TIFF25 REVIEW: I Swear [2025]

Rating: NR | Runtime: 121 minutes
Release Date: October 10th, 2025 (UK)
Studio: StudioCanal UK / Blue Fox Entertainment
Director(s): Kirk Jones
Writer(s): Kirk Jones

Spunk for milk.

The opening to Kirk Jones’ I Swear is the perfect entry point into John Davidson’s (Robert Aramayo) life. The year is 2019 and he’s about to receive his MBE from the Queen for services helping to increase the understanding of Tourette syndrome. Standing outside the ceremony room, he argues with Dottie Achenbach (Maxine Peake) about not wanting to go in—scared of what he might do or say as a result of the mounting anxiety. After finally cajoling him, they’re just about to sit when “F*ck the Queen!” comes bellowing out of his mouth.

That’s when we rewind to find John (Scott Ellis Watson) as a teen soccer goalie turning enough heads to warrant a scout visit in the 1980s. Couple the pressure of that opportunity with beginning his first year of high school and the stress would get to anyone. Unfortunately for John, however, it ultimately exacerbates what was surely already peeking out. First, it’s the tics. Then it’s the outbursts. And finally, it’s a complete inability to control himself from spitting food into his mother’s face. Soccer becomes impossible. Bullying becomes rampant. It would have been odd if he didn’t battle suicidal thoughts.

Fast-forward thirteen years and things are much the same with Mom (Shirley Henderson’s Heather) still talking like he should be “strong enough” to control himself in public. Enter Dottie—a woman we assumed was his mother during that opening scene only to be confused when she’s absent throughout his childhood. She arrives to the story as the compassionate mother of a friend. A nurse, like Heather, Dottie spent her career in mental hospitals and therefore understands conditions like Tourette’s more than most considering it wasn’t yet considered “real.” Heather chose medication as a treatment. Dottie suggests empathy.

Suddenly everything changes due to an act of kindness as simple as telling John he mustn’t apologize for actions he cannot prevent. Acceptance is often the most powerful drug any can hope to receive and it supplies this grown man conditioned to fear the outside world a modicum of freedom … from himself. He can swear at Dottie. He can smack her in the face when she accidentally stands on his right side exactly when his body unleashes an involuntary punch. He can exist without wondering whether someone will beat him up or if his mother’s fatigue will fashion her face into another frown.

John’s life progresses with a ton of new highs upon meeting Dottie, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t even more lows. This is an era of ignorance, after all. The level of intolerance today is astounding, so just think what it was like in the 80s and 90s. Between hotheaded brutes and hotheaded cops, the hospital visits and court dates are unavoidable for a man whose brain forces him to blurt out the very thing they need to want to rough him up or throw him in jail. As his mentor Tommy Trotter (Peter Mullan) often says, Tourette’s isn’t the problem. It’s a lack of education.

Well, considering that opening prologue, we can guess he takes those words to heart to position himself at the forefront of a movement to teach, train, and support fellow sufferers, their overwhelmed parents, and the community at-large. The film makes it seem like an epiphany type scenario, but the real John Davidson was actually quite well-versed in the potential of being a role model (or test subject depending on outsider motivations) considering he was the subject of a 1989 documentary titled John’s Not Mad and other BBC follow-ups.

Regardless, it’s these steps as an adult that resonate—especially considering all the suffering we’ve witnessed on-screen (both tragic and, often, comical). It’s that empowering message that propels John’s story forward and makes good on the promise Dottie provided by allowing him the space to find a voice beneath the one he was reduced to by his affliction. So, get the tissues ready as there will be plenty of opportunity to shed tears thanks to Tommy’s stirring encouragement, Heather’s inevitable forgiveness (for herself), and John’s own recognition of just how far he’s come.

To that end, despite Henderson, Mullan, and Peake earning high praise for their authentically nuanced performances around him, you must applaud Aramayo’s vulnerability in bringing John Davidson’s story to life. Because it never feels like a caricature. Behind every outburst—whether written for tension or an intentional laugh—lies a prevalent sense of contrition and, sadly, fear. The former is where we witness John’s infectious personality (no one who ever truly gets to know him doesn’t love him) while the latter reveals his constant struggle to find the confidence and safety necessary to live.

It’s a delicate subject handled with great sensitivity, humor, and intelligence by Jones. One could probably dismiss it as by-the-numbers insofar as how it unfolds as a message-driven biopic, but that’s a lazy read on what’s an effective use of the formula that actually proves why it’s used so often. Credit Davidson too considering he serves as an executive producer. The life he’s survived surely cultivated a thick skin so his activist work could achieve the level of honesty necessary for a warts-and-all dramatization. Bringing this film into the world only helps expand the reach of his quest to educate, inspire, and protect.