Is Surfing Hip?

Lisa Andersen Surfs Better Than You

Killer Cute

Kelly Slater is Just Warming Up

Rebel for Hire

I Believe I Can Fly

A Monster in Half Moon Bay

Mark Foo's Last Ride

Open Throttle

Laird Means Lord

Tahitian Scream

A Webcam for Every Wave

Last Call for Print Media

Taylor Steele Likes it Rough

Searching for the Perfect Phrase

Hollywood Tries Again

Thirty is the New Twenty

Andy Irons' Poetic Fury

The Beast and Beyond

A Dance with the Past

Foam is Dead, Long Live Foam

Nature Gets a Makeover

Surf in a Box

The End of History

The Ride of Your Life

Surfing was the most radiantly cinematic activity to ever light up a screen, but by the early 1990s, surf movies as a rule weren’t looking much better than 

. Quality took a nosedive in the previous decade as movies were replaced by VHS cassettes, and as filmmakers began shooting directly to videotape.

, San Diego’s Taylor Steele became surf videography’s accidental auteur. His pummeling 40-minute debut effort, made for just under $5,000, captured Kelly Slater and the rest of the teenage New School pros on the cusp of stardom. There was no formal arrangement, but Steele—a quiet, easygoing, unobtrusive presence—became the group’s in-house cameraman. He was still living at home, and 

 was pieced together in his bedroom, using a Mac II and an Avid editing system. In many ways, it was a by-the-book surf film, with a grab-bag opener, a wipeout sequence, plenty of North Shore action, and quickie segments on the top surfers. But it was stripped to the bone. No slow-motion. No water shots. No narration, interviews, comedy bits, or scenics. Steele then scored his project with a merciless set of punk rock tracks.

 1992 release couldn’t have been better timed. Slater was about to win his first world title, and New School surfing was all the rage. 

 would soon be viewed as a signpost for generational change, just as 

Typically, surf videos were available in surf shops or by mail order. Low sales figures were the rule—few titles went above 5,000 units—thanks mostly to rampant DIY bootlegging. Then again, production costs were so low that a videographer could move just a few hundred copies and still turn a profit. With 15,000 in sales and thumbs-up reviews in the surf magazines, 

 was the video smash of the year, and it catapulted Steele into a long, rich, influential career. In 2002, he was the highest-ranked filmmaker on 

 list of the “25 Most Powerful People in Surfing.” By then, Steele-produced videos and DVDs were reportedly grossing $10 million in worldwide sales.

s success also brought down a fusillade of loud, shabby lookalike videos, which landed at a rate of 50 or so titles per year. “Cheap equipment, small budgets, and smaller imaginations,” a 

 writer lamented in 1998, having just dipped into the latest offerings, such as 

“Such are the common denominators among surf video producers.”

There were a few exceptions, though, all of whom were sponsored, Medici-like, by the big surf companies. Surf movies had been used as a marketing tool since the late 1950s, when Bruce Brown’s first movies were underwritten by boardmaker Dale Velzy. In the video age, this became a nearly mandatory surf biz practice; by the early '90s the major surf companies were all releasing at least one title a year, mostly small-budget movies by work-for-hire independent filmmakers. Occasionally, though, a manufacturer was willing to break off a real chunk of money—usually the low six-figures— for a video project. Sonny Miller of California and Australia’s Jack McCoy were both beneficiaries of this company system, and throughout the decade, any well-made surf video you cued up was invariably made by one or the other.

Miller and McCoy both shot and edited on 16mm film. They operated from the water with as much skill as they did from land, and went to great lengths to ensure that every clip was sharp, well-framed, and properly exposed. Both delivered the hardcore surf action, but mellowed things out with world-beat tracks, lingering scenics, and slow-motion. (Too much slow-motion, probably. But better too much than none at all, as was the case with all the video-only newcomers.)

Miller was hired by Rip Curl in 1991 to make the first of what ended up being a half-dozen yearly installments in a travel series called 

 documentary won Video of the Year honors at the 1997 Surfer Magazine Video Awards.

Jack McCoy was the last of the Old Guard surf-moviemakers still in the game; his debut film, 

, made with Australia’s Dick Hoole, came out in 1977. McCoy became the genre’s standard-bearer. He had a richer color palette than anybody and the smoothest editing touch. McCoy was big on the idea of surfing-as-dreamscape, and he layered on the production effects—the best of his altered sequences had a fine psychedelic shimmer. The 12 movies McCoy made as Billabong’s in-house cinematographer during the 1990s were as weightless as everybody else’s, but they were dependably, stunningly attractive. His 1995

, a 1999 title that helped established the biopic as the new century’s hottest video subcategory.

The dynamic wasn’t much changed with the advent of DVDs and, later, internet downloads. Cheap and dirty 

-like videos were easy to make, and popular with anybody needing a quick and dirty surf-action fix. For a large segment of the surfing population, low cost and fast access would always beat out production niceties.

But a trend developed in the late-'90s toward better-crafted, McCoy-style videos—or as journalist Steve Barilotti put it, there was a “gradual shift back from wave-riding porn to surfing-as-art-film.” Early efforts included 

 which was co-produced by singer-songwriter Jack Johnson in 1999, not long before recording his debut album. Taylor Steele himself climbed aboard the quality-first train, with his lush 2006 movie 

. (Steel's later filmed a series of Corona Beer ads that were every bit as slow and mellow as 

These new works were shot on 16mm film and often featured acoustic numbers on the soundtrack. They earned raves from surf mag reviewers and were written up in the beach city alternative weeklies. All were marginally profitable.

Part of the success was due to what Barilotti called a “surf cinema mini-renaissance,” as more ambitious producers began making short “four-wall” tours up and down the coast. For his 2004 film 

, Jack McCoy went so far as to do live narration, just as Bruce Brown and John Severson and the rest did 40-plus years earlier. Surf moviegoing was no longer the boozed-up, semi-combustible happening it had been during the barnstorming era. People were no longer starved for surf imagery—and never would be again, thanks to the internet. Still, the return of the traveling surf movie was a welcome development. The big screen, everyone suddenly remembered, 

 the sport. Always had, always would. The experience wasn’t as manically transporting as it had been, but getting together 

, off the beach, at night, maybe just a little dressed up – that was more than enough reason to drop the remote and head for the auditorium.

Steel was still living at home, and made his new movie sitting in his bedroom, on a Mac II. It was 40 minutes long, and stripped to the bone. No slow-mo. No water shots. No narration, interviews, comedy bits, or scenics. Yet 

Chapter: 8

The Ride of Your Life

Taylor Steele Likes it Rough

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