The Nicolas Cage cottage industry of Cinema rolls on.
Halefuckinluya.
Cinema audiences can take deep satisfaction in knowing that Nicolas Cage is still around to carry a torch for their American entertainment dollar.
It means a lot.
And why hasn't Nicolas Cage ever been in a Quentin Tarantino movie?
Just sayin'. Anyway.
As a middle-aged dad returning to purchase his Australian childhood beach home, Cage's surfer suffers every indignation and humiliation imaginable at the hands of a cult of beach rats.
"Bay Boys" they call themselves.
If only Lux Interior of The Cramps were along to tell these masculinity-chasing fools, "You ain't no Punk you punk."
If only.
Cage's surfer dad has his ass publicly handed to him in front of his teenaged son. Not a good look.
Relative newcomer Thomas Martin's script masks most of its plot holes with an incisive sense of tribal/cult mentality. Think "Lord of the Flies."
Social media gets a proper smack in a cell-phone incident that will make you squirm in your chair.
The script guilds the lily too much in regard to beach rat cult leader Scally (Julian McMahon), who Cage's character grew up around.
For a movie that takes place entirely in the location of an ocean front parking lot, "The Surfer" packs a significant punch.
Ignoring plot holes is half of the fun. Nicolas Cage never gives less than 100% in his performances. Here, Cage takes one for the metaphorical group of men who get indoctrinated into cults, either by love-bombing or in this case, brutal physical and mental abuse.
"The Surfer" is a gnarly social satire that gives food for thought about any man's quest for peace and civility.
One takeaway from "The Surfer" is if you find yourself in a situation where you are being embarrassed, humiliated, or abused in any way, hit the exit quick and escape.
Rated R. 100 mins.
