What if I told you that the search for extraterrestrial life isn't just about cosmic curiosity—it's a psychological escape mechanism for humanity's deepest existential dread? That's the unspoken thesis of Out There, a quirky Welsh YA comedy that masquerades as a lighthearted UFO romp but actually serves up a haunting meditation on grief, memory, and the human need to believe in something bigger than ourselves. Simon Ryninks' debut film isn't just about teenagers sneaking into secret military bases; it's about how we cling to the idea of an afterlife when the reality of death is too terrifying to face.
The film's protagonist, Maz, is a teenager haunted by her father's mysterious death—possibly an alien abduction, possibly a tragic accident. But here's the thing: Maz's obsession isn't just about finding her dad. It's about refusing to accept that life ends. Her quest to unlock repressed memories through hypnotherapy with a drug-dealing mystic named Shifty Gruff (Michael Sheen) is less about uncovering cosmic truths and more about avoiding the crushing weight of mortality. What makes this particularly fascinating is how the film weaponizes humor to mask its existential despair. When Gruff quips, 'With great ability comes great commercial opportunity,' it's not just a joke—it's a dark commentary on how even our most profound spiritual journeys are co-opted by capitalism.
Let me step back for a moment. The film's setting in a fictional Welsh town in 1999 is no accident. The era of dot-matrix printers and Sony Handicams is a nostalgic nod to a time when the world felt smaller, but the obsession with UFOs feels oddly prescient. Today, with climate collapse and political chaos, it's no wonder people are looking to the stars for answers. But here's the kicker: Maz's journey isn't just a personal one. It's a microcosm of a global phenomenon. A detail that I find especially interesting is how the film subtly critiques the 'new age' movement—those who sell hypnotherapy sessions and shrooms as solutions to life's biggest questions. In my opinion, this is where the film's true brilliance lies. It doesn't just entertain; it dissects the modern psyche.
What many people don't realize is that UFO narratives are often coded grief responses. Maz's father was a scientist, which adds another layer of irony. The man who should have understood the universe's mysteries is the one who disappeared in a flash of light. This raises a deeper question: When science fails us, do we turn to the supernatural? Or is it simply easier to believe in aliens than to confront the finality of death? The film's most poignant moment isn't the alien encounter—it's Maz's quiet realization that her father might be gone forever. And yet, the movie never lets us linger there. It's as if the filmmakers are afraid to let the audience sit with that discomfort.
If you take a step back and think about it, Out There is a masterclass in subtext. The hypnotherapy scenes, the absurd supporting characters, the over-the-top Welsh humor—all of it serves a purpose. It's a reminder that even the most outlandish stories can hold profound truths. Personally, I think the film's greatest strength is its refusal to provide easy answers. It leaves us with the same uncertainty that Maz feels: Is there life after death, or are we just making it up to feel better? The fact that the movie could spin off into a TV series says everything about our collective need for more stories like this. But let's be honest—what we really want is a universe where our loved ones aren't gone, even if that universe is just a figment of our imagination.
