The Surfer

...although there should be a moral in [the plot] somewhere, the result is so risible and Cage’s performance so ridiculous that all you can do is laugh.

Cosmic philosophizing turns into something kind of like Iron John toxic masculinity with a little Dostoevsky's The Devils... Freakingly bonkers.

The film is full of recycled commentary on the dangers of hypermasculinity, but it doesn’t pretend to be something it’s not—just ride the wave, and you’ll have a good time.

The Surfer, for all its unpleasantness, offers encouraging evidence that there is still room for existential awkwardness in contemporary cinema. No better, odder man than Nicolas Cage to act that out

[The Surfer] simply relinquishes control to Cage. That’s fine. It’s always a pleasure to see him lose it.

With a committed, crazed, brilliantly calibrated performance from late-Renaissance Cage, this is a feverishly good thriller: surreal and strange and sticky.

Lorcan Finnegan directs with a frenzy at times, plenty of movement to his camera, plenty of lens flare reinforcing the acid trip impression, probably just trying to keep up with Cage and hoping it all works.

More breaking point, less point break. Finnegan creates a surreal atmosphere (the kind Cage thrives in), prompting us to question what is happening on screen. Additionally, Nicolas Cage and Julian McMahon deliver strong performances.

The Surfer excels at sun-bleached paranoia vibes, but when it tries to unpack new things to say about toxic masculinity and mental illness, it gets lost in the weeds.

"The Surfer" is a gnarly social satire that gives food for thought about any man's quest for peace and civility.