The Surfer Goes Surprisingly Deep

The Surfer should be watched with caution. This slow burning crawl towards catastrophe is a tooth grinding ordeal that can be as emotionally exhausting as it is surprisingly insightful. It’s an oddly rewarding yet unpleasant experience. At least, for audiences willing to experience the main character’s loss of certainty.

Nicolas Cage (Mandy) is the titular surfer. He’s a divorced dad trying to take his son, played by Finn Little (Yellowstone), to an idyllic spot for a fun day bonding on the beach. There they encounter a local surfer gang. These territorial bullies chase them away, and the more Cage tries to push back, the worse things become.

What’s interesting is how things unravel. The Surfer basically strips away the façade of rational society. Essentially, where there be monsters, they write the rules. Over the course of the film, the main character is robbed of any dignity as well as every modern means of escape or connection. Eventually left isolated without a phone, money, or water on brain boiling days, The Surfer becomes a steady, albeit slow, creep into paranoid madness.

It would be misleading to call this movie a simple story of someone pushed too far. There’s a temptation to claim The Surfer shares DNA with psychological thrillers such as Eden Lake (2008) and Falling Down (1993). It does, but like an inbred cousin on LSD, this flick is its own kind of monster.

Though the film shares the notion of someone snapping because of the increasing cruelty of others, it really takes the time to explore the demise of someone’s sanity exacerbated by society’s indifference. This allows the film to suck audiences into the surfer’s disorientation. At some point, viewers will wonder if they can trust the character’s perceptions as they lose any certainty about what is really happening. That’s because this individual is somehow simultaneously unreliable and yet the only person being honest about the situation. This results in a thrilling inability to guess what happens next.

Meanwhile, The Surfer presents a surprising amount of depth for a film that’s ninety percent Nicolas Cage staggering around a parking lot in an increasingly delirium. At risk of seeming pretentious, the film criticizes a variety of things. Its indictment of toxic masculinity is obvious, but the movie goes deeper. The metaphorical implications and subtext, however, are hard to describe without giving away too much of the story. Suffice it to say, this is a film about deserving. In essence, who decides who gets what, whether that means revenge, understanding, kindness, or a simple sip of water on a scorching day. On another hand, it’s about the danger of becoming a beast while battling bestial beings.

Nicolas Cage is no stranger to playing unhinged individuals. Here his self-described nouveau shamanic acting style is on full display as he seemingly enters a delirious trance in hopes of exorcising the demons plaguing his part. Consequently, segments of the movie can seem indulgent. Fortunately, overall, he manages to capture the tragedy of this story as well as its fury.

Similarly, Nicholas Cassim (Mr. Inbetween) is heartbreaking as a beach bum in search of justice the world will not deliver. He’s an excellent example of how the supporting cast inspires audience reactions to the surfer. So is Miranda Tapsell (Love Child), who plays an empathetic photographer. Her initial expression of pity morphing into concern she may be in danger interacting with a broken Cage is infectious. She creates an intriguingly honest window for the audience to admit that even being kind to someone wounded can be uncomfortable.

The Surfer excels at stirring up emotions. Nowhere is this more apparent than the various interactions with the different surfer scumbags. From the gang’s younger lads labeled the Runts to their loathsome leader Scally, played with marvelous oily aplomb by Julian McMahon (Nip/Tuck), they are a profoundly despicable assortment of wasted skin. Their casual cruelty mixed with cackling malevolence is so well acted it makes the performers look physically ugly. Halfway through the film, I began to loath the Runts so intensely, if I’d had a gun I would have shot the screen.

Part of this is thanks to a solid script by Thomas Martin. What elevates it are the visual stylizations chosen by director Lorcan Finnegan. The Surfer is a flood of odd angles and disorienting distortions. These artfully emphasize certain instances turning simple scenes into resonating surreal moments. Consider how, on several occasions, Cage is battered by mocking laughter and the visual choices not only intensify the unpleasantness of the experience but also call into question if it’s really happening.

There’s a surreal quality to so much of The Surfer its paranoia is palpably affecting. That extends from the film also being about the search for an ideal reality that may have never existed. Cage’s character starts out on the border of such delusion, aiming for a bull’s eye that isn’t out there. Sadly, it’s potently relatable for anyone being honest with themselves.

It’s a shame the advertisements have largely depicted this movie as a person pushed too far, snapping into violent revenge. That may attract the wrong audience. Not that there aren’t violent scenes, rather The Surfer is closer to a psychological drama than an action thriller. Although, perhaps, folks desirous of a blood-soaked revenge romp would do well to watch a movie that suggests violence doesn’t improve people.

The Surfer does feel a little long. The filmmakers may have indulged a few too many takes of Nicolas Cage in agonized delirium, shuffling around in sweaty confusion. His slow decline can feel a tab repetitive. Still, the story has an intriguing amount of depth. Clever visual stylization enhances an infectious tale of sunbaked insanity following a fellow pushed into delirium for reasons that are as frustrating as they are relatable. The Surfer crashes in like a wave that sweeps viewers out to sea where they may float, drown, or ride a realization back to shore. Of course, that’s assuming you think you know what happened.