The Surfer

There isn't any genre Nicholas Cage hasn't tried, be it action, horror, or just plain odd, like this entry that feels a bit like a cross between his remake of The Wicker Man and that old British series The Prisoner. Nic plays a realtor taking his son surfing out on an Australian beach, with hopes of securing his father's old property nearby for them to live in. But through various time slips, increasingly desperate calls to his broker friend, and encounters with bullying kids, uncomprehending locals and an ominous, Reaperesque interlocutor who brings up grim facts of his past, he slowly loses his moorings and becomes a stranded, demented wanderer of the area, insisting on some version of life that doesn't jive with reality. The camera work and soundtrack are like Tarantino at his most intentionally kitsch, but as The White Lotus has shown the wilderness of middle-age is a fertile field of sad psychological exploration. Thank you Nic for yet another bold choice in a jaded cinema era of tired franchises, endless reboots and mind-numbing tripe.

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.

Being married to an Australian surfer in his late sixties we found this movie pathetic. The script, the culture, the acting. There was nothing good to say about this movie except Nicholas Chae managed to see most Australia native animals. A thing that many Australians would never see.

My husband grew up surfing through the 60s and 70s and still surfs today. It is sad to see this movie represent the Australian culture this way. It may be what happens in America. Yes there was localism, bullies and drugs, but never to this extreme. To make it look like a cult initiation is so far from anything I have ever experienced.

An hour and a half of our lives we will never get back.

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.

Greetings again from the darkness. There are a few actors who regularly take on roles that leave us hoping they are nothing like those characters in real life. Willem Dafoe comes to mind, but the president of that club would be Nicolas Cage. Over the last 18 years or so, no actor has more often regaled us with emotional and mental unraveling on screen. Keep in mind it's been thirty years since he won his Oscar for LEAVING LAS VEGAS.

This time, it's the second feature film from Lorcan Finnegan (VIVARIUM, 2018) that finds Cage's titular character on a downward spiral. The script comes from Thomas Martin, and opens with a father (Cage) driving along the Australian coastline, preaching surfer philosophy to his son (Finn Little, THOSE WHO WISH ME DEAD, 2021), who's a bit miffed that he got dragged from school to hear the lecture. It turns out dad wants to spend the day surfing with his son so he can show him the house he's purchasing. It's the cliffside family home once owned by his grandfather.

It all sounds lovely until two things happen. The real estate deal is in jeopardy because Cage has been outbid, requiring him to raise an extra hundred grand fast. More dramatically, when the father and son hike down to the beach carrying their surfboards, they are accosted by locals who live by the mantra, "Don't live here. Don't surf here.". Cage explains that he used to live there, is buying a house there, and just wants to surf with his son. The group of 'Bay Boys' threatens to get physical, sending father and son back up the hill.

These bullies have created a 'localized' culture at Luna Bay through inspiration served up by their cult-like leader, Scotty "Scally" Callahan (Julian McMahon, "Nip/Tuck"), a former classmate of Cage's character. Now most reasonable folks would just pack up and leave, but this is a man on the edge. His divorce is pending, his relationship with his son is shaky, his boss is pressuring him to finish a project, and his dream real estate deal is crumbling. Cage is a frazzled middle-aged man, and we are about to witness things get much worse for him.

The patented Nic Cage downward spiral involves a local homeless man (Nicolas Cassim), a public restroom, a kiosk, and frequent run-ins with the 'gang' of local surfers. Even the local cop (Justin Rozniak) tries to encourage Cage to give it up and head out. However, the inner demons of a man who has worked hard for a specific goal that is now within grasp - or maybe just out of reach - begin to take over. This may seem like the beginning of a breakdown for Cage's character, but the truth is that it began long before.

Is this psychological, psychotic, or psychedelic? We are never quite sure, especially as the sun beats down on Cage and he has flashes of childhood trauma ... a precursor to where this is all headed. Are these nightmares or hallucinations? It plays out kind of slowly, but we do enjoy the stylish approach of director Finnegan and cinematographer Radek Ladczuk (THE BABADOOK, 2014), whose visuals juggle the blistering glare of the sun, sweat and stains on Cage, and the stunningly beautiful blue ocean. Additionally, it's Australia, so you know there will be a snake, as well as other critters like bugs, birds, a rat, a porcupine, and dogs. As Cage's material status possessions are stripped away (phone, watch, car, clothes), it is all accompanied by composer Francois Tetaz's music that can be described as hypnotic or ethereal. There is an ending that many might take issue with, but after so many times thinking "Just leave, dude", I was willing to take whatever happened. How long until a theater runs an entire festival of Nic Cage Midnight Movies?

Opens in theaters on May 2, 2025.