The Surfer

This was the first film I caught this year as part of the London Film Festival at the Prince Charles Cinema in Leicester Square. I've only ever been to this cinema previously to watch previous LFF films and I cannot remember enjoying a single one; the memory that sticks out to mind the most is the pain of watching Encounter with Riz Ahmed (REDACTED comment about members of the audience because it was too "mean"). Suffice to say, my expectations were low although admittedly through no fault of the film.

The film is about a father (played by Nic Cage) taking his son to surf at the same Australian beaches he used to in his childhood. However, he is prevented from doing so by a local gang of manly and sunburnt surfers who humiliate him in front of his son.

I can't remember the last time I enjoyed seeing someone suffer - on screen - this much. It must be a similar experience to sitting in the colosseum and seeing gladiators brutally harm each other, all for your entertainment. The amount of punishment, deprivation and gaslighting that Nic Cage's character suffered throughout the film is only matched by the sheer perseverance and desire he had to ride those sweet waves.

Despite the constant abuse being shown on screen, the film sustains a comedic and dreamy quality throughout. The soundtrack with its use of chimes and the camera with its play on focus helped elevate those scenes with a dehydrated Nic Cage to a place straddling between a delirious dream and a sweaty nightmare. Sometimes the film crosses into a point of hilarious ridiculousness; there is one scene where a dead rat comes out of someone's pocket and is used as a weapon.

This is one of those recent and great films with Nicolas Cage that do hit the mark. It's very funny, it sometimes feels like a comedy play due to its very small number of locations and the film making is interesting and competent, something that sometimes seems neglected with comedy films.

One last thing to note is that the film has a small role played well by Justin Rosniak who I've enjoyed recently in Australian shows like Mr Inbetween and Colin from Accounts. Apparently also, Wake in Fright was a big influence to Lorcan Finnegan in the making of this film, one that I'll have to check out soon.

That's the same headline I used for Longlegs. I continue to root for Cage and his resurgence over the past few years. I'm glad he's getting roles in theatrical movies. And I will still watch basically anything he's in.

The Surfer is a generally well-made movie and a stark contrast to the straight-to-streaming garbage he was busting out for a while. It has a simple premise that continues to evolve, with a decent amount of intrigue.

Overall, I wasn't a huge fan of this movie. It's a little too artistic and metaphorical for my liking. And I left the cinema a bit unsatisfied.

At least I had the pleasure of witnessing another memorable Cage performance.

(1 viewing, early screening Mystery Movie Monday 4/21/2025)

"Surfer" is a baffling cinematic misfire with a weak script and a storyline that starts off confusing and spirals into outright absurdity. Nicolas Cage delivers a performance that feels more unhinged than compelling, amplifying the film's overall strangeness rather than anchoring it. The plot lacks coherence, the dialogue is awkward, and the emotional beats fall flat. Even the visuals and pacing fail to redeem the experience. What might have aimed for surrealism ends up feeling unintentionally unsubstantial and painfully self-indulgent. Save yourself the time and money-this one isn't worth the watch.

Saw this Friday night with my wife, and it has since been marinating in the back of my mind. I generally view this to be the mark of a good film. When I find myself several days later still pondering the story, the performances, the cinematography, and the overall message of what I watched it is inarguable that the finished movie turned out to be greater than the sum of its parts.

Come for Nick Cage (if you're a fan) but don't be disappointed by his more subdued turn. This is not the fully unhinged Nick we saw turned loose in Mandy, Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans, or Wild at Heart. This is a more nuanced descent into his patented insanity. It's a 30 year old scotch that will lingers on your palate instead of a tart and briny ale that is all but forgotten by the time you set the bottle down. At various times you'll find yourself asking what's real and what may be hallucination as his character suffers to prove his worthiness.

And that gorgeous slice of coast is a character in its own right as the coveted azure blue waves languidly rolling in to the pristine locals only beach under the brutal and unrelenting Australian sun that turns everything into a hazy mirage. Just steps off the beach waits the real world that the group viciously keeps at bay, dead rats, used crack pipes and condoms, the detritus and garbage swept clean of their little protected turf but there all along. Cage and 'the bum' are the human trash that Julian McMahon's alpha male guru cult leader cannot allow to threaten this little paradise.

You may wonder in the final moments what was real and what was imagined, and find yourself wondering what interpretation was intended for the viewer. Was Cage the bum all along? How much of what Nick's unnamed Surfer experienced was literal, and how much was the feverish working of a broken man's mind grasping unsuccessfully at the past? Director Lorcan Finnegan asks of you: what would you suffer to share your greatest joy and family history with your son, and what would you suffer if your son was lost to you?

The ever-versatile Nicolas Cage remains one of cinema's most unpredictable delights. For some, his grounded turns in films like 'Pig' and 'Adaptation'- the latter giving us two Cages for the price of one- are unforgettable. For others, it's his unhinged, over-the-top performances that dazzle: 'Vampire's Kiss', 'Snake Eyes', 'Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans'- there are too many to name. Sometimes, as in 'Mandy,' he manages both, veering from understated to full-blown berserk, giving each side of his fanbase exactly what they want.

