Mongrels Flood The Mondrian, Doped Youth Resurfaces in Versace
An autopsy of the Solento Surf Film Festival — and a breakdown of the biggest hits coming to you soon.
The Mondrian Hotel feels like it belongs on a season of White Lotus.
I slid into the valet line on dubious credentials — a Solento Film Festival attendee — flanked by polished European cars with price tags that could Donald Trump an economy.
It wouldn’t be an overstatement to admit that I felt a little out of place rolling in with my 2001 Toyota Hiace van. Rusted from birth, half a million kilometres deep, windscreen split open like a third degree perineal tear. Still, I sputtered in, handed over the keys, bowed, for some reason, then walked inside and cautiously approached the front desk.
“Hello, sir,” came the voice. “How can we help?”
“Hi, yeah… I think I have a room. Jack. Or maybe Stab?”
They found it. But they needed a card for insurance. I informed them I had left my wallet in my car, which by now was probably being fumigated. Could I use my phone?
Declined.
We smiled at each other. Tried again. Declined again.
“Sometimes these machines play up,” the concierge lied. I could feel the queue behind me radiating quiet contempt. I moved the last of my funds across, palms sweating, while a butler calmly relieved me of my coat and began escorting my bags upstairs.
Third time lucky. Approved! Ha Ha. We smiled through the awkwardness. I almost bowed again.
Then, mercifully, a booming voice cut through the tension.
“JACKKYYYYYY! YES MATE!” Came the voice. It was, of course, Vaughan Blakey. “How fuken good is this? How’s these rooms? Fuck yeah. Let’s go watch some surf films.”
And that, more or less, was the Solento Film Festival — a surf cinema orgy hosted by Taylor Steele, tequila by the bucket, and a thin film of glamour stretched over some pretty obvious rough edges. But let’s not kill the story before it walks. It ran for three nights, so let’s revisit some highlights.
Astronaut In The Ocean, By Keith Malloy + Yeti
Masochists walk among us. Every day. In the supermarket, at work, in traffic, sitting next to you. Tweakers masquerading as regular people, pretending to live normal lives while secretly addicted to almost dying.
Shane Ackerman is a construction worker by trade. In his downtime, he drinks tea, takes long walks on the beach, and obliterates himself over and over on some of the scariest and heaviest waves on the planet. Seriously, this film is worth your time — even if you were raised to write off boogs.
After the screening, Shane joined Taylor Steele on stage for a Q&A, where he talked 5-wave hold downs and how he’s narrowly dodged the reaper more times than he can count. “Don’t be afraid to give things a go,” was his final line before dropping the mic and walking off.
It was only the first film we saw from Keith Malloy — more on the booming alliance between Keith and madmen, below.
Jack McCoy Tribute by Kai Neville
A film festival like this can’t skip a nod to Jack McCoy — the guy who paved the way so everyone else could stumble along behind him. They poured one out for him three nights running, with the crowd dutifully singing “Aloha, mate,” at the behest of Taylor Steele and Vaughan Blakey.
Kai Neville crafted a short tribute, threading archival footage of Jack’s projects with behind-the-scenes glimpses of the man himself, camera in hand. Somehow, it managed to be both deeply moving and appropriately low-key. No forced sentimentality, but the feeling seeped out anyway.
“He was the master of showing how surfing made you feel,” said Taylor Steele.
Class act.
Aloha, mate
‘DUNNO’ – Rip Curl grom film by Vaughan Blakey
Not much to say here, really, other than this film was fucking terrifying. Mostly for anyone currently clinging to a contract or a ranking, pretending things are fine. It felt a bit like modern life — vaguely functional on the surface, but with a creeping sense that something unspeakable is about to kick the door in. War, climate collapse, AI, whatever you like.
Point is: something is coming. And the current class should be very afraid.
Doped Youth by Vaughan Blakey + Ozzy Wright
Fucking good. Most of the cast showed up, minus Slater and Davo. Luke Stedmann arrived dressed like a green Versace highlighter, confirming his role wasn’t acted, just caught on film.
The surfing held up. As did the skits.
Post-screening, Vaughan got asked how it all felt, twenty years after directing it. “Just makes me appreciate the life I’ve lived. Pretty special. These guys are still my best mates.”
Earnest, unexpectedly moving, and no, there were no tears, you sentimental coward. Let’s never speak of this again.
Let Me Live, Starring Tom Lowe by Keith Malloy
“Things that get me excited are offbeat surfers from strange places,” said director, Keith Malloy.
“Tom Lowe is an Englishman who has become one of the hardest chargers in the world,” Keith told Stab recently. “He’s just a scrappy, under-the-radar guy. And I love those guys. But Tom Lowe in particular is such an interesting case study because he comes from Cornwall, where there are no big waves. There’s no pro surfing there. But he, kind of like Shane [Ackerman], is just a madman with his eye on the prize. He made his way to Ireland and found big waves, and now he is in that realm of hard-charging guys.”
Also featured in the film: Tom’s garage-dwelling, unnervingly charismatic dad — possibly the UK’s answer to Kelly Richards. Raised in a Cornish caravan, and rarely seen without a cigarette welded to his lip.
Friction Of Perception: A Liam O’Brien Film by Darcy Ward
A highlight, among many, comes via candid interviews with Burleigh Heads’ Bowlo barflies. Gentle, weathered, strangely magnetic, they help piece together the story of tour-cut, afro-frizzed, Burleigh-born Liam O’Brien.
What emerges is a portrait far more layered than the usual broadcast line: “Smart guy. Nice guy.”
“Which is true,” says filmmaker Darcy Ward. “But there’s so much more depth. He’s headstrong, sometimes brash, super creative. Music, literature, film—he’s into all of it. At one point, we sat for 40 minutes just talking about books.”
“He’s got this pure froth for surfing that’s unmatched,” Darcy adds. “A lot of guys at his level start getting jaded, or too cool for it. But he’s still just completely in love.”
So much so that his Vissla teammate, Matt McGillivray, borderline hates surfing with him. “I can never stay out as long as him.”
His end section at Teahupo’o had the crowd roaring at peak decibels — expect it to land soon on Stab Premium.
The Quiksilver Team At The Mondrian Hotel
A man stands on the sixteenth-floor balcony of a beachfront resort. He scans the horizon, eyes cloaked by a pair of aggressively fast sunglasses, 90s core, tribal print, tramp stamp energy.
His hair, longer at the back than anywhere else on his head, flaps in the salt wind as he surveys the kingdom of Burleigh Heads.
Below him, he spots his child terrorising the pool area, which doubles as a nightclub after dark, and a hotspot of influencers by day. Staff, who likely envisioned serving mojitos to Drake, watch on in defeat.
Oddly enough, it’s not far off the scene we left Mikey Wright in, on the final morning of Stab High Japan.
Zoom out further, and with an X-Ray view of the hotel, you’d find Lungi Slabb and Hughie Vaughan holed up in separate suites. Maybe a guest apiece. Maybe a bottle of Champagne on ice, maybe room service en route, definitely swaddled in complimentary cheesecloth robes and muslin-threaded slippers.
No losers here. The Solento Film Festival is a wrap.
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