A portrait of John Davidson—who campaigned to raise awareness about this condition—forms the basis of a true story that is at times humorous and at others deeply moving; the kind of film the UK used to produce with regularity in the past.
Based on the real life of John Davidson—a Tourette syndrome awareness activist who serves here as an executive producer—*I Swear* is a biopic about a man who came of age in 1980s Scotland, during an era when Tourette syndrome was widely misunderstood and barely recognized. This led him to experience a wide range of situations: from difficulties in dating to acts of horrific physical violence.
Director: Kirk Jones
Writer: Kirk Jones
Stars: Robert Aramayo, Maxine Peake, Somerled Campbell
The "I" in the title *I Swear* is portrayed by *The Rings of Power* star Robert Aramayo; meanwhile, the second part of the title constitutes a play on words, alluding both to the involuntary outbursts triggered by his character's condition and to an oath with which he struggles during a pivotal courtroom scene. Written and directed by Kirk Jones (*Waking Ned Devine*), the film tackles—with enthusiasm and, for the most part, successfully—the potential pitfalls involved in creating a project that is both entertaining and respectful regarding a condition that, while sometimes lending itself to laughter, simultaneously wreaks havoc on Davidson's life in very serious ways.
We are introduced to Davidson in Edinburgh in 2019, as he receives an honor from the Queen. He shouts, "Fuck the Queen!"—but he is no closet anti-monarchist. It is merely one of the—perhaps hundreds—of potentially embarrassing tics and vocal outbursts we will see him manifest over the course of the film's two-hour runtime.
The film then flashes back to 1983, a time when we meet a younger John—portrayed in a moving performance by young actor Scott Ellis Watson: a boy on the cusp of adolescence who doesn't yet even have a name for his condition, and who, far from receiving any compassion or understanding from the adults around him, faces reactions ranging from a complete lack of assistance to outright abuse. The film pulls no punches in this regard: while it makes clear that Tourette syndrome was, in essence, something virtually unknown at the time, it is nonetheless evident that some of the reactions to it were human, while others were not human at all. Ignorance is not presented here as an excuse.
In his role as the adult Davidson, Aramayo delivers an impeccable performance as a man attempting to reconcile his desire to lead a normal life with the certainty that doing so is, quite simply, impossible. This impulse to live in ways that others take for granted leads him into situations that we know will end badly for him; and there is a genuine tension in never knowing whether the outcome will be something relatively harmless (such as claiming to have ejaculated into his tea during a job interview, for instance) or something incredibly dangerous (such as verbally challenging a group of drunk men in a Scottish nightclub).
This sense of danger extends to those around him as well: his physical tics mean that, in addition to feeling a constant suspense regarding whether Davidson himself will be safe, the audience also remains on high alert for the well-being of the people accompanying him. Aramayo does an excellent job of portraying someone who is simultaneously vulnerable and—through no fault of his own—potentially dangerous.
Maxine Peake, Shirley Henderson, and Peter Mullan lend their veteran experience and acting prestige to three supporting roles: Henderson as John’s biological mother; Peake as a loving surrogate maternal figure; and Mullan as an understanding paternal figure (Steven Cree, in a smaller role, plays Davidson’s biological father). Henderson, in particular, stands out by making the most of her ability to convey a finely balanced blend of corrosive fury, tinged with a deep sense of victimhood. One gets the sense that the character feels as though Davidson’s Tourette syndrome is happening *to her*—on a personal level—even more so than it is to Davidson himself.
It is a relatively traditional film—the kind the British film industry churned out by the dozen during the 1990s and early 2000s: engaging, crowd-pleasing works with a social-issue backdrop, often based on true events—whether that backdrop involved unemployment (*The Full Monty*), male ballet (*Billy Elliot*), or leukemia (*Calendar Girls*).
Those films achieved resounding success, yet they did not have to contend with some of the issues regarding representation and identity that are raised today.
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