Directed by: Nora Fingscheidt
Written by: Nora Fingscheidt and Amy Liptrot, based on Liptrot’s memoir
Starring: Saoirse Ronan, Stephen Dillane, Saskia Reeves, and Paapa Essiedu
Runtime: 119 minutes
‘The Outrun’ doesn’t sit still in its bohemian cinematic approach to address alcoholism and (a possible) recovery
“Recovery is an acceptance that your life is in shambles, and you have to change it.” – Jamie Lee Curtis
Rona (Saoirse Ronan), a 20-something college student, studies a discipline in biology. She lives in London, and, like many young university scholars, Rona also revels in the festive nightlife that The Big Smoke smolders on every day that ends in y.
She drinks in pubs and clubs but, unfortunately, in excess, and her consumption begins to impact other phases of her life, primarily her classwork and relationship with her boyfriend, Daynin (Paapa Essiedu).
Rona is an alcoholic.
Not unlike countless other big-screen stories of alcoholism, Rona engages in irrational, ugly behavior, and specific scenes in director/co-writer Nora Fingscheidt’s “The Outrun” will draw winces and gasps from the audience. However, “The Outrun” doesn’t focus on these dreadful moments for the majority of the 118-minute runtime. Based on Amy Liptrot’s 2016 memoir, the movie is a specific, personal story about recovery. Most roads to success in life do not form a straight line, nor does Rona’s journey to hopeful sobriety.
This critic didn’t read Liptrot’s book, but the film adaptation certainly embraces the idea that Rona’s trek to possible nirvana is a winding road, one littered with peaks and valleys, both figuratively and literally. She may have studied and partied in London, but she’s from the Orkney Islands off Scotland’s northern coast.
This beyond-remote setting sits at the 58th parallel, as far north as the Alaska Peninsula.
Yes, Wi-Fi exists in Rona’s hometown, but the most considerable bustle on the weekend might be the birth of a sheep or two on her father’s farm.
Our struggling heroine moves back home to live in a more orderly environment wrapped in simplicity away from the commotion of the city, but as the old saying goes, “No matter where you go, there you are.”
The audience also learns that growing up in her parents’ home was anything but an effortless space due to one of her folks unsuccessfully coping with mental illness throughout Rona’s life, and this affliction imprinted emotional damage onto Rona.
Turbulence often swirled in Rona’s limited universe as a child. That external churn may or may not have been a partial catalyst for her alcohol consumption during her young adult years. At a minimum, it didn’t help!
Her life is messy, and Fingscheidt and editor Stephan Bechinger construct the film as such. The narrative doesn’t move linearly; instead, it frequently shifts from present-day Scotland to her London days and a few moments from her childhood, many times without warning.
The result is a challenging, bohemian approach to revealing Rona’s story. Sometimes, it’s not entirely clear where we are in the timeline, even though London’s skyline is worlds apart from the Orkney Islands’ isolated savannas and rugged coastal shores. Cinematographer Yunus Roy Imer indeed captures the pastoral region’s beauty, including filming endless prairies and waves crashing at the shore.
Symbolism is everywhere. Whitecaps embody the never-ending desire to drink, and Rona’s solitary existence in wide-open spaces signifies her realization that she must slay her demons on her own. It’s up to her.
Meanwhile, she often blasts modern, electronic music through her earbuds, which contrasts the vastly different countryside, as a coping mechanism or a quiet stance of defiance.
Fingscheidt also includes two scenes with apples that embody the saying, “An apple a day keeps the doctor away.”
It’s a film that sometimes offers prescriptions in the form of small victories against occasional setbacks that lay beside a backdrop of vulnerabilities.
Meanwhile, Ronan, one of the most engaging actresses on the big screen today, isn’t asked to regularly burst with uninhabited emotions and mood swings. Yes, there are moments, but she mainly processes Rona’s story with reflection, regret, and (sometimes unwillingly) reaching out to sobriety. Ronan gives a (mostly) understated performance, in which crucial moments of heartbreak sneak up on us when we least expect it, including one where Fingscheidt fills the screen with Rona’s face in a scene of utter despair.
Because, again, no matter where you go, there you are.
Jeff’s ranking
2.5/4 stars
