MOVIE REVIEW – In his fourth feature, director Lorcan Finnegan plunges viewers into the bizarre, sun-scorched descent of a man whose peaceful surf outing devolves into a feverish psychological showdown with thugs, vermin, and his own fraying sanity. The Surfer is a warped odyssey set against the deceptively idyllic backdrop of the Australian coast, blending surrealism, satire, and survival horror in a film that lets Cage do what he does best: unravel in spectacular fashion.

Why cast Nicolas Cage if you’re not going to let him come gloriously unhinged? Thankfully, The Surfer gives him the sandbox to do exactly that—though this time with a slow-burn approach. Cage dials the mania to a simmer rather than a boil, expertly pacing the meltdown across a tightly coiled narrative. Director Lorcan Finnegan (Without Name, Vivarium) and screenwriter Thomas Martin clearly relish their love-hate relationship with the Australian New Wave, referencing films like Nicolas Roeg’s 1971 dreamlike survival tale Walkabout—released in Hungary as Vándorrege—only to skewer them through a modern lens of paranoia and ego dissolution.

Despite being set almost entirely outdoors, The Surfer feels positively claustrophobic. Most of the film unfolds on a seemingly endless beach and the adjacent parking lot, yet it’s as stifling as a locked basement. We get a few interiors—filthy public restrooms, musty cars, and a ramshackle beach hut where the local villains squat—but they only amplify the unease. Frequent tight zooms on Cage’s twitching face, dreamy cross-cutting, and disorienting visuals that suggest being underwater even when firmly on land all point to one thing: this may be less a story about external conflict and more a descent into the protagonist’s crumbling psyche.

Welcome to Hell, Population: One Dad and His Lexus

Cage’s character starts off as a slick, tanned American dad in a designer suit, driving his teenage son (Finn Little) to Luna Beach for some waves. But appearances deceive—this isn’t just a vacation. He grew up here. The family house, barely visible from the water, is the object of his nostalgic fixation. He’s trying to buy it back from a real estate agent who also happens to be his financial advisor, but he’s been outbid by someone waving cash. He’s $100,000 AUD short and slowly coming apart at the seams.

Even in the early, composed moments, Cage weaves in a touch of desperation—like the threads of his designer life are already beginning to fray. According to press notes, Finnegan and Martin drew partial inspiration from the 1968 film The Swimmer (known in Hungary as Az úszó ember), in which Burt Lancaster plays a suburban man attempting to “swim” home through the backyard pools of his affluent neighbors. The further he goes, the colder the receptions, and the more surreal the journey becomes. The Surfer picks up that baton and runs with it—straight into the undertow.

No Locals, No Waves, No Mercy

The tension kicks in the moment Cage and son hit the sand. They’re met with dead-eyed glares and repeated chants of “Don’t live here, don’t surf here.” Scally (Julian McMahon), the eerily polite leader of a group called the Bay Boys, makes it clear: the beach is for locals only. No exceptions. It’s an absurd, territorial standoff, but there’s nothing stopping the surfer from loitering up the hill in the clifftop parking lot—a cracked slab of asphalt that soon becomes his twisted new domain.

There, he meets Fitz (Nic Cassim), credited simply as “The Bum”—a man who has clearly been chewed up and spat out by this very landscape. (Most characters in the credits get generic labels like “The Cop,” “The Kid,” etc.) The longer Cage’s surfer lingers near Luna Beach, the more he sheds the accoutrements of normalcy. His surfboard disappears. Then his phone. His watch. His dignity. His grip on reality. Piece by piece, he becomes Fitz, or perhaps something even more broken.

Descent by Sunstroke and Rat Bites

Cage has been leaning into loner roles lately, and this one’s no exception. Much of The Surfer is just him versus the world—or at least the beach, the sun, the hallucinations, and a few particularly malevolent marsupials. He’s in full gonzo mode by the third act, wrestling not only with the Bay Boys but with thirst, starvation, and nature itself. Oh, and there’s a scene involving a rat that will sear itself into your brain. You’ve been warned.

The film weaponizes its setting: Australia isn’t just a backdrop here, it’s an adversary. It’s all golden beaches and endless sky—until it turns into a sandbox of venomous spiders, lung-busting heat, and creeping madness. By the time Cage’s surfer hits rock bottom, he’s not just lost his stuff. He’s lost himself. And we can’t look away.

– Gergely Herpai  „BadSector” –