The Outrun review – sensationally directed and performed

In a passage from her acclaimed memoir, The Outrun, author Amy Liptrot describes the freeing feeling of downing a “mouthful of oblivion.” She is speaking of the giddy temptation to throw in the towel on her road to sobriety. She spent much of her twenties living in London, boozing her days away and engaging in ruinous behaviour. To alleviate the spiralling loneliness, she returned to the place where she grew up, Scotland’s Orkney Islands, to grapple not only with her alcoholism but to reconnect with her religious mother and father who has Bipolar Disorder.

Director Nora Fingscheidt adapted the novel with Liptrot who has made certain changes so the central character Rona (Saoirse Ronan) is slightly distanced from the personal account in the book. Fingscheidt has proven directorial flair when it comes to placing the viewer into the mindset of her characters as seen in her astounding film about a young girl in care System Crasher. From the very start of The Outrun, as the blue-haired Rona wobbles around a bar at last orders desperately clinging to the connection she craves, the director crafts a grippingly visceral experience that leads the audience through the headspace of a woman’s attempts to bring order back into her life.

The film switches between the good and bad times, like a dizzying playlist shuffling through memories of nostalgia, youthful abandon, annihilation and acceptance. Fingscheidt uses noise and nature as a way to enhance the emotions Rona is facing. Hazy drunkenness and emotional confrontations are accompanied with blasts of music (provided by John Gürtler and Jan Miserre) and natural sounds. Waves crashing against the shores of Papa Westray, where Rona takes up a job with the RSPB, may tread too close to the metaphor of weathering the storm, but it works well to evoke the harsh environment.

What translates well from the novel is the specificity of the setting. All the details about birds, nature and Celtic mythology of the islands are either narrated by a spellbinding Ronan or portrayed creatively through animation. Fingscheidt also balances the cliché associated with films about addiction with humour and magnificent detail. The way in which she portrays the AA community of the Orkney Islands, all older men sporting chunky knits nestled beside a tiny young woman, stands out in its depiction of intimacy and vulnerability. As does another scene in which Rona desperately tries to form a connection with a random young man she passes on the street.

Refuge comes in the form of Rona finally becoming comfortable in her own skin, and Fingscheidt examines this with piercing visual and sonic command, as Rona eventually conducts her surroundings like an accomplished composer.

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