Surfing has never looked more cool or casually poetic than in this landmark documentary. That’s probably because we never hear the surfers talk. Director Bruce Brown shoots his action-packed footage of hang tens and wipeouts without a shred of location sound—only music, dubbed-in wave crashes and his own wisecracking narration. The result is a loose, entertaining piece that’s comfortably irreverent in that 1960s way.
It’s Brown’s next-level jump after eight years of making low-budget, barely released looks at the surfwaxin’ way of life. For this film, Brown hit upon a perfect concept for a breakout feature: Follow two young Malibu, California lords of the beach, Robert August and Mike Hynson, as they travel the globe in November and December chasing the summer season and searching for the perfect wave. They hit several locales in Africa where the natives watch rapt, having (according to Brown) never seen surfing before, and where the shores of Cape St. Francis, South Africa boast some of the most silky, perfect, ride-’em-for-miles waves on Earth. They jump around Australia, where they find the waves tame, but the girls exciting. Next they hit New Zealand, where the waves were satisfying and the sheep were plenty. Tahiti also had some bright spots among its mostly calm, crystal clear waters. Then there’s Hawaii’s Waimea Bay, home to some of the world’s most vicious, man-killer, Godzilla waves. These surf scenes look a lot more like bullfighting, with bodies and boards flung about while nature beats its chest. Still, people try to conquer it.
What makes this film such a classic is that it’s ultimately about more than surfing. It’s about that infectious sense of adventure that exists in most people who haven’t yet completely given up on life.
What’s your idea of an adventure? It could be anything. The makers of this movie are looking for good surf. Your adventure can’t be much more silly than that. Give it a try, I say.