Hallelujah! The second coming.
Since I don’t own a television and have ad block installed on my computer, I may as well be living under a rock. All the little vagaries of the zeitgeist tend to pass me by, which suits me just fine, really.
But The Inertia drew my attention to the fact that they’re remaking Point Break. And that’s cool. I just may pirate it once it’s released.
I was a bit surprised to learn that some people are pretty upset about it. Why? The first installment was retarded, full of pseudo-mystical surfer bullshit, catering to land-locked doofuses who buy the hype that there’s something special about surfers. As though we’re not just a bunch of self-obsessed idiots playing in the ocean while deluding ourselves that we’re partaking in something special.
Whether the movie is good or bad (you know what they say about polishing a turd), there are some substantial, real benefits we can reap from the Hollywood hype machine once again turning its bloodshot eye our way.
It could reinvigorate the surf industry.
More attention means more money, and more money means team rosters being rebuilt and actual sponsor support flowing back into surfing. Sure, this would only serve to bail out the greedy, myopic assholes who nearly capsized the ship during their hubris-fueled mid-00’s buying sprees, but let’s be honest, those same fuckers have been buying and selling our soul for decades. Nothing short of a suicide bombing is going to wrest the helm from their greasy palms.
More Remakes and Sequels!
With a little luck, we could be blessed with gems like In God’s Hands 2: In Jesus’ Pocket or a followup to North Shore, in which we follow Rick and Kiani’s son as he returns to the North Shore, hell-bent on reliving his father’s glory. Only this time he develops a nasty meth habit and ends up blowing tourists for twenties in a filthy alley off the Ala Wai canal. In the final scene, we’ll be treated to him and Matty Liu reenacting the ending of Requiem for a Dream. Fade to credits.
Hell, maybe I’ll be finally able to sell my screenplay. It’s about an overweight writer from California who moves to Haleiwa dreaming of surf hero-dom and ends up supporting himself by jerking off on bear fetish cam sites (loosely based on a true story).
Lies, lies, lies.
There’s little I enjoy more than listening to some burgeoning barney recount the tale of “the thirteen foot wave that held me under for, like, three minutes.” Once we get a bunch of actors in the water, we’ll almost definitely be treated to a flurry of publicist-circulated tall tales. As they strive to outdo Butler’s Mavericks nonsense, we’ll get to hear about the time Miley Cyrus suffered a two-wave hold down at Old Man’s, or how Justin Bieber totally got a ten-second barrel at First Point Malibu, dude.
It could spark a renewed interest in the collected works of the late, great, Mr. Patrick Swayze.
From ectoplasm pottery sex to tearing out the throat of a dude who, “used to fuck guys like you in prison,” there was little the man couldn’t do. And I, for one, would be pickled tink if his style got hot again. I look fucking great in a pair of tight ass jeans, and any excuse to rock a feathered coif is a good one.
Cheap used boards.
Every dingus on Earth is going to rush out and buy the leanest, meanest carbon fiber shred sled the industry has to offer. Of course, once they realize that learning to surf is hard as fuck, and takes longer than a four-minute musical montage, those boards will end up gathering dust in the garage, sandwiched between a rotting skateboard and rusting mountain bike. Six months later, they’re going to need to make some space for their latest discarded interest. Cut to Craigslist where you’ll be able to scoop up boards on the cheap.
So let’s do this. As far as I’m concerned, it’ll be the best thing since full deck traction pads. In fact, as a “member” of the “surf media,” I’d like to offer my services as a consultant. I charge very reasonable rates and am only usually, but not always, drunk.
