Nicolas Cage Tackles Toxic Masculinity and Territorial Surfers in The Surfer
Nicolas Cage takes the lead in The Surfer, a surreal psychological thriller that kicks off with an unexpectedly simple scenario: a man heads back to his hometown in Australia, only to have his surfboard taken by a group of aggressive local surfers. However, beneath this seemingly ludicrous premise lies a profound investigation into toxic masculinity, localism, and individual trauma.
Directed by Lorcan Finnegan (Nocebo, Vivarium) and penned by Thomas Martin, The Surfer is a genre-defying plunge into paranoia and survival, predominantly set in a beachside parking lot in Western Australia. Drawing from the gritty, sun-soaked thrillers of the Australian New Wave, the film metamorphoses a charming coastal town into a psychological war zone.
A Homecoming That Goes Awry
Cage embodies the eponymous Surfer, a man who reminiscences about his youth in the fictional town of Luna Bay. After years spent in California, he returns with aspirations of purchasing his childhood residence and rekindling his relationship with his estranged teenage son (Finn Little of Yellowstone). However, his idyllic aspirations quickly crumble as he encounters the Bay Boys, a gang of hyper-masculine locals who fiercely defend their surf break against outsiders.
Guided by the charismatic yet threatening Scottie “Scally” Callahan (Julian McMahon in a standout performance), the Bay Boys humiliate the Surfer, steal his board, and subject him to increasing harassment. With local law enforcement on Scally’s side and no supporters in view, Cage’s character finds himself ensnared in a sun-baked purgatory, spiraling into hopelessness as he struggles to reclaim not only his surfboard but also his self-respect.
A Parking Lot Purgatory
The entirety of the film takes place within the confines of a beachside car park, a symbolic no-man’s-land between the ocean he yearns for and the community that has ostracized him. This restricted environment becomes a crucible for Cage’s gradual breakdown, as he faces a series of more surreal and brutal challenges — from drinking puddle water and consuming dead rats to walking barefoot on shattered glass.
Cage, recognized for his eclectic and often unhinged portrayals, immerses himself in the role. His depiction of a man teetering on the brink of insanity is both tragic and darkly riveting, even as viewers are left questioning why he doesn’t simply walk away. However, The Surfer implies that his battle transcends merely catching a wave — it’s about confronting deep-seated trauma and reclaiming a fractured sense of identity.
A Cutting Critique of Hypermasculinity
At its heart, The Surfer serves as a fierce critique of toxic masculinity, especially the distinctively Australian variety that often presents itself as harmless “larrikin” behavior. The Bay Boys, with their bleached hair, tank tops, and aggressive bravado, are a chilling representation of this culture. Their leader Scally preaches a distorted gospel of suffering and strength, running a so-called “Sanctuary” for young men where aggression is celebrated and women are conspicuously absent.
The film subtly parallels real-life surf gangs like Sydney’s notorious Bra Boys, utilizing the insular universe of surfing to probe broader themes of exclusion, entitlement, and male dominance. “Don’t live here, don’t surf here,” the Surfer is warned, as “Locals Only” signs loom large. The animosity he encounters is not limited to the gang but emanates from the entire community — a collective dismissal of the outsider.
A Cinematic Tribute to the Australian New Wave
Visually and stylistically, The Surfer pays homage to the Australian New Wave films from the 1970s and ’80s, particularly Ted Kotcheff’s Wake in Fright. Cinematographer Radek Ladczuk (The Nightingale, The Babadook) captures the stifling allure of the Australian coast with golden sunlight that shifts from idyllic to ominous. The car park glimmers with eerie green and orange tones, and warped reflections in public toilet mirrors amplify the film’s surreal ambiance.
The sound design by Aza Hand and a haunting score by François Tétaz contribute to the film’s mesmerizing atmosphere. Operatic vocals, orchestral crescendos, and the incessant buzz of cicadas and flies create a soundscape that mirrors the Surfer’s disintegrating mind. Even the iconic call of a kookaburra emerges as a sinister motif.
A Haunting, Hypnotic Experience
Despite its apparently absurd premise — Nicolas Cage grappling with surfer bros in a parking lot — The Surfer emerges as a surprisingly thought-provoking and unsettling film. It serves as a reflection on identity, memory, and the destructive nature of repressed emotion, all encapsulated within a sun-soaked fever dream of violence and paranoia.
Julian McMahon’s Scally serves as a captivating antagonist, nearly eclipsing Cage with his chilling presence.