And so much heteronormative provocation!
I felt nice and validated by the time I got to the end of The Ultimate Surfer trailer yesterday.
Occasionally in the back of my mind, when ridiculing WSL-ism and post Surf Ranch Kelly-isms, I have considered just saving my breath.
Maybe I should just live and let live?
This is too fascinating.
Kelly Slater and the WSL staffers are almost Trumpian in their profound ignorance of their own ridiculousness.
And Koa Smith, incredible.
Is Koa Smith’s martial arts-esque throwing of the Shaka the heaviest things ever done in or around surfing?
I can’t believe Koa Smith, “It’s go time babeehhh!”
He out Spiccolis Spiccoli.
He is like a blond and necklaced Frankenstein engineered to perfection by all the cliches and stereotypes Hollywood’s portrayal of surfing has collectively mustered.
It is worse and much funnier than anything I could have possibly imagined.
Do you agree?
Surely this trailer has been a force for unification.
Something to ignite a more full-blooded and broad-based dissent against surfing’s smiling undertakers.
If you were ever on the fence about the state of Kelly Slater’s mind or whether Eric is actually as kooky as he seems or whether the WSL’s plan is actually to pivot pro surfing to reality TV geared towards non-surfers, here it is in cinematic perfection.
And yet it came with a deep sense of relief, like the last few years have been the tense and freaky build-up in American Psycho and now the veil has been drawn to reveal the sweet release of splattered blood and relieved tension.
The murder scene.
Gruesome and shocking yes, but at least now the depravity of our villain is known, and we are released from the purgatory of speculation.
Surely now, finally, we can all agree that pro surfing’s new bosses are designing what has become a darkly hilarious horror show?
I want to know what Adriano De Souza thinks? A kid who surfed his way out of the favellas, through the brutality of the QS, now watching B and C-grade surfers have quick running races down the sand and inevitably float Zeke Lau a place back on tour.
I feel like just like Patrick Bateman, perplexed as to why he has not been seized for the horrors he has committed, but it is not my crimes I am professing, it is theirs.
Like that Bateman scene, the whole trailer has a distinctly hallucinogenic quality to it.
There is a glimpse of someone hula dancing in a sarong surrounded by flaming torches drinking from what looks like a wooden goblet, a beautiful blonde woman winking and talking about kissing, a set that looks like they hired the art director from Survivor etc.
Now, it’s fine and a bit fun for me/some of us to celebrate the humour in watching surfing pivot to a kind of Jersey Shore model of televised engagement/recruitment to bolster viewership, but I can’t help but get a little bit sentimental when I think of the kids out there who are being deprived of a pro surfing future they can idolise.
In era’s past it has taken until at least the age of 20, or 18, or maybe 16 at the earliest, to become jaded with surfing’s commercial trappings, but yesterday I spoke to a 12-year-old kid who was tripping as much as I was about the trailer, “That show looks heavy hey.”
I think it is a little bit cruel and selfish of Kelly to be complicit in the discrediting of surfing just as he readies himself to sign off from competition.