The Point of Point Break

What a surfing bank robber taught me about life

I am not a fan of forced conversation or small talk, especially icebreakers. Sometimes, my yoga teacher will have us introduce ourselves to the people next to us (which is fine) or tell them our favorite color (which is stupid). I don’t really have a favorite color (usually I say blue or purple, like a muted purple, or shades of pink, like a lighter pink, but not salmon and never orange—does anybody like orange?), but I do have a favorite movie: Point Break.

(Just to get this out of the way: I will only be talking about the 1991 original film and not the 2015 remake, which stands at a generous 11% on Rotten Tomatoes. Yes, I saw it, and it was somehow worse than my bottom-of-the-ocean-level expectations.)

I don’t remember the first time I saw Point Break, the same way I don’t remember meeting my older sister. They’ve both just always been a part of my life, and our relationships have evolved over time. 

This is the part where I am supposed to give you a brief recap of the film, but it is too complex to summarize in a one-sentence blurb. 

I could say it’s about an FBI agent, Johnny Utah, played by Keanu Reeves, and a surfer/bank robber, Bodhi, played by Patrick Swayze.

I could say that it’s a comedy—so much so that improv actors started a touring Point Break Live show where they reenact the film and choose a new audience member to play the part of Johnny Utah (I’ve seen the show and it’s amazing).

I could say that it’s an action movie and highlight the fact that Patrick Swayze himself jumped out of an airplane for the big skydiving scene (55 jumps in total).

I could tell you it’s a love story between Johnny Utah and Tyler (Lori Petty). After discovering Tyler’s parents were dead, an undercover Utah, in an effort to connect with her, told her that his parents died, too. The relationship was founded on a lie, but they end up falling in love for real—so much so that Utah literally risks everything (jumping out of an airplane with no parachute) to save Tyler (this is equally one of the best and most unrealistic scenes of the film— it’s also one of the funniest, unintentionally, particularly the part where Johnny Utah screams, “Fuuuuuuck itttttt!” as he leaves the aircraft).

I could tell you it’s a surfing movie. When Utah buys his first surfboard, the kid behind the register assures him, “Surfing’s the source. It’ll change your life—swear to God.” (The actor who played that kid died of a drug overdose in real life at the age of 24. I don’t know why but this seems relevant.) 

But in the words of Red Hot Chili Peppers frontman Anthony Kiedis’s only memorable line from the film (other than screaming in agony after accidentally shooting himself in the foot): “That would be a waste of time.”

Point Break isn’t about the plot or the quotable lines (but you can easily make any Point Break fan laugh by saying, “I am an FBI agent” or, “Utah, get me two!”).

Point Break isn’t a movie. It’s a philosophy.

This philosophy is summed up in a monologue by Bodhi:

“It was never about money…it was about us against the system. That system that kills the human spirit. We stand for something to those dead souls inching along the freeways in their metal coffins. We show them that the human spirit is still alive.”

(Fuck yeah, it is.)

Point Break is a relationship movie.

It’s about how an FBI agent can connect more with a criminal than with his own co-workers. It’s about how a guy who built his life through structure fell in love with the volatility of the waves. It’s about the universe’s ability to show us how truly small we are through a 50-year storm creating epic waves in Bells Beach, Australia. It’s about questioning our preconceptions of who we are supposed to be and the choices we’ve made.

Often, choice is an illusion. We think we know what we want—whether it’s a school, a job or a spouse—but really it was our parents, friends or society calling the shots. We look for guides; we crave being told what to do and how to think. In Point Break, Bodhi is our guide.        

Bodhi is named after the Buddhist idea of the Bodhisattva, one who seeks enlightenment. (Bodhi is also my dog’s name. Like I said, it’s my favorite movie.) Bodhi is truly searching. He’s looking for the “ultimate ride,” but he’s also looking for peace. When describing how he feels when he surfs, Bodhi says, “It’s the place where you lose yourself and you find yourself.” We forget the past. We forget the future. We are in the moment. Whether you’re surfing, skydiving or robbing a bank, you are locked in. Nothing else matters.

I love surfing for that reason (I’m not good—at all—BTW). Bodhi and the kid who sold Utah his first board are right. It’s the best. It’s free. You’re one with nature. Nothing is more powerful or cryptic than the ocean (80% of the ocean is completely unknown to humans).  

Bodhi celebrates the moment mostly through extreme actions. When he goes skydiving, right before the jump, he tells Utah, “Other guys snort for it, jab a vein for it... all you gotta do is jump.” While Bodhi downplays the jump, it is the crux of what makes him the Bodhisattva: choice.

We choose the roles we play. We choose to give things power (banks, the FBI, money). But some things are so powerful (the ocean, gravity, love) that choice doesn’t matter. Bodhi gets this. So does Utah. That is what draws them to each other. 

I forget this all the time. I get caught up in money and status; I get stuck on the hedonic treadmill. I am thinking about the thing I just did or the thing I have to do. I am always waiting for the thing I am doing to end (even surfing).

