The Surfer

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.

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.

Watching Nicolas Cage spiral into madness has become something of a cinematic ritual-equal parts thrilling and unnerving.

In "The Surfer," directed by Lorcan Finnegan (Vivarium, Nocebo), that descent reaches new, sun-scorched depths. Cage's performance is as unhinged as it is calculated, delivering the kind of mesmerizing chaos only he can pull off.

But the question lingers: is it entertainment, or is it a warning?

After his sinister turn in "Longlegs," Cage reemerges here as a man simply trying to surf-only to be swallowed by a surreal psychological vortex on a seemingly idyllic Australian beach.

His protagonist, a nameless Surfer, returns to the coast of his youth, hoping to reclaim something pure, maybe even sacred. Instead, he runs afoul of a bizarrely authoritarian group of beach bullies led by the menacing Scally (played with eerie charisma by Julian McMahon).

What follows is not just confrontation-it's ritualistic humiliation and mental disintegration.

Finnegan constructs a sadistic fever dream where the beach becomes a battleground for the soul.

The parking lot-a space so ordinary-mutates into a nightmarish cage. Days blur into one another as the Surfer is stripped of every material attachment: his car, his phone, his designer watch, even his surfboard.

Starving, dehydrated, dirtied, and alone, he's forced to reckon with what he needs versus what he wants.

At its core, "The Surfer" is a grotesque satire of community and masculinity, where the desire to belong becomes a gateway to destruction.

It's a violent allegory for modern identity crises-particularly male identity in an age where digital connection often replaces genuine human bonds. The film flirts with primal themes: dominance, submission, survival, and the illusion of control.

It's almost comically extreme at times, but the humor is bitter, absurd, and often laced with horror.

Finnegan's Australia is vast and unforgiving-a place where the sea offers both escape and punishment. The landscape itself seems to mock the protagonist, serving as a mirror to his fractured ego.

The beach, once a symbol of freedom and youth, becomes a metaphysical arena for transformation. Women are notably absent, or at best peripheral, making the film's world a testosterone-fueled echo chamber that both critiques and indulges in its themes.

"The Surfer"'s journey isn't just physical-it's spiritual. He devolves, then transforms.

The brutal initiation into Scally's tribal gang might represent a search for meaning, a surrender to something primal in an over-sanitized, disconnected world. "You must suffer to surf," he proclaims-a mantra that suggests transcendence through pain. But the price is steep, and the reward ambiguous.

By the film's end, "the Surfer" has been stripped bare-of status, ego, and self-deception. What remains is either a reborn man or a hollow shell.

In interviews, Finnegan has described the film as an exploration of "masculinity in crisis," emphasizing how men can be manipulated into degrading rituals in pursuit of validation and belonging.

"The Surfer" doesn't just chronicle ego death-it explores the seductive, often terrifying power of group identity and the primal longing to be part of something greater.

Visually striking and psychologically punishing, "The Surfer" isn't a movie for all or most tastes. It demands patience and interpretive effort from its audience, but it rewards those willing to ride its chaotic wave.

Finnegan delivers a nightmare worth enduring-one that sticks to the skin like sand and saltwater long after the credits roll.

The story unfolds with Cage arriving at a beach that holds great significance to him. However, when he's ridiculed and forbidden from surfing there with his son, it triggers a series of events that progressively detach from reality, leaving the audience to question even the reality we a witnessing.

One aspect I appreciate is the exploration of the sunken cost fallacy, the tendency to persist with an endeavor we've invested in, even if the current costs outweigh the benefits. Having recently faced a similar decision, I understand how challenging it is to step back and accept a loss.

Watching this in the GL Theatre with Cage and the rest of the crew was a very enjoyable experience.😄

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.