John Severson's SURF by John Severson

cover Ricky Grigg at Waimea Bay, Hawai‘i, 1961

EDITED AND DESIGNED BY NATHAN HOWE

GOLDEN AGE Gerry Lopez

INTERVIEW Nathan Howe

THE WALL BEYOND Drew Kampion

front endpapers Corduroy to the Horizon, Sunset Beach, Hawai‘i, 1964

WAHOO!

On First Looking into Sunset Beach, 1957, oil on canvas, 18 x 40 in.

Gremmie Wagon, 1958-59, oil on canvas, 24 x 36 in.

A Froome’s Rooms startup, the painting was a precursor to the “Sunset Special” time-lapse in Surf Fever.

All senses maxed, colossal Banzai shore break, Hawai‘i, 1957 First big surf photo.

Were you painting for an audience?

Severson on track, Hale‘iwa, Hawai‘i, 1960

I had a new audience of surfers who started to pick up my ink and watercolor pieces. They were surfer affordable. I sold a large canvas of Sunset Beach to Bruce Brown for $15. “Wahoo!” I was painting to get the statement down and enjoyed the process of swinging a brush and landing paint. As the summer waned, I moved to the North Shore and rented a couple of rooms in Hale‘iwa with Ed Voss, also a painter. I surfed Hale‘iwa

Surfer, 1958, block print, ed. 50, 9 x 12 in.

First block print edition, carved in Hale‘iwa.

or Sunset Beach, often alone. I continued to film and completed the movie SURF (1957-1958) in the spring.

After a moderate success in Honolulu, Fred Van Dyke offered to show it in California for a split of the profits.

I started getting checks in the mail—$75, $150, $300— and almost overnight, I was shooting my next surf film.

Severson solo cruise, Sunset Beach, 1962

SURF FILMS * The images used to illustrate the films are actual 16 mm stills.

Severson with “combat” Bell and Howell 16mm, 1958

When you purchased your 16mm movie camera in the early fifties, were you planning to produce a surf film?

No, but that was the best trade of my life—­­­my trumpet for the Keystone 16mm. It was new to me, and at the time, just an expensive hobby. Surfing was my passion and naturally it became my subject. My first roll stunned us, and I was immediately captivated by filmmaking.

Right away, I had to get a projector. I’m making cents per hour pumping gas and saving for college, so shooting film was a reckless direction. Then I needed editing equipment so I could put the title at the beginning and the best shot at the end. I began showing my collection in my brother’s garage at two bits a head and a free beer.

A few years later, your involvement in surf films marked a shift toward entertainment. What was the surf movie scene like?

Before 1959, surf films were basically collections of footage accompanied by canned Muzak . . . The first format of the surf movie was a lecture film that lacked drama and humor. Bud Browne was the main surf-movie man, and his photography made his films. Greg Noll made a few Search For Surf movies, which were largely promotional pieces for his surf shop. Bruce Brown was soon to enter with an 8mm film. I thought surf movies were missing the point—in several dimensions. You could use relevant music, pace the sequences better, and make the film more entertaining. So instead of the sound amplified through the mike, I plugged directly into the sound system so the music and live narration became an integral part of the movie. You could make sound effects in the microphone, turn it up, talk low, raise the music and BOOM! With art and faster cutting, the film was alive, and with a light and humorous narration tailored to the audience, it was a stage performance. The audiences doubled the stoke. What an opportunity to get into films!

Severson executes a “Coffin,” San Clemente, 1956

I BEGAN SHOWING MY COLLECTION IN MY BROTHER’S GARAGE AT TWO BITS A HEAD AND A FREE BEER.

SURF, 1957-58, color film in 16mm, sound and live narration, 86 min. poster, offset print, 13 x 8 in.

Pier framework in Surf Safari, Huntington Beach, California, 1958

Phil Edwards steps out with his noted “Drop Knee� turn, Tamarack, California, 1959

Duke Brown in Salvation Army duds, 1959

Who were the filmmakers you were influenced by at the time?

I began looking at films with new eyes, going to Art Theaters, learning the art of cinematography. Leni Riefenstahl’s film Olympia (1938) was a big influence on my cutting. She was accused for making propaganda films for Hitler, which she denied, but her Olympic film was strong and beautiful. She transformed sport into art. Riefenstahl sees gods and goddesses rotating into the sky. With the discus thrower, you can see every bead of sweat as the tension is building and he uncoils his discus into the clouds! She was the first to track athletes with cameras on rails. She cut the high divers backward and forward to achieve images of flight. Stunning black and white—super slow motion . . . she was doing things it took TV networks years to catch up to.

You were consciously watching how sport and films were edited and produced. What were some other influences?

From the silent era, I liked the Keystone Kops’ (1912) slapstick humor with under-cranked images that speed up the action. I was influenced by Hollywood musicals— the “Singing in the Rain” films with people overcoming great obstacles and everybody happily ever after! That’s what I was brought up on.

In 1959, you released Surf Safari, the first 16mm surf film with a coordinated sound track. How did you consider music in relationship to the film?

For the opening of the film, I used Henry Mancini’s “Peter Gunn” (1959), with a driving beat that went on for 3 minutes. I opened with a water box shot of myself walking the nose on a red board, feet glistening against blue green water and foam. I cut to surf clips that kept building until there was a 15-foot Redondo Breakwall wave crushing Sonny Vardeman in sync with the blasting end of “Peter Gunn.” The audience cheered. There were standing ovations! I used classical music—the great thundering crescendos and crashes of Beethoven and Wagner fired up the audience. I would use ethnic and folk music for transitional scenes; Mariachi bands for Mexico and Flamenco for the surf. I backed up driving at the Ranch with a mandolin piece from The Weavers, “Woody’s Rag/900 miles” (1959). A surfboard-packed car rounds a point and, in the background, point after point of peeling waves.

Mickey Muñoz’ variation on the “El Spontanio Moves,” The Quasimodo, 1959