“The North” is the first crowdfunded film I have reviewed. The roll call of names directly responsible for the production at the end is like the unfurling of an ancient parchment. Some people probably donated a small amount. It’s especially significant to watch “The North” in the Montrose Playhouse which was funded, in part, in the same way. The end product feels like a special kind of accomplishment. It feels authentic, real, as it is—people of different means who said “yes” to a Scottish project without really knowing where it will end up. Money is tight and decisions are frugal and options are few. “Yeah, it’s beautiful.”
Two other Scottish films are also still playing; California Schemin’ and Glenrothan, both of which I reviewed recently. Two book-adaptation movies about extra-long-distance walks have also appeared in the last year: Raynor Winn’s “The Salt Path,” and “The Long Walk,” which is given the full Stephen King treatment. But “The North” is special. It is a fictional travel journal of an linear adventure starting with the West Highlands Way, north of Glasgow to Fort William, and then continuing on the west coast via Ullapool all the way to Cape Wrath, on the northernmost mainland. Many people create vlogs of their travels, usually in short fragments of highlights. “The North” is a long-form version, slow and thoughtful and beautiful. Chris and Lluis are old roommates who have drifted apart. Walking long-distance isn’t as easy as it was in college days. If at times they wish they had never left the drudgery of life at home, they equally never think about giving up. Each morning they disassemble their shared tent at eight o’clock. They heave their stuffed backpacks, the kind that clasp in several spots over the chest, and set off for that day’s preordained section. Bad weather doesn’t seem to cut the days short; neither does the “little bit of a midge problem.” There is nothing particularly sensational but they progress steadily, walking every day and never laying off. Chris is on a break from corporate life and Lluis from his over-concerned family. Lluis keeps certain events to himself; Chris seems to think it’s odd that Lluis doesn’t share pictures of his journey with anyone. “You want some pictures of the first day to send to your parents?” he asks.
The filmmaking is gorgeous and there are dozens of great shots. One particularly common one looks down a valley, mountains on both sides and river along the floor, making a deep “V” shape. Occasionally the mountain takes up the whole screen, just a chink of blue-grey sky above. The filmmakers like circular shots around one of the characters to show the panorama. And sometimes the camera stands stock still while the lads walk away from the audience. It is unusual for so many shots to stay as still as they do for as long as they do. We hear the soft phfut of walking sticks hitting the gravelly terrain, or the wind, in a scene where it turns the tent into a kite, say. When Chris speaks to the office the wind, gulls, and church bells are amplified in contrast. I thought over and over about how much material must have been left behind in the editing room.
They are not talkative people. There aren’t any deep-and-meaningful conversations, and not much small talk either. Sometimes they don’t even walk together. Perhaps to get to know a friend you have to share a tent? Early on in a discussion about having children, we understand that Chris has one of those awful corporate jobs where being available scores the most points on the annual appraisal. “I’ve got the job,” he says. “I’ve got the house. I feel ready [to have kids].” “That makes me feel old,” Lluis says. “We are kinda old,” Chris says. They fill their water bottles from a stream and then collapse in a shelter on a train-station. “I think it’s so cool what you guys are doing,” one of the characters they meet along the way says.
In Ullapool they can eat properly and slack off. Chris calls his wife back home. “We had five days of rain,” he says. “And midges. It’s so beautiful. Sometimes you get the rain, sometimes you get sunshine. You get a little bit of everything.” Lluis often seems to need more rest. “You O.K.?” Chris asks. “Yeah,” Lluis replies. “Just tired.” The screenplay is always well-judged. One scene at the end of an uphill section just parlays the word “yeah” like a tennis ball across the net. Eventually Lluis breaks the serve. “Good to go, man.”
“The North” never becomes stale. “Why can’t we do this for months, years?” Lluis asks. We, too, are enthralled. The audience’s job is to slow down enough to gasp at the beauty of it all. “Just wait for a second. Look at it.” Lluis wants to go old-tech. “I feel like we’re too attached to our phones,” he says. “Our GPS. We just have to go for it with this.” He drops some maps on the table in the bothy where they spend the night. “I looked it up on YouTube!” he says. They get lost. “Lluis, you’re really sure?” Chris asks. “Yeah man,” Lluis says. “I didn’t make the route. Just following it.” “There’s no path,” Chris says. “I know there’s no path!” Lluis replies.
Adam Poole
29th April 2026
If you are interested in viewing this screening, please book your tickets here
