Ready to ride: Nicolas Cage in ‘The Surfer’.
THE SURFER **** (100 minutes) MA
Think Wake in Fright Goes to the Beach and you’ll have some idea of what you’re in for with The Surfer, a deliciously deranged psychological comedy-drama that takes the calming rapture of Australian surf culture and reprocesses into a living nightmare about Ugly Australia.
Rarely has such a pretty location been so effectively transformed into a personal hellscape, which is what happens when a former local returns to the beachside expanse where he grew up.
All this gent (Nicolas Cage) wants is to bond with his disaffected son (Finn Little) by riding the waves together, surprising him with the news that he has bought his childhood home.
Trouble is, the beach is the tightly controlled turf of a gang of ruffians called the Bay Boys, lead by an affable veteran surf disciple called Scully (Julian McMahon, barely recognisable) who politely yet sternly reinforces the law spouted by his less cultured brothers that the beach is strictly for locals only.
From this point the mental state of our man – who is never named – begins to slowly spiral into the depths of desperation and disorientation as his refusal to leave sees him tormented by the surf hoods with increasing ferocity. Not even the local plod or the guy at the kiosk are on his side.
An Australian/Irish co-production, director Lorcan Finnegan (Vivarium), working from words by Thomas Martin, fashion the psychological descent with consummate skill and increasingly twisted cinematography by Radek Ładczuk.
Crystallizing all this is the performance from Cage, whose portrait of a man with temperament issues is magnetic. Admittedly, he’s been work this schtick for a long time yet here appears exceptionally committed.
You could, if one were so inclined, merrily twist oneself into a pretzel interpreting various scenes and objects and utterances as metaphors rich with social and historical meaning. In this regard, the film has vague echoes of the 1968 Burt Lancaster film The Swimmer.
Or you could just enjoy the jaunt as a straight-out psychological horror ride. That the film offers so many points on conversation is one of the qualities that makes it so compelling.
Highlighting the degree of indulgence film critics are sometimes permitted, your humble reviewer saw the film twice last week, first at a media preview, then a few days later at an event held at Windsor’s famed Astor movie palace.
The second viewing enhanced the initial experience, not only viscerally but in appreciating the degree of aesthetic skill deployed in the editing and pacing of the man’s descent.
The Surfer truly is a film you can’t get out of your head. It’s hard to recall the last time that could be said of an Australian film. It’s so good.
That said, one can but pray how it will fare at the cinema before appearing on Stan, for on Saturday Mission Impossible: The Final Reckoning is unleashed. Can The Surfer survive the onslaught as a counter-programming offering?
Let’s see what the Movie God decides.
LA COCINA ***1/2 (139 minutes) MA
Chaos reigns in a hectic, high-pressure kitchen – the locale of choice for workplace warfare – in an up-market New York restaurant with a plush dining area staffed by attractive waitresses and a sprawling kitchen filled with illegal immigrants living on the tenuous promise of visas from their slovenly manager. Rooney Mara is the main draw amidst an impressive ensemble, playing a waitress pregnant to her hot-headed boyfriend Pedro (Raúl Briones Carmona), who works in the kitchen constantly spoiling for a fight. Director/writer Alonso Ruizpalacio does a dazzling job presiding over the mayhem as he traffics a host of themes about love, immigration, corruption and finger-pointing, particularly in regards to $823 that has gone missing from the ledger. The film features one of the most impressive and logistically complex single-take shots we’ve seen in years. Alternating aspect ratios and monochrome cinematography give the swirl a distinctive visual style, the film’s pre-digital setting hinted at throughout. And don’t let the running time put you off; this is one well-paced seating session.
THE SALT PATH ***1/2 (115 minutes) M
Ageing British couple Raynor and Moth Winn, beautifully played by Gillian Anderson and Jason Isaacs, are hit by one of life’s patented double-whammies.
He’s been diagnosed with a degenerative condition that gives him five years to live while a bad investment (only vaguely detailed) has deprived them of the house they built.
With scant official assistance and with the clock ticking the suddenly homeless pair decide to trek a scenic coastal walking track. While they have a physical destination (Land’s End in Cornwall) the point of the trip is the journey as they learn of their strengths, weaknesses and, most poignantly, why they are still together in the face of life’s cruel trials.
An award-winning veteran stage director, feature-film debutante Marianne Elliott elicits top-shelf lead performances that breathe with authenticity, her fabulous charges admirably unafraid to lean into their vintage for the sake of portrayals that ring true at every turn and with each twist of fate.
The screenplay by Rebecca Lenkiewicz (Ida; She Said) is based on the same-named memoir by Raynor Winn.
A delicate film about hard times, The Salt Path is a touching gem. And it looks great, the natural beauty of the landscape brandishing a harshness that befits the couple’s experience and the people they encounter putting one in mind of Nomadland, The Way and The Way, My Way.