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Oct 14, 2024 By Jeremy Arblaster Web Exclusive

The traditional folk tale of Assipattle and the Stoorworm describes how a giant sea serpent (the Stoorworm) is felled by a king’s son (Assipattle), who, after being swallowed by the creature, sets its liver on fire. The dying creature expels the boat and the water with it, but as it tries to grab the moon with its forked tongue, it slips and falls, its teeth smashing out of its mouth to form the Orkney Islands. It’s a fantastic yet violent imagining of the Orkneys’ origins, but for recovering addict Rona (Saoirse Ronan), the mythology of the remote islands is one that’s inextricably tied to her own experiences. Her home is merely a place to escape from, where the suffocating stress of her devout mother and bipolar father is matched only by the savage weather and ominous folk tales of giant monsters or mermaids trapped in human bodies.

But returning aged 29 after a drunken episode – one that’s gradually revealed, through a series of flashbacks, to be the culmination of years of alcohol and substance abuse – Rona finds her home almost as hostile as when she left. Her mother just as devout. Her father still troubled. Rona’s path to sobriety and happiness just as choppy as the waters around her. Though these narrative beats may sound familiar, director Nora Fingscheidt injects the film with just enough juice to keep it above water. Pitched somewhere between her intense 2019 debut feature System Crasher and the dreary, forgettable Netflix title The Unforgiveable, The Outrun stands on solid ground, based as it is on the acclaimed 2016 memoir of the same name by Amy Liptrot. Yet that doesn’t prevent Fingscheidt from utilizing some effective visual and aural flourishes, wrapping up Liptrot’s poetic but digestible story with a documentarian’s flourish. But the well from which the director draws the most is the talent of her star, Saoirse Ronan, who continues to prove her status as one of the world’s best working actors. The Academy Award-nominee is perfect as the troubled Rona, whose life has failed to settle after the typical excesses of higher education. And the accuracy of her drunk acting can’t be understated. But Ronan is surefooted on dry land too, imbuing Rona’s sobriety with the necessary mix of frustration, despair, hope, and promise.

It’s a shame there isn’t more of ex-boyfriend Daynin, played by the wonderful Paapa Essiedu, who seems capable of sparring with Ronan’s toxic Rona. The dynamic between the two lovers is treated with admirable maturity. There’s just enough of Rona’s former London life to prevent the largely Orkney-set story from becoming too stale, and the flashbacks help to justify the film’s surprisingly lively soundtrack, where Rona’s love of dance music continues despite her new/old surroundings. A love seemingly borne out of an itching desire for movement of any kind. It’s also a reminder that her journey isn’t one of becoming someone new, but of making the necessary repair works to the soul. Whether it’s the survival rate of the Islands’ native corncrake birds — who Rona begins to study as part of her new job with the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds (RSPB) — or the success rate of her fellow rehabbers, there are ominous signs that more than fail than succeed. Nature may heal wounds, but even on the Orkney Islands, the relapse triggers are never far enough away.

The Outrun sings best though when it incorporates the poeticism of Liptrot’s memoir. Narrated by Ronan’s assured tone, the writer’s words on nature and recovery echo through the film like mystic music, breathing life and lyricism into this personal drama. It’s a beautiful blend of image and prose that’s anchored by Ronan’s remarkable performance.

Author rating: 7/10