Bodyboarders don’t get enough respect.
If you like supple human flesh falling out of the sky and getting wedged between thousands of litres of water and rock you’ll have a great time with Rest In Pits (RIP), Drag Board Co’s latest offering.
It’s fucking ruuuuuuude. Dudes on no coin, with no future beyond laying bricks and landscaping, throwing themselves off eight-foot ledges (and making plenty too) will always get mad respect, no matter which craft you ride.
Add a couple of piping desert degenerates waving guns in your face, a mullet-headed madman getting max pitted and punching his way out of a sugar cane plantation into the space next to me (still shadow boxing), and a soundtrack spanning Prodigy to Elton John, and you’ve got some weird exhilarating underground performance art, with a piscatorial twist.
What is it about boog films?
Ever since the Tension series I’ve had a soft spot for dick dragger celluloid, but why? What is it that makes boog vids so captivating?
“They just froth so hard,” says Josh Simpson, the stick filmmaker behind Surf Cassette and dozens of web clips.
For me, its self-deprecation and humour in the face of some of the wildest fucking shit you can ever see in the ocean. These are waves some of the highest paid surfers in the world wouldn’t touch with a 20-foot tow rope and yet here are the boogers taking the piss—no ego, no money, tough, nihilistic, ready to go, and getting more pitted than any cunt.
Hatchback boogers vs cashed up stick kooks
Yes, it’s true. The millions of petulant sponge kooks arriving en masse in their hatchbacks to clog your favourite reef can get irritating. But no more than the millions of Haz Beanz and Never Wazzers Jeep Cherokee’ing up driveways into mansions overlooking every single prime piece of surf real estate in the world.
Modern surfing is a complex shit show but those at the pointy end will give mad respect to anyone who charges, who has style, a sense of humour, or can just put on a show. The fact several sticks such as Craig Anderson, Harry Bryant and Garret Parkes were on hand to support the film was testament to that.
Neoprene and marijuana
Upon arriving at the fashionably dank warehouse chosen for the premiere, I was struck by the intoxicating aroma of marijuana and fresh neoprene (when not hosting squinty-eyed degenerates, the Stoke Factory is a wetsuit wholesaler). What better two smells are there really in the world, than wetsuits and a freshly lit Phat-Juan? After sniffing it out and demanding my media tax (two puffs), I settled in for Harry Triglone’s kitsch classic, Fun Boys.
Long live Fun Boys
There’s no dick draggin heroics in Fun Boys. It’s a stick film. After watching half an hour of kamikaze dick dragging heroics, Harry Triglone’s kitsch classic, Fun Boys, was a changeup, that’s for sure.
Fun Boy Creed McTaggart was typically stylish in playful east coast beach breaks. Beau Foster was another standout running smooth lines and serious turns through several big offshore walls.
A glimpse of Laurie Towner doing his thing in Yamba proved he’s still one of the most easy-on-the-eye unsponsored surfers in the world. Longtime sparring partner Wade Goodall continued through his late career purple patch combining raw power and measured flow for maximum gnar.
As the credits rolled a man called Moose held court and regaled us with tales of Mexican marijuana seeds so virulent they could produce a plant of seven ounces. Luke Spook and two-thirds of the Pinheads smashed out a few to wrap up proceedings and I left ready to continue my Fun Boy existence on the first waist-high rip bowl I could find.