Addiction is very difficult to achieve, and almost impossible to get rid of, a lesson that far too many people have learned the hard way. Whether a substance or some other kind of vice, the ability to shed one’s dependency on something that brings them some sense of physical and psychological comfort and euphoria is not easily accomplished, which is why those who manage to follow a path of sobriety and stay on it are so incredibly admirable. Amy Liptrot writes about this very concept in her memoir The Outrun, which outlines a few years of her life when she was in her early twenties, focusing on the time surrounding her participation in a rehabilitation programme, where she set out to become sober after years of alcohol abuse garnered from wild parties during her university years. The book has now been turned into a film, with Nora Fingscheidt taking the reins and setting out to adapt this fascinating but heartbreaking text, which covers themes and ideas that dive deep into the psychology of someone working laboriously to find herself in the aftermath of the post-addiction trauma that many individuals are confronted with on this daunting journey. Not a film that is always consistent in its vision, and one that actually does tend to veer towards being slightly overwrought on far too many occasions, The Outrun is nonetheless a poignant examination of a journey towards sobriety, handcrafted by a director dedicated to bringing these ideas to life on screen in a way that feels honest to the source material and resonant with those who may find some familiarity in this story, whether its within themselves or relation to someone they know, which seems to be the fundamental premise behind this film and the primary reason for its existence – whether or not it can be considered successful in this endeavour is the subject of interpretation and personal connection with its underlying themes.

As far as subject matter goes, The Outrun is relatively simple and doesn’t feel impelled to expend too much energy on doing more than it promises at the outset. We can admire this dedication to keeping everything straightforward and introducing its themes directly, rather than waiting for the audience to piece together the various thematic fragments that define the narrative. Arguably, this is just a result of the film being an adaptation of a deeply personal work by Liptrot, who speaks frankly about her journey towards sobriety, particularly in the days and months immediately following a rigorous, challenging programme that had a high rate of failure, and which the author was committed to achieving by any means necessary. Both the memoir and this film adaptation orbit around the same general concept – this is a story of a young woman who is adrift in a world she doesn’t understand, forced to define herself before she is even entirely aware of her identity, both in terms of her culture (being the daughter of English parents who raised her in the Orkney Islands off the coast of Scotland) and her more intimate perspective, which she initially overcame through her dependency on alcohol, and which she now has to confront directly without the distraction of a substance she abused to the point where it became a crutch for her internal insecurities. The Outrun is not merely a story of addiction, but rather an examination of how one can fall victim to a substance that brings them comfort and joy, but with the consequences not lingering too far behind. Fingscheidt works closely with Liptrot to create an effective adaptation of this very personal work, crafting a moving story of someone searching for herself while drifting through a confusing world, which will very likely resonate with a large portion of the audience, who may recognise some of the aspects of this story and how they are addressed.

The challenge with any adaptation of a memoir is often found in the characterisation, since it can be difficult to fully encapsulate every element of the writer’s words with an actor, who is essentially tasked with portraying not only the author, but also capturing every aspect of their lives to give the story a sense of authenticity. This required finding the right performer, and Fingscheidt found it in the form of Saoirse Ronan, who is not only wholeheartedly committed to playing this part but also takes an active interest in bringing this story to life, helping to develop the film as a producer and therefore ensuring that she was participating in every aspect of its creation as far as possible. Ronan is very good in the film, and dedicates herself entirely to the various elements of the role, which could not have been an easy task considering the weight of the material and the structure of this adaptation. The Outrun is essentially a one-woman show, with Ronan being the central focus and on screen for nearly the entire film, meaning that the supporting cast was merely there to further her performance, rather than being fully-developed in their own right (and this film certainly doesn’t spend much time with its peripheral characters, which seems to have been a deliberate choice, albeit not one that necessarily makes much sense considering how it could have been a solid ensemble piece had it taken more advantage of its talented cast), but which we can at the very least understand as far as the specific focus tends to go. Ronan is nonetheless very good – the entire film is built on her performance, and her ability to evoke this sense of vulnerability and sensitivity is astonishing, particularly in how she evokes a kind of hardened authenticity that conceals this tenderness that she tries to hide from the outside world. It’s not likely to be Ronan’s defining role, since she’s been far better in other projects, but The Outrun does offer her a strong showcase for her talents, and while it isn’t always convincing (the sequences where the character is at the peak of her addiction are not as effective as the aftermath), she does her best to keep us engaged, which is the element that holds the entire film together.

There are certainly very strong components to The Outrun, and its efforts to be a quiet, meaningful meditation on self-reflection as one undergoes a voyage of discovering one’s identity are certainly not irrelevant. Yet, there is still something slightly unwieldy about this film that takes some time to recognise, which comes about mostly through the fact that it doesn’t seem capable of expanding itself beyond the scope of the original text. The memoir on which it is based is a very personal work which blends a few different styles to create something that reflects Liptrot’s experiences, and it reads as a series of conversations the author is having with her reader. Film very rarely manages to replicate the same kind of intimacy, which meant that this adaptation needed to be broader – and it’s in these efforts to expand on the themes that the book successfully explores that we find some of the more severe flaws embedded in this adaptation. Primarily, the film moves at a very slow pace, and while this isn’t inherently a shortcoming, it also doesn’t quite know what it wants to say after the main themes have been introduced. Fingscheidt does attempt to create something more complex through arranging the film out of chronological order, combining different timelines in subtle, effective ways that should hypothetically make the film somewhat intriguing based on the layered approach. Unfortunately, this is only partially successful, since it leads to a lack of structure in terms of the narrative itself – we follow this young woman as she sets forward towards an uncertain future, but it never quite gives us any insights into her state of mind, beyond countless moments where she peers longingly into the distance, which is extremely obvious and not all that interesting. Fingscheidt approaches this film from a decidedly more literary perspective, which has its merits up until a certain point before it becomes quite tedious. A film like The Outrun is an example of a work that has a strong message that it delivers immediately, but struggles to do more with the premise than the most surface-level discussion, leaving the rest ambiguous in the hopes that the viewer can create their own meaning from what remains, but not realizing that this approach is needlessly dense and does very little to keep us engaged.

Far from perfect, but still admirable in its effort and willing to have the difficult discussions, The Outrun is a film that delivers what it promises, but not an ounce more. Part of this is probably due to it being a relatively honest depiction of addiction, and one that is focused on being authentic to the author’s own journey, and therefore not likely to engage in too many artistic liberties beyond what is entirely appropriate. The narrative itself is simple, which is ideal considering the focus is on the authenticity rather than the spectacle – but in this more unfurnished approach, we find the film slightly faltering, since it is continuously attempting to pass itself off as some poetic social realist text, when in reality it is a relatively bare character-driven drama that doesn’t always have the right attention to detail, which ultimately is the reason the film slowly does fall apart, even in the moments where it should have thrived. A simple affair, albeit one that does have its moments of impact spread throughout, The Outrun is a fine film, albeit not one that tells us anything we don’t already know or shows anything out of the ordinary. It’s simplicity is effective, but the execution is slightly lacklustre, and despite the strong central performance and quiet compassion, the film struggles to rise to the strength of its material, and ultimately comes across as quite hollow at the best of moments, an unfortunate but predictable outcome to a relatively conventional work that carries a strong message, but doesn’t quite know how to bring it to screen entirely effectively.