In Beach Party and Gidget—both milestones for this stuff, as Hawaiian surf culture mainstreams on the Western shores of America, via San Francisco and Long Beach's ports—
in these films the sea is an emblem of nature's rhythms. something deeper than the social, that which lies outside the walled gardens
(this is also what the sea is to Melville, in Moby-Dick: it cannot be tamed or domesticated, because unlike land, it admits no "marks"—you cannot inscribe in it, cannot etch and write and carve and build atop waves)
And the big symbol for this in Gidget is the conch shell: you put your hear to it, and you can hear the waves of the sea. Hypnotic, mysterious, alluring whispers. And this whisper is what draws Gidget in, draws in the Kahuna and Moondoggy and all the gang. An almost sexual rhythm.
A reconnection with the ocean which is at once, paradoxically, a site of danger and also associated with the salty womb—the womb is the "sea inside us"; we come from the sea, and we return to the sea when we die. Sexuality is both suicide and death—the death of innocence, the obliteration of the individual via attachment and coupledom—and also survival, reproduction, immortality. It is all bound up, the wetness of the water, the salt of sweat.