Over the last few weeks, ITV has been heavily trailing Out There with a teaser that positions it as a cross between Happy Valley, Countryfile and the Liam Neeson revenge thriller Taken. Martin Clunes plays Nathan Williams, a Welsh farmer whose vulnerable son Johnny is manipulated into becoming part of a county lines drug-running operation. It is soaked in an Ozark-blue wash of colour, and in its opening moments looks set to emerge as a bleak slice of nasty rural noir.
But beneath the topsoil, Out There is far more steady-handed than you might have anticipated, if, like me, you had been quite looking forward to watching Doc Martin do his best “I will look for you, I will find you and I will kill you” impersonation. Nathan is a sole parent, following the death of his French wife Sabine a couple of years earlier. Their daughter has already left the family farm to move to Europe, unable to cope in the aftermath of her mother’s death, but Johnny (Louis Ashbourne Serkis) is 15 and still at school, where he is neglecting his usual activities to the extent that Nathan is called in for a chat with the teachers. Instead of being athletic, Johnny now spends most of his time in his bedroom playing video games. During the first episode, the family drama is turned up, while the criminal undercurrents bubble away, biding their time, before they begin to nudge out into the open.
Out There draws a nicely atmospheric contrast between Nathan’s world and Johnny’s. Nathan is an old-school farmer, dour and practical, who resents the encroachment of politics, industrialisation and hyper-capitalism on his land and livelihood. He says things like “One day, this will all be yours” to his son, who looks less than thrilled at the idea of having to take over and graft. Nathan hammers in fence posts, before shooting at a mysterious drone hovering over the farm, while Danny takes pop shots via his on-screen avatar.
The tough existence of a farmer is well drawn, or at least seems that way to my semi-urban sensibilities. There are frustrated conversations about land use, shared boundaries and utilities, the worry of inconclusive TB tests and stress over the increasingly elusive ability to make a living. People are constantly threatened with hostile takeovers. Nathan has previously rented out one of his barns as a holiday let, while his neighbours’ farm has been forced to choose between mass egg production and glamping. (They opt, quite reasonably, for the eggs.) A suited-and-booted businessman in a shiny Audi hovers, his intentions not yet clear.
This is not a cheerful January watch, then, even before the gangs come into it. While Nathan is just about keeping his head above water, the same cannot be said for other farmers, and a sudden tragedy focuses our eye on the changing economics of the region. It feels more like a state-of-the-nation drama than a stone-cold thriller, at least in the first two episodes, though it is clearly nudging its way towards a deeper and wider conspiracy. Corporations are buying up local farmland for commercial use. Animal rights activists are protesting against bigger industries, which nevertheless bring jobs to an area in sore need of employment opportunities. These issues are debated over pints, in a pub that appears to be one of the only local businesses doing a roaring trade.
Amid this combustible concoction, there is a burgeoning criminal underworld. Here is where the action really starts, as the trade in illegal drugs follows similar, if less legitimate, business models. Local troublemaker Rhys (Gerran Howell, last seen as the polar opposite timid DC Simon Evans in Ludwig) asks Johnny to look after a package for him; where he lives, he says, is “junkie central”, and it wouldn’t be safe. Poor naive Johnny, grieving and miserable, agrees, mostly to impress his mate. But then the package goes missing, and Johnny is suddenly on the hook with some serious people.
Enter Nathan, who has, quite frankly, had enough of everyone’s rubbish, and attempts to sort out Johnny’s troubles as if they are small and manageable. But they are far from small, and far from easy to handle. It takes a while to get there, but by the end of episode two, I am in. This is more thoughtful than it appears to be from the trailer, and less immediate, but it is moody, emotionally fraught and quietly chilling. And ultimately, the sight of Martin Clunes waving a shotgun and using a Welsh accent to tell a party full of kids to “fuck off” is an unexpected January treat.
Article by:Source – Rebecca Nicholson
