Mason Ho displays his radical inheritance from
daddy Mike and Uncle Dez.
Hawaiian surfers Mason Ho and Clay Marzo
put on a hitherto unseen display of wizardry at once-secret
Indonesian wave, “Any hole or any pit was pleasure, and pleasure
was the sweet meat of reason!”
By Derek Rielly
A brief penetrating glimpse into the talents of two
of surfing’s greatest virtuosos.
In this short from the studio of Riordan Pringle we see his
master, Mason Ho, along with Clay Marzo, who also burns like an
STD, deliver a hitherto unseen display of sorcery at Desert Point
on the island of Lombok in Indonesia.
It’s an extraordinary encounter, a brief penetrating glimpse
into the talents of two of surfing’s greatest virtuosos. Although
both men are well into their thirties now, Ho is thirty-four, Marzo
is thirty-three, their surfing exhibits a youthful joy.
Jaw-dropping.
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Deadly danger for Ho always generates his
reflex ferocity to attack, maim and destroy the enemy. You can
almost hear the urgency in his testicles.
Hawaii’s “Queen of Crazy” Mason Ho releases
short film described by critics as “jaw-dropping”, a “masterclass
of tuberiding” and “tremendously exciting…searing in its white hot
intensity!”
By Derek Rielly
Each session stimulates Ho to such an extent he may
have twenty to fifty completed airs on tape within two hours.
So many pretty adjectives can be thrown at Mason Ho’s
wildly unique “shuck and jive” style of surfing, a
whooshing flash that leaves spectators’ mouths flapping mutely.
In this edit, which takes us to the island of Sumbawa near Bali,
and both in the Indonesian archipelago, thirty-four-year-old Mason
is at full blast.
Deadly danger for Ho always generates his reflex ferocity to
attack, maim and destroy the enemy. You can almost hear the urgency
in his testicles.
Each session stimulates Ho to such an extent he may have twenty
to fifty completed airs on tape within two hours.
He will stop only when totally exhausted and his brain is
flushed with the winning adrenalin of ego.
Essential viewing.
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A film not safe for animal lovers.
See the astonishing moment brave Indonesian
fishermen capture and slowly kill a twenty-foot tiger shark for her
fins, later sold for thirty dollars: “It is very difficult to
defeat such an animal! These men have nothing but their hands and
their courage!”
By Derek Rielly
An exercise in irony and cultural relativism!
Life is cruel, something we don’t appreciate and that only comes
into relief, perhaps, when we discover our woman has been getting
railed by a giant Russian cock while we slave over our
spreadsheets in our little cubicles.
Armed only with a few hooks, some nylon line, knives and a ton
of bravado, the fishermen capture and kill a tiger shark that,
oowee, has gotta be close to twenty foot.
It ain’t a regular occurrence for the men, maybe once a year if
the gods are feeling benevolent, they’ll get to put one of the
majestic creatures to the sword.
In this case, the tiger is so big they can’t get it on the boat
and tow it back to port, drowning it in the process.
Narration in the short is excellent.
“It is very difficult to defeat such an animal. These men have
nothing but their hands and their courage to overcome the
shark.”
At a nearby fish market, the shark is sold for thirty American
dollars.
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A comedic respite from non-stop action!
Santa Barbara father-of-three Dane Reynolds
shocks surf world with film of the year, skewering racism and
segregation in the waves with tour-de-force feature “Hallucinatory
Idiocy!”
By Derek Rielly
"I always knew it would be a can of worms," says
the former world number four.
The former world number four surfer known for his “go
for broke” style of surfing that includes many experimental and
aerial maneuvers has shocked surf fans with his latest film, Glad
You Scored, though I prefer the title Hallucinatory
Idiocy.
Dane Reynolds, a father of three who is a couple weeks away from
turning thirty seven, is surfing’s rampart against the milquetoast
horror of the WSL’s “pandering bullshit that’s
exploiting surfing” and, therefore, we must watch and
examine closely every piece of his creative output.
