Ira Opper interviewed Alby Falzon in 1996, when Falzon was 51. Portions of this interview were used in the Surfer's Journal TV series 50 Years of Surfing on Film.


I was born in Sydney, way off the beach, in a really dense part of the city, all concrete. When I was 10, my father moved us to the suburbs, to a place called Maroubra, and now I was only a mile from the beach. We spent four years there, although I didn’t learn to surf at the time. Then we moved again to the Central Coast, about two hours north of Sydney, and that’s where I began surfing. I was 15, and I fell in love with it instantly. I remember Midget Farrelly came up the coast with six or seven of his friends, all from Maroubra, they had Mohawk haircuts and were driving this old Ford with surf graffiti all along the sides. All of ‘em riding balsa boards, so that’s how long ago it was. I’d just started getting in the water, and I went to the beach and sat down to watch and it was just really impressive. One of the guys, Barry Andreas, everybody called him “Ugg,” had this board with this little hand-drawn Aboriginal on it, just a beautiful design, and was selling it. So I ran home and convinced my mother and father that they should buy this board for me. And they did.


I just a naturalness with cameras. There was no schooling or anything like that, but as a kid I remember always having a camera in my hand. I don’t even recall how I got my first camera. But it was there, and I was always taking pictures. At some, again I don’t recall just how, I got an 8mm camera and starting messing around with that. Right from the beginning there was a parallel between my surfing and my photography. They went hand-in-hand. It’s always been the case with me where I film the things I love. And that’s how it started with me filming surfing. I not interested in making commercials, or making films just for the sake of making films. I’m not passionate about the whole process. I’ve just always focused on the things that were dear to me.


I had the great good fortune of meeting Bob Evans, and we spent five years working together. He became a mentor to me. Bob was the grandfather of Australian surf movies. He laid a foundation in Australia for what exists now. Although, of course, 

 mentor was Bud Browne, so really I suppose it was Bud who got it started, and he passed it on to Bob, who in turn shared it with others, myself included.

One year Bob was all set to go to Hawaii, and something else came up, and all of a sudden he’s said to me, “Would you go instead?” “Yeah!” “Okay, here’s the ticket, and this is a 16mm camera, and this is how it works.” In 30 minutes Bob gave me a full crash-course on filmmaking, and next thing I know I'm on a plane, with a 16mm camera and 5,000 feet of film, heading off to Hawaii.

That's just the way it was with Bob. He was always winging it, always doing it by the seat of his pants. I remember one time we flew to New Zealand to do some filming, the idea was to surf and ski on the same trip—I think Peter Drouyn was with us—and we’re over there staying in a hotel. Well, it turns out Bob didn’t have any money. Which was the way Bob often did things. He’d have just enough money to get himself somewhere, but no money at all to get himself back. He’d just trust that divine providence would see him good. So there we were in New Zealand, and he turns to us and says, “Has anyone got any money?” We didn’t of course. Bob told us not to worry. We stayed on for another three or four days, went surfing, ate well, lived well, laughed and had a great time. And out of the blue somebody else happened to come into town who owed Bob money. So Bob marches up to the desk, pays the bill, and we're off. He'd somehow do that all the way around the world. So Bob taught me to just step off. Have faith. If you believe in something strongly enough, just go for it.


I don’t know just how it happened, but I was with these two nuns, walking down the street in Sydney. I remember it so clearly. And they said to me, “What do you want to do with your life?” This was before I’d actually started working on 

. And I said, “I want to make a really beautiful film about surfing.” And one of them says, “Well do it.” And I did. I just went out and did it. We didn't have any money. We just went out and got a camera, got some film, and made it up as we went.


Incredible surfer. Had champion written all over him. World champion. That was never not going to happen. Nat had the drive, the determination, and the ability to go forward. He just had it in him. He was always going to be a winner. Nat's first trip to Hawaii happened because he won an airline ticket in a paddling race. You had to paddle from Sydney Harbor, near the bridge, across to Manly Beach. It was billed as this big spectacular event. And Nat made his mind up six weeks before that he was going to win that ticket. And he trained. Really hard. Went out paddling every day. And this is when he was still 15 or 16 years old. Just a kid! When they fired the starting gun, Nat went to the front and never looked back. He’s like that. Just an incredible ability to focus. And once he focused on becoming world champion, it was just a matter of time before it happened. He was already there in his mind.


Terry was the glamor boy. No two ways about that. He was like, Mr. Show Biz. Terry was just beautiful. Mr. Torque. He had an incredible body, he looked great, he was charismatic, he was the beautiful surfer of the time, very stylish.


Peterson was the introvert. He was the sleeper. He was the quiet man who would sit behind the rock and look out occasionally. Michael was aggressive. Determined. Perhaps a little angry. Very beautiful, though, as well, as a surfer. He had a look about him, a flow about him, that was very attractive.


We made Crystal Voyager together, and to share that time with George was a complete joy. He’s one of the most unique individuals on the planet. There is nobody, anywhere, like George Greenough. He is the complete innovator. He makes everything up, just thinks it up and creates it. Eccentric to the utmost, yes. I mean, what did he ever do in school, you know? “F” marks, across the board. He was considered a dunce. And yet he’s this brilliant designer. His work is just amazing, all of it. So for me, to spend six or seven months with him, isolated in his mother’s backyard in Santa Barbara, building 

 [Greenough's boat] in the vegetable patch, then sailing and surfing with him, being his boat assistant and his camera assistant and his friend . . . that was just a magic time for me. The only real regret I have in my life is that I didn’t sail all the way across the Pacific with George. The opportunity was there, and I didn’t take it.


The surf was flat at Kuta, where we were staying. Dead flat. We’d been looking at this peninsula out there, and I thought, "I'll just drive over and have a look, see what’s out there." I didn’t particularly go looking for surf—it was flat! So we drove out to the Uluwatu temple, and it was beautiful. No waves, but the water was crystal clear, and it was all just really pretty. Then I walked along the edge of cliff, down from the temple, and when I got to the end of the headland there, I stood there and watched a perfect wave, maybe two-foot, breaking along the edge of the reef. And I’m looking down, thinking, “Gee, that’s a really pretty wave.” I kept it in mind, and a day or two later there was a three-foot swell at Kuta, so I said to the other guys, “Let’s go have a look out there.” We packed everything up, the cameras, packed a lunch, threw the boards in the bemo, drove out to the temple—and it was a different site altogether. There were lines going out to the horizon. All of us just stood there with our mouths open. It was just spectacular. Just waves as far out as you could see. And solid, eight- to 12-feet. Stephen [Cooney] was the young boy, and Rusty [Miller] built up the confidence in him. They didn’t have legropes. Then they paddled out and surfed it, and the rest is history.


It’s such a complicated world most people live in, just their day-to-day activities. And sometimes, it’s not putting more into life that that matters, it’s taking things out—trying to simplify, trying to keep it down to the things that are really important. And I think 

I didn’t expect the film to go where it ended up going. We just tried to make something positive and beautiful. I think the reason it’s lasted so long is because it captured that. And it also captured a period of time that is since gone—except it’s still in everybody’s heart. Everybody still feels it. There’s a purity and innocence with 

 that I think people, even today, with all the toys and trappings can still identify with.

I figured that, once I made Morning of the Earth, what else was there to say? What’s the point of getting back on the treadmill and making another one, and another one, and another one? I just felt I’d said it in that film.

Subscribe or Login

Encyclopedia of Surfing

History of Surfing

Interviews

Features

The Sunday Joint

Videos