‘I SWEAR’ A Heartfelt and Funny Ode to Living with a Misunderstood Disability

I Swear’s reputation precedes itself. The film had not one but two big moments at this year’s BAFTA awards. The first: relative unknown Robert Aramayo’s shocking upset victory over industry titans Michael B. Jordan, Leonardo DiCaprio, Timothée Chalamet, Ethan Hawke, and Jesse Plemons. It’s no fluke. Aramayo is exceptional here, delivering the kind of performance that should catapult him into an overnight tier of talent and recognition. The second was perhaps a less heartwarming exchange, wherein the subject of director Kirk Jones’ I Swear, Tourette’s Syndrome advocate John Davidson (who Aramayo plays in the film), inadvertently shouted the N-word while two Black performers, Michael B. Jordan and Delroy Lindo, were presenting an award. It was a shocking moment for those at the event and viewers at home, who heard the racial epithet unedited on the BBC’s live broadcast.

At the time, this sparked various think pieces about duty of care, censorship, and the intersection between race and disability. That is to say: it sparked a bit of an online feeding frenzy, with all corners of the internet weighing in on what went down and how it should have been prevented, contextualized, or why – actually – it was a positive thing. And though Davidson has openly expressed being “mortified” by this particular instance of his tic, it’s important to understand that this exchange is perhaps the most perfect illustration of what Tourette’s is, how it manifests, and the anxiety and shame surrounding the neurodevelopmental disorder, alongside broader society’s fundamental misunderstanding of the disability, often assigning mal-intent to something that couldn’t be further from it.

Davidson is not unfamiliar with having a tic inappropriately in a public forum. In fact, it seems like he’s always saying the exact worst thing possible in any given situation. In I Swear, the film opens with one such instance. While receiving a prestigious honor, induction as a Member of the Order of the British Empire, from Queen Elizabeth II in 2019, the reluctant Tourette’s advocate shouted “Fuck the Queen.” The Queen, to her credit, doesn’t flinch. Davidson has since said, “Tourette’s is such an awful condition that most of the time I don’t want to be the centre of attention. I want to be able to walk down the street and not be noticed because I’m shouting or swearing.” And though saying that “Fuck the Queen” in the Queen’s audience would likely have resulted in execution back in 1351, there’s something quietly powerful about one of the world’s most powerful people not batting an eyelash in the face of Davidson’s tic.

The film from writer-director-producer Kirk Jones (Waking Ned Devine) chronicles Davidson’s life from a misunderstood teen struggling to cope with the onset of his tics into his adulthood, where he continues to face admonishment from a general public that at times willfully misinterprets his colorful expletives. At school, this leads to corporal punishment. At home, his own mother (Shirley Henderson) claims his episodes led to his dad leaving, and he is generally encouraged to treat his involuntary outbursts as shameful, something to be hidden or shushed. Growing up in this environment leads him to live a life in miniature, tucked away at home so as not to embarrass his mom, deemed “unemployable,” and dulled down by the side-effect-riddled prescription medication Haloperidol.

It’s not until he meets Dottie (Maxine Peake), his friend’s mother and a mental health nurse, that he begins to understand that his tics, shouting, and swearing are not something to be constantly apologizing for; they are involuntary expressions that others should seek to understand. Their relationship becomes the dramatic backbone of the film, as Peake and Aramayo as Dottie and John forge a bond rooted in trust and understanding that finally allows John to begin to flourish. His eventual employment under the tutelage of groundskeeper Tommy Trotter (Peter Mullan) continues to build his confidence and comfort with himself, laying the foundation for him to step into the role that will eventually land him a commendation from the Queen.

Jones approaches the biographical drama with an agreeable mix of heart and humor, as John’s acute ability to blurt out whatever could be the most inappropriate thing in any given moment – shouting “I have drugs” at cops, calling a judge a “cunt,” and claiming he’s a “pedophile” during a job interview – underscores just how complicated Tourette’s is. His colorful commentary can be wildly funny, but it also carries a sting: fueling his own shame while marking him – in the eyes of others – as deeply “inappropriate.” A public nuisance. The film holds all of these contradictions at once, allowing the humor and discomfort to coexist in a way that speaks to the messy, often misunderstood reality of the condition. And though it may be unfortunate that I Swear will remain tethered to Davidson’s viral moment at the BAFTAs, it also serves as a fitting coda, proof that even now – with greater awareness of Tourette’s – we’re still prone to clutching our pearls when confronted with it in practice.

CONCLUSION: ‘I Swear’, Kirk Jones’ biographical account of Tourette’s advocate John Davidson, is a moving and often very funny drama that finds compassion in contradiction, anchored by a breakout performance from Robert Aramayo.