‘Maya And The Wave’: Review

Dir: Stephanie Johnes. US. 2022. 95mins

In 2018, Brazilian surfer Maya Gabeira rode a wave in Nazare, Portugal, which, at around 68-feet, was the tallest ever conquered by a woman - a stunning feat that still didn’t make the record books, prompting Guinness World Records to finally introduce a category for female surfers. (She broke her own record in 2020, with a 73.5 foot beast.) Yet, five years earlier, a similar wave nearly killed her. A mix of fly-on-the-wall material with archive footage and interviews, Maya And The Wave is a by-turns exhilarating and infuriating exploration of how, for a woman, talent is often not enough to cut through.  

Johnes captures the sport’s ingrained sexism, even from those who would claim to support Gabeira

Director Stephanie Johnes has a background in sports documentaries; she directed 2007’s Doubletime, about competitive skipping, and served as cinematographer on Maiken Baird and Michelle Major’s 2012 Venus And Serena. (She was also an additional cinematographer on Alex Gibney’s 2010 film My Trip To Al-Qaeda). This experience results in a sure hand on both story and image; Maya And The Wave, which comes to DOC NYC after premiering in Toronto, is as narratively strong as it is visually impressive, and could appeal to a non-fiction distributor or streaming platform, as well as surfing fans, who will be familiar with Maya from previous documentaries and her status as a game-changer in the sport. 

“I was born a dreamer,” says Gabeira over family video footage in which she is shown holding a surfboard almost the same size as her. That dream, of becoming a professional big wave surfer, was strong enough to endure the challenges of her sport. These aren’t just physical but emotional, as she is met with doubt and derision by many male surfers. (Although there are many other female surfers, including fellow Brazilian Andrea Moller, they are greatly outnumbered, and Johnes chooses not to include any other than Gabeira in her documentary.)

In candid talking heads, Johnes captures the sport’s ingrained sexism, even from those who would claim to support Gabeira; her former surfing partner Carlos Burle mentions her “nice tits, nice ass and nice skin” before her talent. Others note their surprise that a woman should even contemplate such giant waves. Back in Nazare in 2013, when she almost died and was set back physically for years due to the injuries she sustained, champion Laird Hamilton opined on TV that it was inevitable as she simply didn’t have the skill.

Gabeira persisted after that near-death experience, undergoing extensive back surgeries and therapy in order to return to training. There are echoes of Lucy Walker’s snowboarding doc The Crash Reel and Chloe Zhao’s bareback riding docufiction The Rider in such unwavering determination. But, what is most compelling about Gabeira’s fightback is that she is not afraid to say she is afraid. The doubt of her fellow athletes knocks her confidence. She vomits out of fear, terrified to go back into the water; something we can understand, thanks to immersive cinematography which captures these monstrous waves. Still, she gets back on the board. 

There’s also, suggests Johnes, something else at play here; Gabeira is the daughter of Fernando Gabeira, one of the founding members of the Green Party Of Brazil, who took part in the 1969 kidnapping of the American ambassador in protest at Brazil’s military dictatorship. (An event depicted in Bruno Barreto’s 1997 Oscar-nominated movie Four Days In September.) While Maya Gabeira certainly isn’t living in the shadow of her father, it’s clear that a rebellious, independent spirit has been baked into her from an early age; one that that swells bigger than any wave or patriarchal obstacles put in her way.