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| Images Courtesy of Saturn Films |
Debuting at
the Cannes Film Festival, Lorcan Finnegan's (Vivarium) sun washed
nightmare The Surfer is a bold approach to a tried and true genre
formula. A person's psyche rapidly eroding is nothing new, but Finnegan
inverts the tropes to present the story of a father desperately trying to hold
his family together, leading him into a madness fueled conflict with a macho
cult of the waves. Featuring yet another amazing performance by
Nicolas Cage, beautiful yet ominous visuals, and an inventive approach to the
subject matter, this is one of the best films of the year.
A father drives his estranged son to a beach, hoping to surprise him with a
surfing excursion, however his plan is upended by a violent cult of surfers who
have staked a claim on the sands. What follows is an excursion into
violence, bereavement, and absolute madness. Thomas Martin penned the
screenplay, which uses classic Australian locales and notes of eroding sanity
(comparisons to Wake in Fright are unavoidable) but distills them
through one man's pyrrhic attempt to salvage something that was already
lost.
Nicolas Cage stars and delivers what is the best performance of the year thus far. This is a nasty, uncomfortable film that literally oozes off the screen, so much so that the viewer can taste the detritus and smell the salt water. It is hot and oppressive, and Cage's Surfer is a gargoyle of the dunes, emerging from cars and soiled bathroom stalls to haunt the denizens, both villains and the mundane, while simultaneously displaying vulnerability.
Julian McMahon supports as Scally, the leader of a tribal cult of men who control the beach. His performance is perfect for the vibe, both sleazy and charismatic, and his chemistry with Cage, particularly during the final act, is the strongest element of the film. Miranda Tapsell rounds out the cast as an Aboriginal photographer who doubles as a guardian angel and as a native observer who is watching the carnage unfold.
Radzek Ladczuk's pristine cinematography captures the heat, the rituals, and the violence with an outsider's eye, almost mimicking the Surfer's predicament. Scenes of dangerous wildlife are interspersed with shots of the ocean, with each overlaid with whimsical music, a symbol of childhood memories, both happy and sad, that are shadowed with specters of the dead.
Thematically, this is a story of man not only becoming undone but also denying the programming of centuries of toxic masculine ideals. It never does what is expected and the climax feels earned, despite not delivering a John Wick-esque comeuppance for the villains. Instead it opts for an emotional, heartbreaking dissertation on fatherhood and manhood, and the final yield is unforgettable.
Now playing in theaters, The Surfer is an unusual triumph, eschewing expected violence and story notes for a brooding, insanity laced parable about things that cannot be truly fixed. Solutions to the greatest of tragedies are only temporary, unless the trauma of loss is confronted head on, and this is The Surfer’s mantra.
--Kyle Jonathan