The Dancing Pig

“The Dancing Pig” is a four-minute silent film from 1907 that was adapted from a French vaudeville/burlesque routine.

I was first introduced to this film several years ago via one of those “OMG! Nightmare Fuel!” type lists. I don’t find it creepy at all- honestly, I think it’s extraordinary.

In the film, an anthropomorphized pig, who is initially dressed in a top hat and tails, attempts to court a pretty young lady. She rebuffs his advances again and again until she finally gets up, strips him naked, and mocks him. At first he is humiliated… but the lady encourages him to dance with her, teaching him the moves. Ultimately, the pig reemerges dressed as a lady.

I have read online that the routine was created and performed by a man simply credited as Mr. Odéo.

First off, I will say that the suit is incredible for 1907. There is a little demonstration of the mask’s capabilities at the end of the film that is worth watching. It is fantastic work.

I’m sure that most audience members walked away from this routine laughing about the dancing pig, but I wonder what was in Mr. Odéo’s mind when he conceived it. Was it intended as social commentary? What inspired him to cast himself in the role of a boorish pig who is humiliated by a pretty woman who teaches him to dance before himself (herself?) becoming a lady?

Through Felt Nerdy and Dirty, I have been writing, producing, and performing raunchy, adult puppetry routines for over a decade. The memorable moments for the audience tend to be a puppet penis or Veronica’s breasts, but that isn’t what they’re about to me. I consistently lampoon, and attempt to deconstruct, the venerable institutions that were programmed into me from childhood- the hypocrisy of the Southern Baptist “faith” and conservatism, the innate ridiculousness of monogamous heteronormative relationships, etc. I also very frequently find myself writing my own insecurities, shortcomings, and fears into my scripts. I have commented more than once to Veronica, “I hope no was was paying attention to what I said. They would know way too much about me.”

Was Mr. Odéo doing the same?

Another small note: After the incredible amount of work he must have put into crafting the suit, staging the routine, and achieving the level of success that must have been necessary to have it made into a film in 1907… I wonder if he walked out of the first screening, saying, “Goddamit, my top hat fell off! You could see the hole in the top of the mask!”

I know I would have. I feel your pain, Mr. Odéo.

I just find myself drawn to this strange little routine and the idea that this man, who kept his face and name out of public view while performing wild, comic routines alongside a pretty lady, may have been something of a kindred spirit…. although he got started more than a century before I did.