My quick rating – 6.2/10. Some movies take you on a clear journey. The Surfer instead plops you down on a sun-bleached Australian beach next to a delirious Nicolas Cage and tells you to fend for yourself. And honestly? That’s kind of the joy of it. Without Cage, this is half the movie it was.
In this hauntingly bizarre psychological spiral, Cage plays an American who returns with his son to the idyllic coastal spot of his childhood, hoping to share some gentle waves and nostalgic memories. Instead, he runs smack into a gang of sneering local surfers, led by Scally (Julian McMahon), who make it their mission to humiliate, torment, and spiritually waterboard him right there in the sand. What starts as casual gatekeeping escalates into relentless harassment, gaslighting, and a truly staggering amount of sunburn.
It’s a role that only a handful of actors could pull off, and Nic Cage is absolutely at the top of that short list. Watching him endure wave after wave of physical punishment, dehydration, and mental games is somehow both excruciating and wildly entertaining. I genuinely can’t remember the last time I enjoyed seeing someone suffer on screen this much. Not because I’m a sadist (probably), but because Cage sells it with such fragile, sun-stroked commitment that you can’t look away.
Despite the heavy layers of cruelty, The Surfer maintains a strangely whimsical, almost comedic vibe. There’s a dreamy undercurrent that constantly made me wonder if any of this was actually happening, or if Cage’s character was simply hallucinating from heat and humiliation. At times, the film teeters right over the line into absurdity, so much so that I found myself laughing at moments that probably weren’t intended to be funny. Picture Cage, sweaty and half-mad, ranting on the beach while locals stare at him like a washed-up jellyfish. It’s surreal cinema gold.
The movie doesn’t bother to hold your hand, either. It strands you in the hot sand right alongside Cage, offering no easy explanations or tidy moral lessons. I kept finding myself squinting at the screen, trying to figure out if this was a psychological meltdown, a literal dream, or some cruel Aussie social experiment. By the end, I felt as sunbaked and parched as Cage in the best possible way.
If the story sometimes floats adrift, it’s anchored by breathtaking cinematography. Director Lorcan Finnegan captures the shimmering surf and harsh coastal glare in a way that’s hypnotic, making The Surfer as much an audiovisual experience as it is a narrative. The sound design alone is worth the ride, washing over you in crashing waves and echoing dread.
Ultimately, The Surfer is less about clean storytelling and more about mood, madness, and watching Nicolas Cage disintegrate under the Aussie sun with style. It’s surreal, introspective, a touch hilarious, and technically gorgeous. I had a blast being confused and uncomfortable, and if that’s your cinematic jam, you probably will too.
A few streamers are carrying this one at matinee prices.