I Swear - Review 

Rating: 5 out of 5

KIRK Jones’ biopic of the life of John Davidson is as brilliant as it is vital.

For some viewers, it may stick to a tried and tested formula for the inspirational ‘overcoming disability’ genre. But for those with a lived understanding of disability, it avoids cheap sentimentality to emerge as a heartfelt but unflinching look at the challenges posed by disability and the ignorance that often accompanies it.

Davidson suffers from Tourette’s syndrome, which means he has to live with involuntary tics and random obscene shouts, as well as compulsive behaviour patterns. These began at around the age of 13, just as the promising teenager was transitioning to secondary school and learning to cope with the new weight of expectation being placed upon him (including a potential shot at a goalkeeping career).

As those families living with any kind of neurodivergence will know, transitioning from primary to secondary and, in turn, entering puberty is a particularly challenging time - one in which plenty of children who may have managed to successfully mask can no longer keep up appearances.

Support and understanding is vital. But, as is so often the case, it isn’t forthcoming. John’s teachers make no attempt to investigate what might be wrong, opting instead to view it through the lens of bad behaviour and dishing out punitive punishments (a cane to the hand). When that doesn’t work, expulsion soon follows.

John also finds himself cast aside by his family: again, punished for crude behaviour and spitting at the dinner table, even though he is clearly in distress. His father eventually leaves the family home.

These early scenes confront both difficult emotions and societal failure. They’re heart-breaking.

John is eventually diagnosed but without support or understanding, he is left in the care of his emotionally distant mum (an excellent Shirley Henderson) with little or no prospect of finding a job or a home to call his own… until, that is, he is reunited with a former school friend who, in turn, introduces him to his mother, a former mental health nurse (played by Maxine Peake), who takes him in.

It’s this relationship that provides the catalyst for something of a turnaround in fortune: albeit one marked by continued frustrations and torments, and of being failed by those who should know otherwise.

John is given a chance at employment as a trainee caretaker by a kindly community centre worker named Tommy (Peter Mullan) and subsequently excels. He later gains the confidence to become an advocate and provide support for fellow Tourette’s sufferers, eventually being honoured with an MBE in 2019 for his work educating the nation about the condition (scenes which neatly book-end the film).

But throughout, Jones’s film lands one telling scene after another, especially in its depiction of the key relationships in John’s life. One moment, in particular, stands out as John meets another young woman in the back of her parents’ car, offering a therapeutic bout of yelping that proves cathartic for both. It speaks to the loneliness both have previously felt, as well as the relief that comes with finding each other: not in a cliched romantic sense, but just being seen and accepted for who you are.

Jones, for his part, doesn’t shy away from some of the absurd situations that John finds himself in as a result of his inability to control his language or movements (something BAFTA viewers will be all too familiar with). He invites laughter but also sympathy and empathy.

But this also serves to underline one of the film’s key takeaways, which is its ability to educate and foster understanding and acceptance. The importance of education, for any disability, is undeniable. And it reverberates throughout the film like a rallying call that anyone living with disability will want to scream out loud in agreement.

At the centre of I Swear is also a towering performance from Robert Aramayo, now rightly recognised with the BAFTA for best actor (ahead of the likes of Leonardo DiCaprio and Timothee Chamet).

Aramayo inhabits the role entirely, so much so that you feel every tic, every embarrassment, and every heartbreak. When he cries, at one point, that he just wants it to end, feeling utterly defeated after another vicious beating, your heart will bleed. He earns your tears.

And his achievements therefore become that much more significant.

I Swear is a towering achievement. It’s a film that arguably transcends its genre to raise the profile of a condition that remains largely misunderstood by anyone not directly affected by it, as well as one that deservedly shines a spotlight on one of its most inspirational figures.

Its ability to both entertain and educate makes it essential viewing at a time when the conversation around disability all too often seeks to diminish the lived experience of those living with it every day.

Certificate: 15

Running time: 2hrs 1min