‘The Surfer’ Review: Nicolas Cage is at his Unhinged Best in Goofy Tragi-Comic Folly About Toxic Masculinity | Cannes

Irish filmmaker Lorcan Finnegan’s previous film Vivarium explored the horrors of suburban domesticity. His latest, The Surfer, which played out of competition at Cannes, is a cleverly veiled commentary on toxic masculinity as well as a psychological thriller wherein Nicolas Cage goes to hell and back just to get back to his favourite childhood beach.

If you think that sounds like a barmy premise – well then, you would be right. The story is simple. Cage plays our unnamed protagonist. In the credits he’s simply listed as “The Surfer.” This is 99 mins of Nicolas Cage doing his quintessential Nicolas Cage schtick and sometimes that’s all you need from a film.

Cage’s Surfer spent his younger years in Australia learning to ride the waves on the shores of his grandad’s beachfront house before his family relocated to America – hence why he conveniently doesn’t have an Aussie accent here. He’s returned now to the south western coast of Australia as a middle-aged man with hopes of purchasing his grandad’s old property on top of Clifftop Drive and to also bond with his son (Finn Little) over his favourite pastime; surfing.

But nestled within the idyllic scenery and saturated aqua blues of Luna Bay is a squad of machismo local men known as “The Bay Boys” who don’t take kindly to tourists using their beach. When Nic and his son naively show up to the beach they are confronted by the brutish pack led by Scally (Julian McMahon). Scally is a guru-like alpha figure who speaks in pseudo-philosophical bro-babble and emasculates Cage in front of his son by kicking them off the beach. 

From then on, the film takes a bizarre (but still fun) tonal shift akin to the style of Australian New Wave films of the 70’s and 80’s such as The Swimmer, where Cage undergoes a crisis of masculinity. Enduring all manner of humiliation, his journey throughout this film feels like a psychedelic fever dream. He is slowly stripped of his shoes, pride and dignity (yes, in that order). As Scally says “no suffering, no surf” and boy does he suffer in this. 

He may be banned from the beach but that doesn’t stop him from hanging out in the adjacent parking lot trying to get his life in order. But when he learns that his ex wife plans to remarry and that he’s been outbid for his grandad’s house – this is the beginning of his downward spiral and sinks to some pretty embarrassing depths.  From eating eggs out of bird’s nests, to fighting off wildlife to drinking from puddles lined with cigarette buds. On top of that, the beach bullies steal his surfboard and then his car. He pleads with the local police to help but soon finds that even the authorities aren’t on his side. 

Gradually unravelling and looking messier and messier with each passing interaction with apathetic beach-attendees mistaking him for a crazy rambling homeless man, his slow descent into a pitiful dishevelled bum is both hilarious and tragic. Even the nearby Kookaburras sound like they’re chiming in on the disparagement with their distinctive chuckling call. 

At times it really does feel like Cage has gone on a walkabout, being gruellingly tested by the elements; foraging for food, getting shat on by birds and bitten by rats. And as his skin sizzles in the unforgiving sun and he succumbs to dehydration, his sanity is seemingly evaporating with every passing minute. Kudos to Cage for throwing himself into the degrading scenes with such abandon. This all builds to a gloriously funny and explosive showdown on the beach where he gets to go full on apoplectic and whilst having an epiphany about his own father. 

What Tom Martin’s screenplay has to say about masculinity isn’t by any means subtle but there is a degree of truth in its satirical observations. Scally and his gang of chauvinistic surfer gangsters feel like a goofy homage to Tyler Durden and the Project Mayhem boys from Fight Club. 

A repeated theme is that modern men have become too soft. Having grown up in a time where there were no great wars or depression, we’ve had it too easy and we’ve become docile. Scally believes that in order for men to self-actualize you have to be beaten down. He says “You have to feel worthless before you know that you’re priceless” which McMahon chews the vowels off with his Aussie delivery. 

In a time where it’s becoming increasingly more challenging for men to know what the boundaries of acceptable masculinity are, Scally provides these proverbial lost boys with a space to vent their neanderthal urges.

Finnegan incorporates lots of shots of wildlife such as snakes, ants, rats and spiders which subliminally hints to the viewer that within every man there is a primal beast. He also employs lots of clever throwback flourishes like crash zooms and jump cuts to emulate the feel of an old school Australian B-Movie. François Tétaz’s music deserves praise for its fantastical and trippy notes that make the beach feel a spiritual paradise or something out of a fairytale.

The Surfer is a refreshing cocktail that’s part 12 Labours of Hercules, part Fight Club, and part Walkabout. It may ladle its message of modern masculinity on a bit thick but if you’re looking for a fun unhinged Nicolas Cage performance, this is one wave you’ll certainly want to ride.

Grade: B

The Surfer screened at the 2024 Cannes Film Festival and is currently seeking U.S. distribution.