Shue included).
Cage’s portrayal as a full-blown alcoholic comes with the shortest of backstories, but just enough to tell us what led him down the path of destruction. What makes his story that much more tragic are his relationships. His secretary doesn’t look at him with anger but pity. A Hollywood executive actually gives him a more-than-generous severance package. Cage goes “full Cage” but with depressing undertones and uneasy aftermaths. His tremors and cramps from withdrawal are something we rarely see on screen. Sanderson is a doomed character, and despite all of his boorish, slovenly behavior, we sure wish he wasn’t. That’s all thanks to Cage. — Justin Gerber