Nicolas Cage’s Bizarre 9-Foot Pyramid Tomb: The Eccentric Actor’s Pre-Reserved Resting Place in New Orleans
In the heart of New Orleans, among centuries-old above-ground tombs stained by time, humidity, and history, stands a gleaming white pyramid that looks as if it was dropped from another era—or another dimension. This is no ancient Egyptian relic or forgotten Masonic monument. It is the future burial site of actor Nicolas Cage, a nine-foot-tall stone structure the Oscar winner purchased and erected more than a decade ago in one of America’s most storied cemeteries. Empty, unnamed, and inscribed with a cryptic Latin phrase, the pyramid has become one of the city’s strangest tourist attractions and a perfect symbol of Cage’s long-running reputation for eccentricity.
St. Louis Cemetery No. 1, established in 1789, is the oldest extant cemetery in New Orleans. Located just outside the French Quarter on Basin Street, it is a dense, labyrinthine city of the dead. Because of the city’s high water table, traditional in-ground burials were impractical; bodies would float to the surface after heavy rains. The solution was above-ground tombs, vaults, and wall ovens that give the cemetery its distinctive, almost theatrical appearance. Over the decades, the site has become the final resting place for many of New Orleans’ notable figures, including the city’s first mayor and, most famously, Marie Laveau, the 19th-century Voodoo queen whose tomb still draws pilgrims who leave offerings and mark the walls with Xs in hopes of answered prayers.
It was into this historic and spiritually charged landscape that Nicolas Cage inserted himself in 2010. Fresh off a period of financial turbulence that included the foreclosure of two high-profile New Orleans properties—the notorious LaLaurie Mansion and a former chapel he had converted into a private residence—Cage acquired the last two available adjacent plots in the crowded cemetery. On one of them he commissioned a stark, modern pyramid mausoleum. The structure rises roughly nine feet high, its clean white surfaces standing in sharp contrast to the crumbling brick, peeling plaster, and weathered stone of the surrounding tombs. There is no name on the pyramid. The only inscription is the Latin maxim “Omnia Ab Uno,” which translates as “Everything From One” or “All From One.”
Cage has never publicly explained his reasons for choosing this particular form or location. The silence has only fueled speculation. Some observers see the pyramid as a tongue-in-cheek reference to the treasure-hunting adventures of his National Treasure films. Others note that the motto “Omnia Ab Uno” has historical associations with Rosicrucian and esoteric traditions that emphasize unity and the interconnectedness of all things. More colorful theories circulate among locals and online: that Cage sought proximity to Marie Laveau for spiritual protection after owning the allegedly cursed LaLaurie Mansion; that the pyramid is evidence of secret society affiliations; or that the actor, known for collecting oddities ranging from dinosaur skulls to European castles, simply wanted a final resting place as unconventional as his public persona.
Whatever the motivation, the tomb has proven durable both physically and culturally. While many of the older monuments in St. Louis Cemetery No. 1 show the ravages of two centuries of subtropical weather, Cage’s pyramid remains relatively pristine. Fans have claimed it in their own way, pressing lipstick kisses onto its smooth surfaces until caretakers occasionally clean them away. Tour guides regularly point it out, often with a mixture of amusement and mild exasperation. The structure has become part of the official narrative of the cemetery, listed among the attractions that draw visitors even as some longtime New Orleanians quietly grumble that a Hollywood outsider’s modern pyramid feels out of place among the city’s historic dead.
Cage’s connection to New Orleans runs deeper than real estate and a burial plot. He has spoken warmly of the city over the years, describing it as a place of magical memories and donating significant funds to Hurricane Katrina relief efforts. In early 2020, shortly after beginning a relationship with Riko Shibata (whom he later married), Cage was photographed visiting the cemetery with her. He later described the trip as meaningful, explaining that when entering a new relationship he wanted to show her places that mattered to him. New Orleans, he said, felt like another city in which he had grown up. The visit underscored that the pyramid is not merely a publicity stunt or an impulsive purchase; it is a deliberate marker of belonging, however unconventional.
Access to the tomb is restricted. Since 2015, St. Louis Cemetery No. 1 has been closed to independent wandering. Visitors must join authorized guided tours operated under the auspices of the Archdiocese of New Orleans. The policy was introduced to protect the fragile historic structures from vandalism, overcrowding, and wear. On these tours, the Cage pyramid is usually presented as a modern oddity amid stories of early Creole families, yellow fever epidemics, and Voodoo lore. Guides note its dimensions, the Latin inscription, and the fact that its owner is still very much alive. The contrast between the polished white stone and the surrounding decay makes for an effective visual punchline.
The cemetery itself rewards deeper attention. Beyond the celebrity plot and Marie Laveau’s shrine, visitors encounter society tombs belonging to mutual aid associations, the Italian Benevolent Society vault that appeared in the film Easy Rider, and countless family crypts whose inscriptions tell quiet stories of loss, resilience, and continuity. Cage’s pyramid, for all its strangeness, has become another chapter in that ongoing narrative. It does not erase the history around it; instead, it adds a contemporary layer of celebrity mythology to a place already rich with legend.
In many ways the tomb is pure Nicolas Cage. The actor has spent decades cultivating an image that mixes intensity, unpredictability, and a willingness to embrace the absurd. From the unhinged energy of Vampire’s Kiss and Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans (a film set and partly shot in the city) to his real-life acquisitions of haunted mansions and prehistoric fossils, Cage has consistently refused to live or work within conventional boundaries. A nine-foot pyramid in a historic New Orleans cemetery fits the pattern perfectly. It is grandiose yet minimalist, public yet private, serious in its permanence and playful in its form.
As of 2026 the structure remains empty, waiting. No one knows when—or if—it will finally receive its intended occupant. In the meantime it continues to draw cameras, lipstick, and conversation. Tourists pose beside it. Locals debate its propriety. Conspiracy forums recycle old theories. And the pyramid itself, white and silent under the Louisiana sky, keeps its secrets. In a city that has always specialized in the theatrical and the supernatural, Nicolas Cage has ensured that even his afterlife will be a performance.
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