By Dane Fisher
Going out to see a surf movie remains one of surfing’s classic pastimes. It’s a gathering of the tribe and a space to connect for the simple purpose of celebrating the ever-evolving magic of waveriding. But for a number of years there was a shift away from communal screenings to a more individualised consumption of surf movies. So, what happened to the core experience of watching surfing together in a space outside competition? These days we have it all at our fingertips. I’m scrolling, seeing giant tubes livestreaming from Tahiti, scrappy heats in Sumatra and some Californian micro-grom getting slotted at Kelly’s wavepool, all delivered to me in an Ulladulla beach carpark. But somehow, I feel separated from this surfing, removed in a way. So, what’s missing?
Our surfing consumption has mirrored the wider cultural trend toward convenience (“more/faster/easier”) as we’ve moved from Sunday roasts to drive-thru Maccas sundaes. Not knocking ice cream, simply that social media ‘surf porn’ isn’t really capturing the full spectrum of surfing’s artistic expression, nor is it relating to the present living, social reality of what surfing has become. Think about it. How could watching a six-second clip on a six-inch screen alone on the couch at home ever really evoke the rich experiences of surfing as part of a community?
That’s why it’s been so refreshing to recently see a string of filmmakers and surfers around the country collaborating to bring people together for live screenings at a grassroots level. From bowlos to community halls to small old cinemas, they’re screening surfing movies that prioritise quality over quantity, with greater intimacy between the creators and the viewers.
Now you may charge me as a digital dinosaur for focusing on ‘the good old days’, that romanticised pre-phone space-time when things were simpler. But the truth is I’m totally stoked on the ways we can connect and share ocean vision all over the world through our little pocket lightboxes. No tech-hate here, sorry.
But why should our instant information age stop us from also enjoying the premiere experience of getting together with your mates to feast on some first-class surf cinema? It seems surfing is searching for an even freer, fuller expression. In the past few years more and more filmmaker/surfer teams have been rolling-out small-scale live-screenings around Australia. There have been screenings popping up everywhere recently in bowlos, surf clubs, pubs.
I’ve been lucky enough attend a couple of these, including Russ Bierke and Andrew Kaineder’s Outermost Limits of Leisure at Milton Pub, and James Kates and Noa Deane’s MASH at Ulladulla Cinema. Besides being mind-bending, orb-wrangling masterpieces, these film screenings were more than watching a movie… they were socially connected celebrations of the surfing community around Ulladulla. It felt like a broad church of surfing’s core congregation – shapers, groms, pros, bodyboarders, glassers, filmers, mothers, fathers, expats and born-and-bred degenerates alike. And what better way to come together than to celebrate the journeys of a couple high priests of evolutionary tube charging?
The low-key locations seem to create an intimacy to the experience. MASH showed at the old Ulladulla Cinema, while Outermost Limits played on a projector at Milton Pub. At both screenings I found myself pinballed between conversations with all stripes. Some friends I hadn’t seen in years, others who I’d surfed with that morning. Walking into Milton Pub, I bump into Leanne and Kirk Bierke. We yarn about surf/family/Russ’s movie. “And let me know when you want me to get started on that board, Dane,” offers Kirk. It feels like a Christmas catch-up. Kirk and Russ’s lifelong father-son/shaper-surfer relationship was all set to be borne out in this chronicle of heavy liquid love. Not to mention that Kirk shapes guns for most of the sons and daughters of this stretch of coast and beyond.
The screening followed on from the Ulladulla Boardrider’s annual presso that same arvo, so naturally they all kicked on. The closest thing I could compare the atmosphere to is the feeling you get going at a local footy grand final as the crowd buzzes for kick-off. Last drinks before the movie starts.
Now, every surf-town has its slippery spectrum of legends, and that night seemed to have all of them – us – packed like sardines into the old Milton Pub. With Russ and AK lighting up the night’s entertainment it looked set for a fairytale screening for the two beloved sons of Ulladulla, bringing back a gift to the tribe from their recent adventures. But just as in fairytales or footy finals, the heroes don’t always get their own way. This glorious night would be no different. The boys brought home their vision, but not before some drama.
As the clock nudges 8:30 the last line of pilgrims carry final rounds for friends already sitting down, all giddy for the show. The opening film (also by AK) had barely begun when the glitches started and the surfer on screen froze. Buffering? Russ and AK jump up. Murmurs and light laughter ripple across the packed pub as they start crisscrossing cables. “Lost Connection” appears onscreen. “They’re still finishing the edit!” Local filmmaker and larrikin lunatic, Max Zappas chimes in from up the back. Laughter ripples. Banter eases the awkward silence, but it won’t save the show as the screen blanks blue.
AK keeps crisscrossing cables. Still no dice. Russ plugs away on an iPad but based on his expression whatever he’s trying isn’t working. AK unplugs-replugs-restarts. Files flash open and close on the screen. More button pushing, more buffering. Russ looks rattled. That’s rare.
