I’m thankful for the Jack McCoy’s of the world. Not that there are many. There is only one. But his commitment to thoughtfully communicating surfing’s most transcendent elements via film for the last thirty years has produced some meaningful work. And judging by the near-capacity crowd attending the world premiere of his 25th film, A Deeper Shade of Blue, at The Arlington Theatre (which seats over 2,000) last night, I’m not alone in that thinking.
A Deeper Shade of Blue sets an ambitious agenda by attempting to tell the story of surfing (from start to finish) in a way that both surfers and non-surfers find compelling. It’s largely successful. The film paints an inspiring portrait of our relationship with the sea through a diverse cast of characters. We visit professional surfing through the lens of Jamie O’Brien. We see women’s surfing through Steph Gilmore’s eyes. We learn about big-wave riding through the experiences of Shipsterns Bluff charger Marti Paradisis. And so on. Each fragment of surf culture has an assigned ambassador, and while McCoy’s selection process is interesting, the spokespersons are essentially interchangeable; none are acutely singular, yet all are authentic.
However, for a film that goes into great detail about the history of surfing and even reveals some little-known details about prominent surfers (apparently Jordy Smith ran in a few gangs when he was little and admitted to breaking into cars and looting with his peers in a crime-ridden town in South Africa), there are some glaring omissions. For instance, Kelly Slater is barely mentioned. Tom Curren is neglected altogether. Granted, time doesn’t permit the inclusion of every important figure in the history surf culture, but presenting surfing to a mainstream audience without a semi-thorough explanation of Kelly Slater’s impact seems egregious.
Otherwise, McCoy uses the evolution of the surfboard as a chronological framework, which provides an intuitive skeleton, but at times the chronology gets messy. Instead, the film seems strongest when it communicates directly to non-surfers, which is most obviously evidenced by the photography.
McCoy’s underwater footage is mesmerizing. Whatever the cost, his underwater jet ski was worth it. The innovative piece of equipment exposes a groundbreaking new vantage to the world. The sessions documented at Teahupoo and Shipsterns Bluff are equally impressive. Beyond that, A Deeper Shade of Blue may showcase the finest women’s surfing segments to date. Every woman on screen successfully exits at least one 6-Mississippi-barrel. And as beautiful as all of the women featured in the film are, there are no gratuitous bikini shots – just extremely impressive surfing.
A Deeper Shade of Blue also makes a poignant observation three-quarters of the way through the film when the narrator notes that surf culture grew so large in the late ‘60s that “authentically” documenting the experience of surfing became a career. That’s just what Jack did, but I take issue with his concept of “authenticity.” An editor whom I greatly respect once told me that authenticity is a tricky word, because the experience of a seasoned surfer is no more or less “authentic” than that of a beginner. His observation stayed with me, and I think McCoy’s A Deeper Shade of Blue accurately reflects that concept. Often, when surfers talk to each other about surfing, we overlook some of its most valuable and endearing characteristics. Only when we earnestly attempt to include newcomers in the conversation are we capable of appreciating surfing for what it is: a powerfully inspiring gift.