In his latest, Lorcan Finnegan's 'The Surfer,' Cage plays the titular surfer, returning to his Australian hometown to repurchase his childhood home. While there, he decides to take his son to the idyllic beach where he spent most of his youth. All he wants to do is surf. However, after running afoul of the local beachgoers, what begins as a nostalgic trip turns into something far stranger- and far more intense.

Written by Thomas Martin, it's a wild, darkly comic ride, playing a bit like 'Wake in Fright' mixed with 'Point Break.' Entertaining and engaging, the film features many madcap moments Cage fans will love. However, its narrative isn't just an excuse for another of his crazy performances. Beneath the sun-drenched chaos lies something more pointed: a surreal descent into the warped rituals of masculinity. As in 'Wake in Fright', it explores a kind of sunburnt male madness- paranoia, posturing and violence, all unfolding in a setting that should feel like paradise but quickly becomes hell.

The titular surfer finds himself in a bizarre, increasingly hostile stand-off with a tribe of aggressive locals, where posturing, pride and dominance are the only accepted currencies of power. The absurdity of the situation lends the narrative a Kafkaesque quality: he's trapped within a set of unwritten social rules (about who gets to surf) that are both arbitrary and inescapable. It's a funny, yet unnerving satire of macho bravado with an absurdist edge, where one can't be sure what is real and imaginary.

Martin's characterisation is also deft. The central character makes for a fascinating avatar for wounded pride, entitlement and stubbornness. He can be seen as a kind of symbolic figure, or a stand-in for a particular strain of masculinity in freefall. The locals, meanwhile, are sketched with broad strokes- almost archetypal in their menace- but that works in the film's favour, enhancing its dreamlike, allegorical tone.

However, proceedings do falter in the third act. After so much unnerving build-up- where threat and absurdity are perfectly balanced- the climax feels comparatively tame. The ambiguity that made earlier scenes so compelling suddenly gives way to something more conventional. While the finale still carries a surreal energy, it doesn't land with the same dizzying, uneasy punch, and the film fizzles out instead of delivering a knockout blow.

Conversely, the visuals are stunning throughout. Radek Ladczuk's cinematography cleverly contrasts vibrant, sun-soaked hues with washed-out tones, underscoring the film's surreal and unsettling tone. Early scenes are bathed in the lively colours of turquoise waters and golden sands, evoking nostalgia and warmth. As the story progresses, these vibrant hues fade into desaturated, grittier shades, reflecting the protagonist's psychological and emotional unravelling.

This clash between vibrant and muted tones heightens the absurdity of the situation, amplifying the tension as it escalates. Sweeping wide shots, meanwhile, emphasize the expansive beach, while close-ups- particularly of Cage's increasingly unhinged face- capture the growing madness of the conflict. As things progress, this visual dissonance deepens the sense of unease, transforming the beach from a paradise into a distorted, oppressive landscape, blurring the line between the natural world and the protagonist's psychological chaos.

Further, Tony Cranstoun's editing strikes a perfect balance, shifting from breezy, dreamlike sequences to tighter, more frenetic cuts as the tension rises. Early scenes mirror the protagonist's carefree nostalgia, while the later moments of escalating violence and hallucination are marked by quick, disorienting edits. This contrast not only reflects the character's unravelling state but also deepens the sense of entrapment, netting both the surfer and the audience in an increasingly hostile, surreal world.

However, had the talents of Nicolas Cage not been secured, the film could easily have faltered. He is perfectly cast, bringing an escalating mania to the central role that swings from quietly wounded to righteously unhinged. For the most part, he plays it straight, anchoring the film's absurdity with an oddly sincere intensity. However, when it's time to go full Cage, he doesn't hold back. It's that perfect mix of grounded chaos and unrestrained weirdness that makes him indispensable- to this film specifically, as well as to cinema in general.

The supporting cast lean into the heightened tone, with stellar performances all round. Of particular note is Julian McMahon, who shines as the insidious surfer-dude-cum-cult-leader Scally, who is as sinister as he is pretentious. Never setting a foot wrong, McMahon makes for a magnificent sun-drenched menace, delivering his lines with the smug cadence of a man who has read half a philosophy book and decided he's God. His scenes with Cage crackle with a warped, alpha-male energy- a battle of egos on waxed boards.

Lorcan Finnegan's 'The Surfer' is not just another entry in the ever-expanding Cage canon of craziness- it's a sunburnt fever dream of ego, absurdity and surf etiquette gone violently wrong. With its warped take on masculinity, stunning visuals and a central performance that lands somewhere between Hamlet and a man shouting at seagulls, it entertains even as its final act wobbles. In other hands, it might've been a mess. With Cage, it's divine chaos. So, despite some choppy waters, 'The Surfer' still makes waves.