When I was in elementary school in the mid-’80s, my first glimpse of what would become a lifelong love happened when I saw some older kids launching off a loading dock behind my school. That’s all it took. Later that year, I somehow spied a few pages of Thrasher Magazine and was completely mesmerized by the bad-ass clothes and shoes.
In middle school, while at a comic book shop, I saw a gang of skaters doing handplants and no-complies in a parking lot across the street. I wanted to be them so badly I could feel it in what would become my fucked-up knees, ankles, and elbows.
In fifth grade, I saw a late-night TV commercial for Psycho Skate, a video compilation featuring “the likes of Gator, Hawk, Hosoi, Mullen, and the Gonz.” By seventh grade I had my first board (a shitty freestyle model from K•B Toys in the mall), and by the end of eighth I was riding the already-out-of-date Sims I would eventually learn to ollie on.
The spring of 1993 would see me kickflipping my first pro model: an 8×32 Rick Howard Plan B deck with Venture trucks and tiny-ass Spitfire wheels. By this point, I feared no jock, cop, or gap. I was invincible, and even though my body now tells me otherwise, every time I step on a skateboard, I still believe I am. It’s this feeling, more than anything, that Until the Wheels Fall Off reinforces in me – and there’s no feeling like it.
For the uninitiated, Until the Wheels Fall Off will likely play a lot different than it does for those of us who have a connection with its subject matter. For us, this is much more than a documentary – it’s an affirmation that, no matter how many rolled ankles, concussions, torn ligaments, and broken bones we suffer, skateboarding isn’t just a hobby or a sport. It’s a living thing that changes the way we see the world, and certainly changes the way we interact with it.
Using the life of Tony Hawk as a framework, Until the Wheels Fall Off offers a comprehensive look at the history of skateboarding and its influence on sports and popular culture. Hawk’s career proves the perfect benchmark by which to gauge skateboarding’s history, as he was there at the very beginning of what would become modern skating, through the dark times of the late-’80s and early-’90s (when I started), and on through its explosion in popularity and eventual acceptance by mainstream culture in the early-2000s.
Picking up where Dogtown and Z-Boys (2001) leaves off, and filling in some of the gaps left by Bones Brigade: An Autobiography (2012), Until the Wheels Fall Off is an impressively produced documentary that effortlessly stands on its own two feet before even mentioning the fantastic archival footage, photos, and punk rock soundtrack. However, there’s much more to it than just a history lesson.
Until the Wheels Fall Off is as much about the philosophy of skateboarding – the “why” of it – as it is a remembrance of days past. Hearing legends like Rodney Mullen, Christian Hosoi, Steve Caballero, Stacy Peralta, Duane Peters, and especially Lance Mountain emotionally describe what skateboarding means to them, and why they can never stop, regardless of their age and broken bodies (they’re all pushing sixty), is unbelievably inspiring.
It might seem counterintuitive or even foolish that debilitating injuries and risky behavior would inspire a 45-year-old, out-of-shape and perpetually sore film critic, but here we are. I firmly believe that there is no activity in the world that can offer the same sense of fulfillment and accomplishment as skateboarding can – and I’ll gladly die on that hill. There is no feeling on earth that compares to the one you get after smoothly riding away a trick you’ve been working on for days, weeks, months, or even years. This is something everyone involved with Until the Wheels Fall Off knows, and it’s exactly this knowledge that makes it such an authentic, heartfelt, and exciting ride.
James is a writer, record collector, wrestling nerd, and tabletop gamer living with his family in Asheville, North Carolina. He is a member of the Southeastern Film Critics Association, the North Carolina Film Critics Association, and contributes to The Daily Orca, Razorcake Magazine, Mountain Xpress, and Asheville Movies.