“A good movie can take you out of your dull funk […]; make you feel alive again, in contact, not just lost in another city. […] The romance of movies is not just in those stories and those people on the screen, but in the adolescent dream of meeting others who feel as you do about what you’ve seen.” -Pauline Kael (1919-2001).
London is probably among the last places on the planet where you might expect to find anything surf related. For one, it’s landlocked. There are no waves. Look out the window and there is nothing but concrete and buildings. The odd freak tidal surge might generate a muddy roller on the Thames. Or you might see a small wave dribbling off the back of one of the cruisers that tour up and down the river by London Bridge. But by and large, it’s a surfless city.
Surfers in London might therefore seem somewhat out of place, like fish out of water. An unfamiliar urban land complete with all the peculiarities: glass buildings that stretch to touch the sky, underground travel, power brokers adorned in striped suits, and passive types who talk about the weather as a means of polite conversation, rather than in reference to swell or wind direction and what that might mean for the waves. London is indeed a far cry from the sea. Or at least that’s the case for 51 weeks a year.
But for one weekend in November, that all changes. A small theater in west London is transformed as the surf community gravitates from all corners of the UK, Europe and even the world to this most unlikely of destinations to share in the revelry of riding waves. The reason for this misplaced jamboree? The London Surf Film Festival.
Suddenly London lights up as a world-class surf destination. Images of heaving barrels from Bali, peeling point breaks from California, and tempestuous frothy slabs from around the UK and Ireland transform the city into some sort of fantastical surf riddled beach town of the imagination. Creativity, passion for the outdoors, and zeal for life are abound as surfers, filmmakers and artists exhibit the fruits of their often under-the-radar labors, while punters sit back and soak up the stoke.
The crowd is made up of everyone from surf committed societal fringe dwellers, to weekend warriors and part-timers, to the completely uninitiated drawn by the simple prospect of a fun weekend spent doing something out of the ordinary. Basque surf adventurer Kepa Acero was there, as was established UK filmmaker Chris McClean. The films too were wide-ranging. From Taylor Steele style blockbusters like This Time Tomorrow (Winner Best Film) to independent, breathtaking standout feature projects like Mark Water’s The Salt Trail (Winner Best British Film) and shorties like Sea Fever (Winner Shorties Short Film Festival) by Tim Davies and Teazd (Winner Shorties Emerging Talent) by Ornella Hawthorn Gardez. Special mention must also go to The Fortune Wild, winner of the Yeeeew Factor Award!
London’s temporary transformation doesn’t end there. The Approaching Lines Room (an Aladdin’s cave of surfing) brims with quirky pictures, paintings and photography showcasing the talents of various UK-based artists and craftspeople. The experience is completed by the presence of a live surfboard shaping bay and displays of beautifully handcrafted wooden boards by Cornish craftsman James Otter. The closing night was wrapped up with a live performance by Scottish singer/songwriter Colin Macleod, who flew in from Norway to give a rendition of his song California, which featured during the festival.
At the time, the waves happened to be pumping across Europe. We’ve all seen the footage of All Hallows at Mullaghmore in Ireland. Kepa Acero even remarked that he was missing quite possibly the best day of the year at Mundaka. But coaxing a surfer away from the surf is testament to how special this weekend is. A once-a-year event that energizes the surfing soul, inspires your next (ten) surf trip(s), and allows the city dwelling surfers among us to stock up on stoke for the long, dark and waveless urban winter months.
There is no surf in London, and unless rising sea levels have their way, that is likely to remain the case for the foreseeable future. For most of the year we live by the city’s urban rules, intermittently venturing to far away shores for short periods of wave-fueled respite. But thanks to festival directors Chris Nelson and Demi Taylor, London, if only for a weekend, feels a little closer to the sea. And us surfers that live there feel a little less out of place; fish out of water perhaps, but revitalized by a drop of seawater in our London puddle.
