The Surfer

When The Surfer does break out of the sun-addled fugue state that marks its midsection, it delivers a gonzo finale that lets Nicolas Cage rev himself up into his most manic, meme-able self.

Funny, disturbing and disarming, The Surfer is the best thing Cage has done in years.

Nods to the genre standard, Wake in Fright, but the misleading azure skies add to the bad trip. “Before you can surf you must suffer,” says menacing surfing guru, Scally (Julian McMahon). Cage obliges throughout this entertaining B-picture.

Cage commits, again, to his latest malcontent on the verge, without troubling himself with an Aussie accent in any way, which is classic Cage.

It’s good fun, mostly, although the director Lorcan Finnegan (Vivarium) eventually boxes the movie into a muddled dead end.

In the end, the film feels too rollicking and self-parodying to be taken seriously, but it strikes just the right tone to make it a fun Midnight movie...

The Surfer may not be the most coherent critique of our unfortunate current social conditions, but it’s a primal scream which feels apt for the moment.

The Surfer is a strange, salty brew with exploitation vibes aimed at bullheaded toxic masculinity.

Rich with thematic material and even richer in performances and aesthetic flourishes, Nicolas Cage’s streak of choosing interesting projects that push him as a performer continues.

It’s a very strong film visually, but those hoping for a fun Nic Cage homage to exploitation films will likely be frustrated by how repetitive and grating this can be.