‘I Swear’ Review: Robert Aramayo Shines in a Raw, Empathetic Tourette’s Drama

Fuck the Queen” is one of the first things John Davidson (Robert Aramayo) blurts out as he walks into a ceremony presided over by the Queen of England. He’s not trying to spark a revolution or make any kind of political statement. John has Tourette syndrome, and he cannot control the sudden, often offensive words that erupt from him. It’s not the only challenge he faces, but it is the most visible one—the one that repeatedly lands him in trouble and in painfully awkward situations.

Davidson’s real-life story first gained attention through the 1989 documentary John’s Not Mad. This film picks up from that early period—his teenage years—and follows him into adulthood, tracing how Tourette’s has shaped every aspect of his life: social, professional, romantic, and familial. His case resurfaced a few months ago during the BAFTA Awards, when an on-air incident involving an involuntary outburst caused controversy. The moment says less about Davidson than about a system unprepared—or unwilling—to understand a condition he simply cannot switch off.

As portrayed here, John’s symptoms begin to intensify when he enters secondary school, facing new classmates and the pressure of being scouted for his promising skills as a goalkeeper. Before long, small physical tics—head jerks, sudden movements, spitting—give way to louder vocal eruptions: shouts, insults, and the kind of profanity that guarantees conflict wherever he goes.

In the small Scottish town where he grows up in the 1980s, Tourette’s is virtually unknown. No one—not even his own family—understands what is happening. His father rejects him outright and leaves. His mother (Shirley Henderson), overwhelmed and hurt by the breakdown of her marriage, struggles to cope, often resorting to punishment rather than support. At school, John becomes a problem to be managed rather than a person to be understood, clashing constantly with authority figures and peers alike, unable to stop himself from saying deeply offensive things to people he doesn’t intend to hurt.

Things begin to shift, at least slightly, when—now in his twenties—he reconnects with an old school friend and meets his mother, Dottie (Maxine Peake), a nurse who offers something John has rarely experienced: acceptance. Around her, he is allowed to let his tics out without judgment. That support becomes so meaningful that John eventually moves in with them. There’s a complication, though—Dottie believes he shouldn’t be medicated, which leads to more frequent and intense episodes. Still, she helps him find a job through a sympathetic civil servant (Peter Mullan), and for the first time, John begins to carve out a life with some stability, however fragile.

I Swear—a title that cleverly plays on both “I promise” and “I curse”—walks a delicate line. It manages to sustain empathy and understanding while acknowledging the inherent, often uncomfortable humor of John’s condition. Even he recognizes that some situations are, in a bleak way, funny because of how socially catastrophic they become. But the film’s emotional grounding—and Aramayo’s deeply humane performance—ensures that it never feels exploitative or cruel. The humor emerges organically, no more and no less than it would in real life.

Directed by Kirk Jones (best known for Waking Ned Devine), the film is otherwise quite conventional in form. It fits squarely within the tradition of British social dramedy—a more accessible cousin to the work of Ken Loach. Working-class settings, modest Scottish locales, and characters defined by resilience and hardship shape a narrative that leans on realism while functioning as a kind of small-scale human fable.

And yet, within those familiar contours, John’s story resonates. His struggle to live with Tourette’s—and later, to support others dealing with the same condition (the film incorporates non-professional actors who actually have Tourette’s)—underscores a broader point: people with neurological differences need social, political, and community support to find their footing and realize their potential. It’s a message not always understood in policy circles, but one this warm, compassionate film embraces without hesitation.