Girls Can’t Surf

If you closed your eyes and threw a dart at a list of female professional surfers, it’d be almost impossible not to hit a name with a story that will blow your mind, put courage in your heart, and rip a boot up your backside. 

It might be Bethany Hamilton, who lost her arm in a shark attack, only to continue getting supremely pitted at Cloudbreak, Pipeline, Padang, and elsewhere. It might be Steph Gilmore, who overcame a violent attack by a schizophrenic man wielding a metal bar (cutting her head and breaking her arm) to win another three world titles. It might be Keala Kennelly, who suffered one of the worst facial lacerations in surfing history, only to come back and send it in the most ludicrous fashion at maxing Jaws and massive Chopes. From the first-ever female world champ, Phyllis O’Donnell, through to today’s two-time champ, Tyler Wright, overcoming adversity, standing up to bullshit, and succeeding against all odds are defining features of women’s surf culture. Not because these characteristics present more commonly in women, but because society, the surf industry, and capitalism demand it of them.  

The film has been shown in a few key theatres of late, and will premiere in theatres across Australia on March 11. It should be globally available for viewing in the coming months. 

Chris Nelius’ documentary, Girls Can’t Surf, charts the beginnings of women’s professional surfing as we know it today, through the lens of several of its most iconic, trailblazing athletes. It is a masterpiece. The film could have hitched itself to the disorientating, woke identity politics fad, but it keeps well clear. Instead, it tells human stories of courageous, complex people, who defied gender roles not for the sake of making a political point, signalling a virtue, or sticking it to the patriarchy — but because they fucken ripped and simply wanted to be acknowledged for it. 

“I wanted to rebel against being told you’re really good for a girl. I hated that sentence. I wanted to be renowned for being one of the best surfers in the world,” explains Jodie Cooper, the West Australian charger, North Shore stand out, and owner of a moral backbone that measures up to Muhammad Ali.

Jodie is a blue-collar iconoclast, a working-class hero who felt the sting of inequality more than most of her female tour counterparts. She suffered the sub-par conditions the women were too often sent out to compete in. She suffered the sexist attitudes, customs and costumes (“I got an enema so bad I thought I was gonna die,” Jodie says in the film, reflecting on a wipeout at Sunset in a poorly designed one-piece swimsuit the women were forced to wear). She suffered physical abuse at the hands of men, including a beat down from infamous Hawaiian enforcer, Johnny Boy Gomes, and a drowning from Lennox Head local, Mark ‘Carcass’ Thomspon. Jodie stood alone as the first pro surfer in history to come out as gay. For this, she was shunned and denigrated by everyone, including fellow female tour competitors. 

This is the genius of Girls Can’t Surf. It doesn’t try to tie womankind in one big, romantic, feminist bundle with the same set of beliefs, goals, and starting points in life. Women are not perfect. Women are not equal. They can be every bit as backwards and traitorous as men. Gender does not confer a set of values or character traits. It’s the circumstances of your life that do that. 

Jodie’s story is so much more important than her gender. For all that she suffered at the hands of men, she was never a man-hater, as was suggested frequently during her career. “My father and my brothers mean the world to me. I’d die for them,” she says in the film. 

It’s a certain kind of man that she has beef with. The same kind of man I, or any other reasonable person, would have beef with. The kind of man that punches down in life. The kind that lies and manipulates in service of greed. The kind that doesn’t believe in credit where credit is due. The kind that denies hard work, sacrifice, and talent. The kind that treats women like shit for no reason other than because they’re a woman. The film could have just told Jodie’s story and it would have been a hit. But Jodie is but one pixel in the bigger picture of women’s pro surfing at the time. 

Pauline Menczer grew up in Bondi as one of four children to a single mother after her father was murdered doing his taxi round in Sydney’s eastern suburbs. Plagued by crippling arthritis throughout her youth and career, she spent the days before her 1993 World Title win* getting pushed around supermarket aisles in a trolley because she couldn’t walk. To this day, she battles a rare autoimmune disease. Her story is biblical, apocryphal even. You might not believe it if she weren’t alive, lucid and earning a quid driving school buses around the Northern Rivers of NSW.  

Despite the emotional trauma and severe physical setbacks, Pauline’s surfing, particularly at Sunset, where she won her World Title, still stands up today – stylish, rhythmic and genderless. Watching her draw lines on eight to ten foot waves, you understand why top women surfers don’t like being described as “good for a girl.” Anyone would want to surf like that. 

Growing up at Bondi, Pauline was burned, kicked and abused by men in the surf. She was also protected, pushed, and adored by others. “There would be four or five guys who were always really beautiful and always looked after me. They kept me going, ‘cos there were a lot of reasons why I should have stopped,” she says. 

Girls Can’t Surf celebrates the solidarity between good men and good women in the face of a common foe: nihilistic, greedy, violent reptiles.

“I was a full tomboy and loved being athletic and hanging with the boys. They were kinda like my big brothers and took me under their wing and let me hang out with them and stuff,” says Floridian superstar, Frieda Zamba, in the film. 

Like their male counterparts, the women were also larger-than-life characters, cartoonish even, in their flashy neon get-ups, eighties bouffants, and speed dealer sunnies. Frieda Zamba epitomises this iconic, much-loved eighties surfing archetype more than anyone. Hard-nosed, self-assured and unapologetic, her ripped physique, as captured in still shots of her signature layback jam, demands respect. But it didn’t make her many female friends on tour. Which was fine. She preferred the company of men and her boyfriend-cum-coach was all the support she needed. 

The thread that ties these characters together is their courage and solidarity in the face of a professional surfing establishment that barely wanted to acknowledge their existence. Their demands were reasonable: Good enough waves to showcase their ability and enough money to cover their expenses. They got neither and it’s heart-wrenching to watch. 

Certain traits are universally admired by human beings, regardless of race, class, gender, or sexuality. Seeing these — hard work, bravery, and talent, for example — go unrewarded is an infuriating experience. Seeing people refuse to accept it, band together, and ultimately triumph is undeniably powerful. I challenge anyone to watch this film and not be moved. 

Girls Can’t Surf is an era and culture-defining documentary. It transcends sport and politics, striking at the heart of what it means to be human, showcasing the values we all cherish and highlighting a handful of champions worthy of representing our kind. – Jed Smith
*Pauline earned no money for winning her world title. A Gofundme page has been set up to right this wrong. Pauline has pledged to donate anything over the $25K mark to a man in the Philippines suffering from the same autoimmune disease as her.