Waveriders

Lecture no. 46. For those of you who haven’t being paying attention, all the best Irish movies are documentaries. Our feature films may be plagued by script problems and budgetary constraints, but our flies on the wall are thriving. Sadly, to date, nothing can be done to persuade the masses to shell out for documentary titles. Just look at Saviours, Ross Whitaker and Liam Nolan’s remarkable boxing doc. The film boasted a killer Olympic angle and some of the best reviews of last year. Did anybody go? Did they hell.
If you want to continue to live in a country where “film” equates to such undercooked fare as Speed Dating, Anton, Summer Of The Flying Saucer and other movie-shaped holes where movies ought to be, then be sure to miss Waveriders, a stirring, brilliant look at the thriving surfing scene off the northwest coast. Within the confines of this meticulously researched work, this burgeoning sub-culture around Bundoran marks a sort of homecoming.
Indeed, as Cillian Murphy’s narration explains, we owe all of modern surfing to George Freeth, an Ulsterman who revived the lost Polynesian art after missionaries had all but eradicated it.
The impressive and entertaining cast of contributors includes world champion Kelly Slater, the Malloy brothers and Richard Fitzgerald. Geeks and obsessive types should be quite satisfied by the intriguing depiction of tow surfing. Lesser mortals can stand back and marvel at Mr. Conroy’s ability to find a strange, uniquely grey poetry in the coldest, cloudiest skies. Charging a pipe has never looked quite so challenging or chilly. Any fool can surf and shoot in Hawaii, surely?