Jacked In Reviews ‘The Surfer’ (2025)

As a yellow title contrasts against a gorgeous turquoise, Australian backdrop, it sets the colour palette for things to come perfectly in Lorcan Finnegan’s (Nocebo & Vivarium) psychological thriller, The Surfer.

With a dominant theme of “Don’t live here, don’t surf here”, the overarching narrative is enjoyably simplistic about one man (Nicolas Cage) striving to relive some of the best parts of his youth, whilst being pushed to the brink of insanity by some Aussie hooligans. However, the most entertaining aspect of this film lies not in the story itself, but in the clever stylistic decisions that enhance it. The intermittent shots and sounds of the wildlife throughout, coupled with Radek Ładczuk’s (The Nightingale & The Babadook) intimate camera work that gets up close and personal with these characters – sun-damaged skin and all – truly creates an immersive experience for this Australian setting.

Certain projects act as a catalyst for Cage, so if you’re a fan of the actor going “Full Cage”, you’ll find just that – and more…

Certain projects act as a catalyst for Cage, so if you’re a fan of the actor going “Full Cage”, you’ll find just that – and more – as his character (somewhat ironically named ‘The Surfer’) descends into madness on the scorching shores of Western Australia. Not to mention the delightfully entertaining confusion regarding his American accent and Australian background.

Completely stealing the show and going back to his Aussie routes as protagonist and leader of The Bay Boys, Scally, this flick also proves that Julian McMahon (Fantastic Four & Nip/Tuck) never misses when sliding into villainous roles.

In short, you’ll feel like you need a cold shower and a break from the sun come the end credits.

Now, if you’re after an adrenaline-fuelled, revenge-o-matic that sees Cage punish those responsible for stealing his surfboard, you’re in for a surprise. Instead, Finnegan and writer Thomas Martin (White Widow) bring us a satirical, running commentary on alpha males in the form of hostile surfers, within a localised community that shrugs it off with darkly comedic justifications such as “It stops them beating the Botox out of their wives.” It expertly executes subtle misdirects and the story’s initial 180 doubles back into a 360, accompanied by some psychedelic visuals and a finale that makes you feel like you’re watching someone on bath salts. In short, you’ll feel like you need a cold shower and a break from the sun come the end credits.

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