Reynolds writes:
We landed home from the final trip to Indonesia on July 7th
and we had promised Vans the film would be complete for review July
15th. The premier was based around US Open of Surfing and the event
was August 6th.
Someone could probably have made a better film if they
documented Hunter and I trying to pull this film together over the
past month. Licensing music, computer crashes, missing files, I
always knew it would be a can of worms.
But the story I wanted to convey was buried in hours of
voice memos I had recorded on the road during decisive or funny or
moments that I thought could tell a story, whatever that was going
to be, and put the viewer on the road with us while we are trying
to get waves and footage.
Boiling that down into a comprehensible storyline was a mind
numbing process that I couldn’t ask anyone else to do. I’d work on
that during the day and Hunter, for some reason thought he’d be
more creative at night and would edit surfing till sun rise.
Leaving us nearly zero time to connect the dots between surf
sections and the story.
Anyways, it came around and it’s one of my favorite films
we’ve done cause it show’s what a shit show it’s really like
pulling together surf film.
For me anyway, seems a lot easier and breezy and for all the
folks that are always scoring! But now I’m a guy that scores… so
look for me in big blue pits from here on out!
Too many highlights to list. Essential etc.
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Kelly and Belly at Belly's surfboard factory
out the back of Hossegor, called Euroglass.
Kelly Slater reveals stunning
thirty-three-year relationship with the step-daddy to his tour
nemesis, “I love him. He’s my best friend… I’m a lucky guy
to’ve had him in my life all these years!”
By Derek Rielly
The most-loved man in surfing is a hoary old phrase
that gets thrown around, but in this case it's true!
A sort of melancholy falls over the latest episode
of Lost Tapes, the 11-part series that documents Kelly
Slater’s 2019 year.
It is Autumn and we are in Hossegor, France, as Slater wrestles
with a series of ninth place finishes, catastrophic by his
standards.
It is lovely in the Aquitaine this time of year, tourists mostly
gone, the little summer wind swells giving way to Atlantic muscle,
but the sky is greyer, the days shorter.
It’s a time when even the most optimistic soul feels a little
malaise.
The episode focusses on his thirty-three relationships with
Stephen “Belly” Bell, an ex-pat Australian glasser who’s been
living in France since 1989, and who became the step-daddy to Leo
Fioravanti after finding love with the Italian’s spectacularly
assembled mama Serena.
“It feels like the end of an era for me,” Slater says, as he
stays at Belly’s gorgeous cubist beach house. “Belly now has only
one event left in his tour managing career… he’s been there for
every world title I’ve won. I love Belly. He’s my best friend. He’s
a consistent person and a good guy. I can trust him with anything
and everything. Everyone should have a Belly in his life. I’m
a lucky guy to’ve had him in my life all these years!”
I know the feeling.
Belly also owns a piece of my heart.
For the two years I lived in Hossegor, through the grey cloak of
the long winters and the saturated golds of the too-short summers,
he was kinder than he ever needed to be.
Maybe it was our mutual love of titties, short trips to Spain
and whistling sand-bottom tubes that clapped like thunder across
the town’s sandbanks, but it felt real.
Belly moved from Victoria to France in the mid-nineteen eighties
and set up a glassing shop called Euroglass. He had the contract to
build all the Quiksilver boards for Europe which, in the honey surf
industry days at the turn of the century, meant everyone was coming
to Belly for boards, Kelly Slater and the sixties icon Miki Dora
included.
Because he was Australian, and more Australian than anyone I’d
ever met (although fluent in French), Belly was the hub around
which that country’s surfers revolved during the European leg of
the tour.
Once Belly asked me to affix a tail-pad onto a board that was
bound for Quicksilver’s flagship store in Paris. It was,
ostensibly, an ex-Slater board, but it wasn’t.
I put the K-Grip pad on a crooked angle and while it
would’ve been justified for him to be agitated and cruel he gave me
a fatherly smile and said, “you fucking idiot.”
“Loved by all” is a hoary old phrase to throw around, but it
really is true.
Stephen Bell, a little man with a bald head and baggy pants, is
all heart, no ego.
