I Swear is a crowdpleaser that doesn’t make a spectacle out of its subject, nor mines the darker chapters of their life for tearjerking sentimentality. It stars The Rings of Power’s Robert Aramayo as Tourette syndrome campaigner John Davidson. The world of his childhood, in Galashiels, Scotland of the Eighties, was one with little concept of the neurodevelopmental disorder, which manifests as a spectrum of tics – sudden and repeated movements or, in more extreme cases, such as Davidson’s, involuntary swearing or socially inappropriate outbursts.
One day, he’s a kid (played brilliantly by Scott Ellis Watson) dreaming about becoming a football superstar; the next, he can barely make it through a Yeats poem in class without his body and mind rebelling against him. The film opens decades later, in 2018, as Davidson receives his MBE at Holyrood Palace for his efforts in educating the public about the disorder. He approaches the dais. “F*** the Queen!”
It’s a funny scene. We’re invited to laugh. But I was reminded of something Irish author and storyteller Blindboy Boatclub spoke about recently on his podcast that had stuck with me. Blindboy is autistic. And he talks about the push-and-pull of being neurodivergent, of knowing that sometimes it means acting in ways he understands seem odd or eccentric or funny, while simultaneously facing a lifetime of accumulated shame from being laughed at and humiliated for those same actions.
Writer-director Kirk Jones not only grasps that contradiction, but makes it central to his retelling of Davidson’s story (Davidson himself is executive producer on the film). It makes it a real relief to watch. I Swear happily adheres to the British cinematic tradition of small town underdog stories, without ever hijacking and streamlining Davidson’s experiences to maximise its “feel-good” credentials.
It’s funny, yes. And sweet, especially when Stephen Rennicks’s twinkling score kicks in. But while Aramayo’s performance is certainly concerned with Davidson’s generosity and determination, it’s equally invested in the ever-spiralling frustration of someone whose daily functioning – doing the weekly shop, going to a library, and so forth – is constantly impeded by his disorder. Stress makes the tics worse, the tics make him more stressed. Walking through any public space makes him a target. He can’t control how he’ll act, and even less how others will react.
I Swear, then, becomes a film about the world around Davidson, and what it means for him when he makes the active choice to live outside the care of his mother, Heather (Shirley Henderson). She’s not outrightly abusive, but every scowl and dismissive comment is the primary source of Davidson’s own accumulated shame. Instead, he moves in with a friend’s mother, Dottie (Maxine Peake).
Her support isn’t anything all that elaborate. She ignores the tics. If he accidentally hits her, she cheerfully brushes it off – she knew she was taking a risk, standing where she was. But it matters. She’s made Tourette Syndrome simply a part of the fabric of their lives. And, with her encouragement, he’s able to find work at a local community centre run by Tommy Trotter (Peter Mullan), who also takes the disorder in his stride.
Davidson’s life gets better. Then it gets worse, then better again. The real happy ending of I Swear, however, isn’t necessarily Davidson’s material contributions (impressive as they are), but that he made a space in the world for himself where he finally felt safe. Safe enough, in fact, that it felt okay to laugh.
Dir: Kirk Jones. Starring: Robert Aramayo, Maxine Peake, Shirley Henderson, Peter Mullan. Cert 15, 120 minutes.
‘I Swear’ is in cinemas
