Originally published 6/14/2005
Lords of Dogtown
Director: Catherine Hardwicke
Writer: Stacy Peralta
Producer: John Linson
Stars: John Robinson, Emile Hirsch, Victor Rasuk, Nikki Reed, Rebecca DeMornay, Heath Ledger, Michael Angarano
“What profits, man? This is a surf shop!” This is the confused response of Skip (Heath Ledger), owner/operator of Zephyr Surfboards, to the suggestion that he start cutting in his award-winning skateboard team on some of the profits they have generated since becoming a national sensation. When he sells skateboards at their competitions he stuffs the cash in his shirt pocket – we get the impression that he will then pull that cash back out to pay for beer or rent, whichever comes first, and this is as complicated as he allows his finances to get. And this is why, we sense, that this pure, partying passionate moment has a time limit on it.
As previously chronicled in the documentary Dogtown and Z-Boys (co-written and directed by ex Z-Boy Stacy Peralta, who writes the screenplay for this version as well), in the mid-70’s in the slums of Venice, California, a group of young thrill-seekers started devoting more time to the burgeoning trend of skateboarding. Although the weathered and experienced surfers Skip runs with think of skateboards as kids’ stuff, two unrelated events conspire to explode its popularity. First, new urethane wheels allow harder turns – “they grip!”, everyone enthuses to each other. Second, a drought has locals emptying their swimming pools to conserve water. Skaters, tired of having to fight off the older crowd for waves on the ocean, start practicing death-defying stunts in the rounded concrete of any pool basin whose owner isn’t paying attention.
The movie focuses on the disparate personalities of the three most talented in the bunch. Peralta (John Robinson), with feminine features and a reserved personality, seems uncomfortable in groups and lacking the hedonistic drive of the others (“What kind of surfer wears a watch?” asks Skip, and from his mouth it sounds like a devastating indictment). Despite this he demonstrates a burning desire to be accepted, and works hard to earn the group’s confidence.
Tony Alva (Victor Rasuk), skates and surfs mostly to defy his temperamental father (Julio Oscar Mechoso), Father continuously warns against his boy ending up “a ditch-digger”. When Tony’s appetite for fame, fortune and women is whetted, we see how that fear has taken root without him even realizing.
Jay Adams (Emile Hirsch) is the most combustible, and most essential, ingredient in this mixture. His anger and testosterone are the purest, and the most insurmountable. Though he shows the most careless daring and innovation, while the others leave the confines of Dogtown to become worldwide ambassadors for their sport, what’s inside him will lead down a sadder, lonelier path.
This project passed through a couple of directors’ hands, including Limp Bizkit frontman Fred Durst and the great David Fincher. It has ended up with Catherine Hardwicke, the former production designer who made an effective directing debut with 2003’s Thirteen. Her co-writer and star from that picture, Nikki Reed, does subtly impressive work here as Tony’s younger sister Kathy – showing the sort of authentic hormonal curiosity and changeable affections of her age rarely depicted accurately on-screen. And Hardwicke demonstrates the same strengths and weaknesses she had in her first picture – giving care and attention to performances and physical detail so that the world she creates brings across the story with authority, but lacking confidence when it comes to emotional momentum and gliding blindly past certain tin-eared passages of exposition. What’s good in the movie is good enough to make the not-as-good sting all the more.
The actors look the part across the board – Emile Hirsch’s transformation is particularly startling given the well-scrubbed types he usually portrays. His Jay manages to wordlessly seduce Kathy with an act that, had it appeared on a nature channel, would be instantly recognizable as a most energetic mating dance. Rebecca De Mornay (with one underachieving single parent already on her resume from Thirteen) plays his mother, who has bad days, and not-as-bad-days where she looks like she would try to bed his friends, if she had the energy and focus.
The movie’s greatest buzz comes whenever Skip appears, though. Ledger doesn’t coast on Australian hunkiness; here, he’s like a merry blurring of The Big Lebowski’s The Dude and the more incoherent years of Jim Morrison’s life. It’s one of those performances so complete and natural you don’t even notice how good it is.
Hardwicke successfully captures the impact the Z-Boys’ style had – at their first competition the other teams are doing jokey, bouncy routines, then Jay hits the pavement and blares Iron Man – the crowd doesn’t just look confused, they look frightened. But the girls are impressed in ways they like, even if they do not completely understand these feelings yet.
She also captures the tribal structures that form, and how much importance is placed on alpha status. The Z-Boys have a rich friend named Sid (Michael Angarano) who they constantly tease about the balance problems he has from his “inner ear thing”. But even as the jester of the posse he gets very friendly attention at a party, and as the girl (America Ferrera) practically shoves him onto a couch he pleads with her – “tell me I’m a good skater!”
It’s those bonds and relationships that last even as groupies, sponsors, manufacturers and general gadflies clog up the scene, and by placing faith in the personalities of our main characters to carry the story Hardwicke and Peralta make this more than just a stunt reel with a soundtrack. The skating action is impressive and seamless, it never looks like fakery or stunt double work even though the credits reveal that some of the tricks are performed by the real-life grown-up Z-Boys.
There is a lot to admire in The Lords of Dogtown – but like its subjects it doesn’t put together a smooth and coherent routine. There are exciting flashes, disappointing screw-ups, moments where you catch the glint of genius, but never the momentum to feel like the whole has taken you somewhere. It spins around the pool for awhile, and then, feeling enough has been done, stops.