A council worker arrives on a remote Scottish isle to relocate isolated siblings in Louis Paxton’s The Incomer.

Isolation is often treated as a flaw, something to be corrected by pushing people toward constant social engagement. The assumption is that a full life requires stepping outside a personal bubble. What rarely gets acknowledged is that choosing solitude can be comfortable, deliberate and valid.

The Incomer builds its story around that notion by centering on two siblings living on a remote Scottish isle, soon to be forcibly relocated by the local authority. Isla (Gayle Rankin) and Sandy (Grant O’Rourke) were orphaned young and have learned to survive with only what the island provides. They hunt seagulls, mend the clothes their parents left behind, and build a life that depends entirely on each other. Isla has taken on a parental role while Sandy struggles with limited mental faculties, yet both are convinced their small world is all they need. The mainland represents danger and hurt, reinforced by local folklore that warns they will die if they ever leave. They also believe their isolated life honours an old sacrifice, anchoring them to the island.

Isla and Sandy are far more complex than the surface impression of two wild islanders. They argue and fight, sometimes violently, yet their bond is built on genuine affection that always reasserts itself. Their world is full of eccentricities the film treats with both humour and sincerity. The seagull ritual, complete with handmade costumes, is a standout example. There’s also a quiet earnestness to their routines, from the vantage points they return to each day to the small habits that keep them alive. The film presents them without judgement, allowing their behaviour and relationship to define them rather than the caricatures others might assume.

Their routine is disrupted when council worker Daniel (Domhnall Gleeson) arrives to evict and relocate them. The siblings react with sudden violence, attacking him and taking him prisoner to protect the life they know. That hostility fades as curiosity takes hold and the novelty of a new person on the island becomes impossible for them to ignore. Rivalry soon emerges, with each sibling wanting Daniel’s attention and affection for themselves.

Isla, in particular, begins to see possibilities beyond mere survival. Daniel represents a world she has never been allowed to imagine, and Gayle Rankin captures her growing sense of yearning with real delicacy. There’s a childlike openness in Isla’s desire to expand her horizons and present herself in ways she hopes will be noticed. She has been starved of that kind of recognition, and Daniel’s presence awakens needs she didn’t know she had.

Sandy is thrilled by the idea of having a friend he can talk to and spend time with. His limited mental faculties make him intensely possessive of Daniel, and that protectiveness can turn dangerous when he feels threatened. There’s a real tenderness in how he moves through the world, in the way he expresses himself and in his need for someone to share it with. Grant O’Rourke captures those shifts with remarkable ease, moving from warmth to volatility in a way that keeps a constant tension around Sandy and reminds the viewer of what he’s capable of.

Daniel is almost as isolated as Isla and Sandy, but his solitude comes from a lack of belonging rather than a chosen way of life. He isn’t respected at work and feels trapped in a job that only seems to make people’s lives harder, a dynamic embodied by his boss, Roz (Michelle Gomez), who treats the job as an exercise in enforcement rather than support. Her presence reflects the belief that local authorities rarely act in the best interests of the people they serve. Daniel is too naive to recognise that, still convinced he took the job to help people and growing frustrated that he never achieves that aim. He’s adrift, with no one who understands him, and he searches for the same connection and sense of purpose that the siblings cling to in their own way.

The local authority subplot sits in a slightly misaligned middle ground. It appears too often to be dismissed as background texture, yet it never has the weight or tonal alignment to feel fully integrated into the story. Even once the film clarifies why the relocation must happen, the involvement still feels incongruous, as if it belongs to a different narrative register. Calum (Emun Elliot) exemplifies this mismatch. His exaggerated presence clashes with the film’s otherwise grounded tone. For the authority’s role to land, the film would need to build a clearer, more organic connection between the bureaucratic pressure and the siblings’ situation. As it stands, the threat never feels urgent, and its escalation sits at odds with the rest of the film.

Isla and Sandy give Daniel a chance to finally do right by someone. Once he moves past the initial terror of being attacked and held hostage, he begins to see them not as threats but as people who are simply confused about the world beyond their island. He tells them stories about modern conveniences and tries to show that there are things worth engaging with, without dismissing the life they’ve built. He meets them with respect and never pushes them to abandon what makes them feel safe.

Their reactions to his stories become an amusing and pointed commentary on how little most people understand about the systems they rely on. Few could explain where their food comes from or how the internet works, and Daniel’s flustered attempts to answer underline that modern life isn’t the flawless ideal many assume it to be. The siblings’ questions force him to examine his own choices and consider whether a better way of living might exist somewhere between his world and theirs. Presented with a measured comedic tone, the film makes the act of questioning those assumptions feel both necessary and quietly revealing.

Paxton’s direction gives the film a gentle, folksy charm. Animated sequences accompany Isla’s stories about the island’s origins and the siblings’ place within it, adding texture to the visual landscape. Daniel’s own descriptions of the mainland take on a slightly heightened, storybook quality, which reinforces the film’s interest in storytelling as both explanation and entertainment. This positions The Incomer as a modern fable, one that values the act of relaying stories as much as the stories themselves. The islanders’ complete separation from the mainland gives them an almost mythic quality, and the striking landscape deepens that impression, creating a setting that feels deliberately heightened without breaking the film’s grounded emotional logic.

The Incomer remains a compelling character study shaped by three finely judged performances. Its fable‑like tone and focus on storytelling give the film a distinctive identity, and Paxton’s direction keeps the emotional core grounded even as the world around the siblings takes on a heightened quality. It’s a small, unusual film, but one that finds real clarity in exploring how people define safety, belonging and the stories that hold their lives together.

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Verdict

An evocative modern fable that balances its heightened world with precise, character‑driven insight.

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