The Surfer

Time Out

09-05-2025

Never get between Nicolas Cage and his family. The lesson most us learned from Con Air, Face/Off and a few other Cage classics seems to elude the bullying surf posse in this lurid and enjoyably batty beach western.
Cage plays an Aussie-born, American-raised finance schleb – referred to only as 'The Surfer' in a script fond of cult-movie grammar – who just wants to take his teenage son surfing on the enticing Aussie beach where he once rode waves as a kid. His Lexus, crisp work attire, and a planned deal to buy back the beachfront home where he grew up all speak of a man who has everything together – even if his boy finds the nostalgic outing a bit cringe.But as Irish director Lorcan Finnegan (Vivarium) charts with fish-eyed lenses and ramping intensity, it doesn't take much for it all to fall apart spectacularly. The gang of intimidating surf bros, led by the charismatic, guru-like Scally (Julian McMahon), block him and his son from the surf – he's not a real local – then they steal his surfboard. 'Dude… that's my board,' growls Cage, 'and I want it back'.
It's not quite 'put the bunny back in the box!' in the actor's pantheon of quotes, but they're still the words of a man with a game plan. Only, not so much: Cage's thwarted white-collar joe instead retreats to the beachside car park and slowly sheds his belongings, and his sanity, under the baking Australian sun.
It's a lurid psychological horror that'll thrill midnight movie crowds
Genre classics like Wake in Fright and Falling Down feel like blueprints here – cackling kookaburras, the rantings of a local homeless man, and composer François Tétaz's retro-kitsch soundscape the surreal wig-out – and Cage throws himself into it with his customary commitment. Puddles are slurped, dead rodents gnawed on, bins rifled through.
Yet, as fun as it is to watch Cage yelling 'Eat the rat!' as random passers-by shepherd their children away, a sense of drift does kick in. The Surfer 's exploration of the thin line that separates man from beast is like a slap of factor 50 on a sunburnt back – bracing, if hardly subtle.
And if you're hoping for a gnarly vengeance quest against McMahon's toxic surf guru and his punchable acolytes, that's not this film. But it's a lurid psychological horror that'll thrill midnight movie crowds and another leftfield entry in its lead's recent purple patch. Post-studio-era Cage is picking roles with real bite.