The file restarts but jumps forward. There’s nearly a false start on the movie’s mind-boggling final moment; Russ’s backdoor barrel in Ireland. AK stops it just in the nick of time. Noa Deane is in the crowd, and he’s nearly sobbing at the digital nightmare. Both he and Katesy know how it feels. By now Milton Pub owner and pioneer bodyboarder charger, Damo Martyn rushes up from downstairs. Damo scrambles backstage-to-frontstage, upstairs, downstairs in a comedy of errors desperately trying to revive the show. The crowd shuffles restlessly on the old timber floors. Time ticks to 9pm. Then 9.30. Blue screens. No sound. “Whatever could go wrong, did go wrong,” AK later reflected.
Yet almost an hour-and-a-half later the Milton Pub was still packed wall-to-wall with loyal local pilgrims. Then, finally, a mighty chorus of cheers as Russ is suddenly flying over a triple-lipping Shippy’s staircase. “Only Russ could get away with starting a surf movie at 10 o’clock at night!” my mate Cam says in relief.
Now, being mindful not to blow the best part of this psycho-slab-extravaganza, but suffice to say the surfing in Outer Edges was nothing short of evolutionary. One of Russ’s goals has been to progress paddle-surfing and if that green-eyed Irish monster tube in the finale isn’t a peak moment in surfing, I don’t know what is. At that moment, as the Atlantic Ocean threatened to swallow Russ whole (in slow-mo), I caught the face of a grommet across the room, her eyes transfixed to the screen. To the wave. To Russ. I quickly noticed who it was… Eve Morgan, perched next to her dad. Paul Morgan is one of the OG pioneer big-wave surfers around Ulladulla, and a guy who played an instrumental role in mentoring Russ. We’ve surfed together a bunch and seeing Eve out in the water it’s clear she’s inherited her dad’s desire for raw ocean power.
But what is she seeing now? What is she feeling? With Russ in front of her, Dad to her right and an army of frothers behind? What’s cooking in this cauldron of community? What does her future look like here? I wonder as we watch Russ ride to glory on his dad’s handshaped blade. Bravo. What a show. Not even an hour-and-a-half digital goose chase could derail destiny in the hands of the community. Timeless.
Hugs and handshakes in the show’s afterglow. Bodies spill out into the streets to debrief and for some fresh air. For others, some herbal relief. I slip out a side door into the adjacent carpark just as the southerly change kicks in. My mind wanders back to Bob Dylan. “The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind.” I whistle the tune and the words seem to linger as I drive my Toyota HiAce back home. Pulling off the highway I flick on the high beams lighting up the turn-off sign and something scrawled on it. “Together brings strength.” It’s a homage to a local surfing brother who departed too soon and a testament to a community capable of bearing all things.
Small scale screenings. Core community crowds. Co-creative surfer-filmer-musician collaborations. That seems to be the emergent pattern. A week after Noa and Russ’s screenings in Ulladulla, Harry Bryant screened his premiere of Motel Hell at Wombarra Bowlo up near Wollongong. And by car park testimonies, that was a tribal third eye rinse too.
What’s going on here? It seems Australia’s top freesurfers and filmmakers are incorporating a deeper grassroots community connection through screening their films. And in the process, we are seeing a more multi-directional, expansive expression of the surfing experience. There seems to be a shift away from the clickbait ‘surf-porn’ of late-stage-surf-capitalism toward a more intimate, connected cinematic surf experience that resonates with the roots of the surfing world.
But it’s not a cultural cleavage quite like the ‘country soul’/‘professional era’ split of the ‘70s. In fact, Russ, Noa, Harry, and Shaun Manners have all been invited to surf in the Pipe Masters this December. And do you think they answered the call? Pumping Pipeline to yourself and a mate for half an hour? What do you reckon!? So, the screenings are transcending and including social media feeds rather than abandoning them outright. It’s an evolution by integration. In a way you could say that the live screening is bridging the two ways of seeing surfing: the one we see “out there” in the glitter of professional surfing and the one we feel in here, back home surfing together.
And when this is played out in a living, breathing community of surfers, the artistic vision becomes the intergenerational bridge between where we came from and where we are going. Or as Noz exclaimed to the heavens after Russ’s r/evolutionary ride, “What the fuck! How do you even get more drained than that?!” God only knows, but we will see. Maybe back at Milton Pub next year.
There are no fences for this stage of the surfing game and certainly no judges. Just surfers bringing surfers together to celebrate the many faces of modern surfing. It’s that simple. It’s surfing’s collective evolution by integration. And it’s not just the South Coast. Have a look at the need essentials films; from Torren and Ishka’s Lost Atlantic series to Laurie and Nathan’s Slow Lane, as well as Bryce and Milo’s Following the Fall Line. The North Coast and South Coast communities are mirroring each other by coupling ‘old school’ values with progressive, expansive waveriding. The glory of nature, community, integrity and honouring surfing’s edges.
Is it just coincidence that this is happening at a time when the multinational corporate surf empire is losing its cultural authority? Could the emergence of community-surf-cinema be hinting at a deeper shift? Are we part of the next Golden Age of surfing’s silver screen? Only time will tell… till the next bowlo screening. See you there.
