Netflix’s beautifully shot and brilliantly executed Okja is the perfect 21st-century blockbuster: part throwback to kid-centered adventure films like E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial and Goonies and part popcorn spectacle like Jumanji and Jurassic World.

In other respects, though, Okja isn’t like a summer movie or any movie that I’ve seen in a while. It’s a social-justice thriller like Fight Club or Get Out but weirder. The movie made me want to use any means necessary to stop cruelty, and that’s a claim few films can make.

Okja is a film about a girl and her pig—a docile, intelligent, elephant-sized super-pig that director Bong Joon-ho brings to life with GCI, practical effects, some combination of the two or maybe magic. (Since seeing the film, I have actively avoided how-they-made-it videos online for fear they would spoil the illusion.) Okja reminds me of the dancing hippos in Fantasia—big and dextrous, like an NFL lineman doing parkour. The effects work is A+, but the human emotion that Okja evokes—empathy, delight, an instinct to protect—comes from a script by Bong and Jon Ronson that gives the pig vulnerability and a heroine’s arc.

Okja is one of 26 lab-engineered specimens that the Mirando Corporation has placed with different families around the world to raise from squealing piglets to garbage-truck-sized colossi. She lives in the mountains of South Korea with a young girl named Mija (13-year-old An Seo Hyun, who is marvelous) and her grandfather, who tells Mija that Okja will live with them forever.

The story gallops from the mountains to Seoul to New York. There are peculiar characters like Tilda Swinton as a platinum-blond villain with braces and Jake Gyllenhaal as a doofy, alcoholic star of a children’s TV show with a bristle-brush mustache. The film’s strange brew of hipster whimsy and sharp set pieces are a thing to behold—like a Wes Anderson-directed Mission: Impossible, with Ethan Hunt played by a giant pig.

Paul Dano shows up midway through as the very serious head of a ragtag group of ethical eco-terrorists called the Animal Liberation Front, and he introduces much of the murky moral ambiguity about what it means to do the right thing. He’s a humanist and a pacifist, and he is a jihadist for those causes.

Okja is not a preachy animal-rights polemic, but it establishes beyond a reasonable doubt that animals have personalities and feel pain. We should treat them better than disposable products to be killed on a factory floor. I believed that before seeing the film, but it’s a different matter to feel the dread when Okja is in peril.

I would no sooner drive Okja to the slaughterhouse than eat my own dog, but will I ever eat pork again? Would I physically stop you from doing any of those things? I don’t know, but I can’t stop thinking about it.