For 25 years, I received texts from my best friend, Gary, that consisted of no intro, no signoff, just a quote from Point Break. “You’re a real blue-flame special, aren’t you, son?” was one. “The air got dirty and the sex got clean” was another. Once, as I opened a takeaway pizza, I received, with perfect timing: “I’m so hungry I could eat the ass-end out of a dead rhino.” Sometimes I would reply immediately or sometimes let a week slip by before firing off: “Lawyers don’t surf” or “Death on a stick out there, mate.”
You might say that Kathryn Bigelow’s 1991 action movie helped define who we were, or at least our friendship. Eighteen when it came out, we watched Point Break on spin-cycle at Gary’s house, thrilling to the tale of FBI rookie Johnny Utah (Keanu Reeves) going undercover as a surfer to flush out the identity of the Ex-Presidents, four guys who don the masks of Ronald Reagan, Jimmy Carter, Richard Nixon and Lyndon B Johnson to hit 27 banks in three years. Utah, a Rose Bowl quarterback before he blew out his knee, and sardonic, burnt-out veteran Pappas (Gary Busey) trace the chemicals in a strand of a suspect’s hair to Latigo Beach, Malibu. “Surfers are territorial, they stick to certain breaks,” Pappas tells Utah, and the bodacious dude from Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure – who’s now, like, totally pumped – cosies up to surfer gal Tyler (Lori Petty) to infiltrate this tight-knit subculture.
