If a blockbuster thriller is a large chocolate milkshake, a documentary about surfing in Ireland is a surely tall glass of orange juice. Well that was how my cinema going accomplice described it. But is Waveriders pure-pressed goodness or is it just a brackish SunnyD knock-off?
Well for the fact that it’s an Irish feature length documentary that managed to get a cinema release, and that it’s about a pretty obscure yet interesting topic, it deserves a certain amount of praise. And with that qualifier I bet your now waiting for me to now pull it apart or embark on a scathing scene by scene deconstruction of its cinematography. Or maybe not. Anyway I’ll just try to lay it out as straight as I can:
There’s really no avoiding it, Waveriders was disjointed and unfocused. It felt like a documentary in three parts. Its opening subject was George Freeth and the origins of the modern sport. It then veered into a segment about Kevin Naughton and his surfing-exploration contributions to Surfer magazine in the ’60s and ’70s. Then finally (with a small and puzzling detour into the world or professional surfing and an interview with Kelly Slater – seemingly inserted because Slater happened to be surfing in Ireland at the time the film was made) it phased into a final section about the Malloy brothers, soul surfing and big wave hunting off the west coast.
Now don’t get me wrong, I found all these different parts really interesting in themselves. Freeth’s story, the “brown Mercury” with all the power of the sea in his winged heels (Jack London’s description – not mine), is fascinating for its pioneer spirit. Naughton’s career as a travel writer and surfing explorer, which in way opened up to world to surfing, is just as interesting. And the final third section of the film which sees the Malloy brothers, Richard Fitzgerald and Gabe Davies riding some terrifyingly enormous waves off the coast of Antrim and Donegal is simply amazing.
When it’s all put together though it lacks coherency. The point it’s trying to make is that surfing, the modern sport – not the pastime of Hawaiian kings, has had an Irish connection throughout its development from the very start (Freeth, Naughton, the Malloy’s were all descendants of Irish immigrants). And that because of its recent popularity in Ireland, especially on the west coast, in recent times it has experienced a sort of homecoming. I’m still not sure of the validity of that point but I’ll concede it for now. What’s more importantly for this documentary is that the point gets obscured as the more interesting stories are developed.
The result is that Waveriders seems muddled, but despite its problems it’s worth going to see. Maybe it’s not pure orange juice, but it could be tropical juice – it’s not really sure what it’s made of, or what it’s supposed to be, but it sure is tasty and refreshing.