Along those lines, the film grapples with heavy existential concepts. It is never campy and takes its message seriously from start to finish. This is in large part because of the film’s director, Kathryn Bigelow. Bigelow won an Academy Award for directing The Hurt Locker in 2008 and was nominated in 2010 for Zero Dark Thirty (she was also married to James Cameron for two years and probably deserves some sort of award for that as well).

The film was released in 1991, and however many female directors there are today, there were fewer when Bigelow was hired. She directed testosterone-filled men (there is a character named Warchild, another named Roach and a scary, sociopathic killer named Rosie) and created a masterpiece. At one point, Tyler walks away from a conversation and literally says, “[There’s] too much testosterone around here for me.” But that wasn’t true for the film.

Point Break is soft and nuanced. It’s the opposite of obvious. The bad guys are good, and the good guys kind of like them. The heroes lie, and the villains tell the truth. The women are tough, and Bodhi is spiritual. Utah was head of his class at Quantico but is drawn to an aging partner played by Gary Busey (this is an aside, but Busey is fantastic in the film—no notes). Even Busey shows his range when he reflects on how Los Angeles has changed: “The air got dirty, and the sex got clean” (Magic Johnson contracted HIV the same year the film was released).

One of the less nuanced parts of Point Break is the film’s view of money. Money is somehow equally worthless and important. The ethos is essentially that life is too precious to work a job we hate, but money is important enough to risk going to prison. Even their attire speaks to this theme. Bodhi’s group of bank-robbing surfers wear masks of former presidents (LBJ, Carter, Nixon and Reagan—two Democrats and two Republicans) and call themselves “the ex-presidents” (also the name of my fantasy football team). When Bodhi-as-Reagan addresses the terrified people at the bank they are robbing, he jokes, “We’ve been screwing you for years, so a few more seconds shouldn't matter” and reminds them that “the money's insured so it's not worth dying for!”

Which brings us back to the metal coffins Bodhi referenced. The imagery of our cars as coffins hit me hard and has gained meaning as I’ve gotten older. It is a reminder that our lives are finite and our time is valuable. We spend the majority of our time on this planet working or sleeping. Sleep is a necessity, but this film from 1991 forced me to question my relationship with my career and the importance I place on achievement/extrinsic goals.    

If money is not worth dying for and we spend our lives working jobs we hate to make money, what is it all for? This is when robbing banks to fund an endless summer of surfing starts to sound appealing. It’s not black and white. It forces you to look in the mirror and ask yourself if you’re wasting your life and should be in the water waiting for your set. We don’t like mirrors. We like being told what to do. Utah listened to other people his entire life (same) until Bodhi showed him a mirror. 

Despite the film’s nuance, and the nebulous nature of morality that it tackles, Point Break is clear that some lines cannot be crossed. 

You can rob banks.
You can lie.
You can jump out of a perfectly good airplane.
You can’t kill innocent people. That’s the line.

Bodhi is our guide toward enlightenment until he crosses that line (killing an undercover cop in a robbery gone wrong). It’s the saddest scene in the film. Any hope of Johnny and Bodhi heading off into the sunset together like Brian and Dom from The Fast and the Furious (which, by the way, is completely derivative of Point Break) is lost. Which brings us to another lesson of the film: Every relationship has a beginning, a middle and an end. 

This is the end of their relationship.

Relationships evolve. People change. Life gets in the way. People we put on pedestals disappoint us. Nothing is as it seems. Knowing this doesn’t make it any easier.

Throughout his life, Utah did what he was supposed to do: quarterback at Ohio State, law school graduate, FBI agent. But none of that mattered. He was not fulfilled.

It wasn’t until he stood face-to-face with Bodhi that Utah realized he was wasting his life following the plans that everyone else had for him. Bodhi never had that problem. Bodhi listened to himself. He did what he wanted, and he paid the ultimate price. (Spoiler alert: In the last scene of the film, Utah captures Bodhi but lets him go only to paddle out in a 50-year storm to his certain death.)

Bodhi’s commitment to the human spirit is what draws me to him. It’s also what breaks my heart when he crosses the line—nobody can fly that close to the sun forever. Many people we admire fall from grace—our parents, our childhood heroes, ourselves. Bodhi helped me examine my life. I still suck at surfing.  

In one scene, during a nighttime surf session, Utah complains about not being able to see. Bodhi brings him back to the moment: “Just feel what the wave is doing. Then accept its energy, get in sync, then charge with it.”

Bodhi isn’t talking about surfing, and he’s not just talking to Utah. He’s talking about life, and he’s talking to us. Life is random. Our job is to feel what the universe is telling us. To accept things instead of trying to control them. Once we do that, we can move forward.

“If you want the ultimate, you've got to be willing to pay the ultimate price. It's not tragic to die doing what you love.”

You’re right, Bodhi. It’s not. Vaya con dios.