On paper, the ending of The Outrun (2024) should’ve annoyed me. In very simple terms, it was the celebratory reinvention of protagonist Rona (Saoirse Ronan) following an ongoing struggle with alcohol addiction. The cut to black as The The’s “This Is The Day” plays should’ve felt like a rote, tired gag that has been repurposed for lesser marketing wanting to make you feel like their product will change your life. Despite loving the song, certain contexts tend to ring hollow en masse. In fact, I wouldn’t be above suggesting that a story with as predictable of a trajectory as The Outrun should’ve felt a bit more strained.
And yet, I got to the closing credits and felt the need to hear it play all the way through. As every name rolled past, I needed those extra minutes to ruminate on the experience that I just had. It’s true that, in the right hands, addiction stories have the power to inspire us to get through our darkest moments. I’d happily add director Nora Fingscheidt to the list of filmmakers who have personally impressed me with how they navigate between something recognizable and the more personal elements that made the story worth telling in the first place.
The Outrun isn’t simply about showing up to the meetings and watching Rona work her way through the shakes. While these elements are present, the screenplay is more interested in humanizing Rona as a larger person. There is an effort to see the world as something greater than her own miseries, wishing to push past what she saw holding her back. This is a film less interested in the tragedies of the past defining who someone is so much as pointing to the post-script.
Rona’s most interesting sequences are the ones that could be written off as being too earnest. Having returned to her coastal hometown in Scotland, she spends her days wandering the shores while looking out at the crashing waves. While her exterior reflects a peacefulness, Rona’s headphones reflect the reality of someone trying to redefine their own happiness. Somewhere amid the serenity is the erratic dance music that calms her nerves. Every time she looks beyond the horizon, there is a sense of gazing into the potential yet unseen. In its simple poetic nature, Fingscheidt has managed to depict the act of self-reflection, of pushing into a mind that’s almost seeing the world for the first time.
I knew that there was something special about The Outrun from the opening exchange. Rona has several monologues scattered throughout in which she applies her personal fascinations to a sense of nature triumphing over circumstances. The first is the perplexing mythology of selkies: a creature that can transform between humans and seals. There is a sense of being of two worlds that suggests how Rona feels even as she gets further into sobriety. The efforts to become one with the environment feels more important than ever, and she does so by studying the landscape with endless fascination.
Credit must also be given to Saoirse Ronan, who hasn’t been this exceptional since Little Women (2019). Through her muted tenderness, she observes her environment with a sense of purpose. There’s the difficult relationship with her father. There’s the desire to push past drinking as her sole form of escapism. Even as she reflects on late night partying and carefree relationships, she finds herself looking for greater purpose. There’s regret, sure, but Ronan brings a somberness to everything that underlines her slow shift towards acceptance and, eventually, the laughter that ends the film.
Even as the story explores Rona’s rock bottom, Ronan has an endearing quality that keeps her from ever being totally at arm’s length from the audience. As she describes the nature of hiding alcohol around the house, she has a sincerity that comes across less as condemning and more understanding. It doesn’t condone the actions, and yet it does plenty to understand that addiction is best assessed through an empathetic lens. There is a need to appreciate the humanity behind the user and recognize that the conflicts are often more nuanced than art would have us believe.
Most importantly, addiction is a battle with oneself that has to continually be worked on. Even with rehab facilities and well-meaning friends making the fight easier, there is a need to push through every day until the temptation has become a minor blip of thought. The Outrun acknowledges that the craving may never fully go away, but there are more productive uses for that time until the sensation passes. One could wallow in past regrets, or try and move forward with a new set of aspirations.
That is what makes Rona’s story so thrilling. Even following a past that has left her with a black eye, she’s able to confront the life she wanted to live. Following a failed college career, she turns her life to environmental sciences and, in the process, finds the anecdotes that makes her notice the healing properties of nature. There is this push to be part of something greater in the world and make change. While it can come across as naïve, it is beautiful to watch Rona find that spark post-rehab and develop something significant. It may not lead to immediate change but, like her recovery, it’s best to take time to do it right.
Despite living elsewhere for half of the story, her return to Scotland has encouraged her to confront people she knew and rekindle lost friendships. She does what she can to feel less isolated in the larger world. Another master stroke of The Outrun is how it reflects the physiological ways that excessive consumption can alter one’s sense of self. Along with any blackout nights or mental changes, there are ways that it alters the nervous system and make anxiety more prominent. In one such scene, Rona attempts to leave via boat before realizing that the pressure has become too much. Despite all the good, there are small ways that she’ll never be able to recapture what she used to have.
As someone who can’t be classified as an alcoholic, it’s difficult to understand how accurate The Outrun winds up being. At most, I can notice the humanity by which Fingscheidt bestows her characters and makes you understand their journey. It’s not one of a dull forward trajectory. In fact, it’s filled with this frenetic sense of the past catching up with Rona and causing her to constantly comprehend details about herself. Even as she can put it into clinical language, there is an emotional layer that is striving to break through. It is best seen in the spirituality of the mythological allegories. Not only does it connect to a larger history, but it works in its own ambiguous manner as a way to move forward. Like humanity, nature can only be understood to a point. Every alcoholic is unique.
I think another reason that Rona resonates is because she’s more than her disease. Even in excellent works like The Lost Weekend (1945) and Oslo August 31 (2012), there is some sense of despair. The addict will relapse and be rejected by society. No matter how much they change, they will be defined by what came before. In the case of Oslo, it leads the protagonist to relapse, recognizing how they feel removed from society. The ending is tragic, suggesting that addicts succumb to their vices eventually. While it’s not an irrational concept, the overwhelming push to paint these figures as lesser has long been the central narrative in a way that’s as harmful as it is cautionary. That is why films like Smashed (2012) resonate with me because for as much as we see characters at their worst, they allow for a sense of hope to emerge.
The Outrun may not be the most hard-hitting take on recovery that has ever been made. It doesn’t wish to put the audience through an excruciating amount of turmoil. Deep down, it’s powerful because of how candid it is about the mindset of an addict, allowing the terminology to exist in a rational manner without crumbling into a hacky feel good story. Because of the screenplay, Rona’s journey feels lived in. Every advancement feels like small growth that opens up this person more and more. She’s capable of living a normal life again, and I think that is an important message to share. For as much as despair can keep beginners from worsening, stories like The Outrun are necessary for those who need that encouragement to make the first step toward change, to not believe they’re totally hopeless.
More than anything, this is just a phenomenal Ronan performance that ranks among her very best. As she’s struggled to take on more adult roles, this one is a perfect stretch that allows her to mix pathos with vulnerability and warmth. Like her character, she spends a lot of the story mentally unbalanced, lacking total focus while the world moves on around her. And yet it’s in watching her learn how to navigate that world that the viewer comes to feel protective of her, wanting to see this story evolve into the happy ending. I’m fine with the cliché ending not because it’s out of place or lazy but because it’s the moment you know that everything will be all right. For all of the struggles, both real and speculative, she has found a way to move on.
I’ll end by saying that I don’t know if The Outrun will become my favorite film about addiction and recovery. Again, I’m mostly viewing it from a storytelling lens and how well the emotions played. However, there is a malleable nature to the text that makes it at times interactive, encouraging the audience to contemplate their own struggles and see the world as something grander with more potential than they had going in. Most of all, it feels honest in ways that I don’t think more conscientious filmmakers would’ve done. Sometimes your life changes less because of what you did than because of how your worldview changes on a minuscule level. Once that seed is planted, a whole new ecosystem can grow inside your head and make the future better.
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