I Swear: a fierce, funny and unexpectedly joyful Tourette’s biopic
- In cinemas 10 October 2025 across the UK, following select preview screenings earlier in the month.
- Starring Robert Aramayo, Scott Ellis Watson, Maxine Peake and Peter Mullan, with Shirley Henderson in support.
- Warm, crowd-pleasing British biographical drama that plays brilliantly with a vocal audience on the big screen.
- Set in 1980s and 1990s Scotland, where Tourette’s, ignorance and casual cruelty feel as dangerous as any physical threat.
- Explores stigma, self-worth, found family and the awkward, hilarious business of owning who you are in public.
Story in one sentence
John and Dotty claw out a future built on honesty and humour while Tourette’s, shame and small-town judgment keep trying to drag him back.
Setting the scene
I Swear arrives in UK cinemas on 10 October 2025, and it feels like the kind of British crowd-pleaser that sneaks up on you. On paper it’s a biopic about a Tourette’s campaigner; on screen it plays like a bruising coming-of-age story that keeps blindsiding you with laughter.
The film follows John Davidson from his school days in Galashiels through to his adult life as an advocate. Instead of racing through milestones, it sits with messy moments: school corridors, hospital rooms and community centres where a loud, ticcing kid is constantly told to quiet down.
From the first classroom scenes, you feel how hostile the world is to anything that doesn’t fit. Teachers reach for punishment before understanding, and you can practically hear the air leave the room every time John blurts out a taboo word.
What impressed me most is how quickly the film makes John feel like a specific person, not a walking diagnosis. He’s funny, defensive, needy and stubborn, and his tics are just threaded into that personality rather than wheeled out for “Tourette’s moments”.
Characters and performances
Robert Aramayo carries the adult sections with a performance that’s all nervous energy and wary charm. You can see him constantly scanning a room, judging who’s about to flinch, laugh or kick off when his tics spike.
Scott Ellis Watson is terrific as younger John, selling that mix of teenage swagger and absolute dread. When the football dream falls apart, it hurts partly because he never stops wanting to impress people who frankly don’t deserve it.
Maxine Peake’s Dotty could easily have been written as a saint, but she isn’t. She’s kind and patient, yes, yet you still catch flashes of frustration, tiredness and gallows humour that make her feel like a real person doing her best.
Peter Mullan’s caretaker, Tommy, is the film’s quiet MVP. He doesn’t give big speeches; he just behaves as if John’s tics are no more remarkable than his height, and that low-key acceptance lands harder than any monologue.
Shirley Henderson plays John’s mum with a clenched, brittle warmth that’s painfully believable. She loves him, but you can see how years of embarrassment and worry have curdled into short temper and awkward distance.
How it handles Tourette’s on screen
A lot of people will go in nervous about how Tourette’s is portrayed, and honestly, the film does a better job than most. The tics are frequent, sometimes shocking, but the camera never treats them as a freak show.
When John swears at the wrong moment, it’s often very funny, but the punchline is usually the situation, not his condition. The audience I was with laughed a lot, then winced a beat later when the social fallout landed.
Crucially, the script never lets other characters off the hook by framing their cruelty as inevitable. Teachers, police, strangers in pubs and even well-meaning friends are gently called out by the story, even when they think they’re “helping”.
The film also shows Tourette’s as more than just shouting rude words. There are painful physical tics, exhausted slumps and quieter moments where John is simply worn down from holding everything in.
Tone, humour and emotional punch
What stops I Swear from becoming a grim “issue drama” is how lightly it wears its seriousness. For every gut-punch scene, there’s a daft joke, a flirty dance or a chaotic night out that plays like a warped teen movie.
I loved how the film lets John be an idiot sometimes. He makes bad choices, hurts people and leans on Tourette’s as an excuse when it suits him, which makes his growth feel earned rather than pre-packaged.
When the film does go for the heart, it mostly earns it. A late reconciliation with his mum could have been syrupy, but the awkwardness and unresolved history keep it from tipping into pure sentiment.
There are a few scenes where the music swells a bit too hard and you can feel the awards reel being cut in real time. Still, the performances are strong enough that even the “Oscar clip” moments land more often than not.
Craft, pacing and structure
Kirk Jones keeps the visual style unfussy: grounded, slightly grainy, very British. It suits a story built on faces, small rooms and bus rides rather than big vistas or showy set-pieces.
The film hops between time periods, but the jumps are clear and emotionally motivated. We see childhood traumas echo into adulthood, and later successes thrown into relief by memories of schoolyard humiliation.
At just about two hours, it’s a generous runtime for this kind of story. I felt the length a little in the final stretch, when campaign work and media attention blur together, but the closing run of scenes brings the focus back to John as a person, not a symbol.
The score leans on gentle strings and low-key piano, staying mostly in the background. It nudges you towards a feeling rather than battering you with it, which is a mercy in a film that already has big emotions baked in.
What sticks with you afterwards
What lingered for me wasn’t just the prejudice John faces, but the small acts of decency along the way. A teacher who quietly adjusts their approach, a mate who refuses to apologise for him, a stranger who shrugs off an outburst and keeps chatting.
The film makes a strong case that awareness is a collective responsibility, not just something disabled people have to shout about on TV. When John finally finds spaces where he doesn’t feel like a walking warning sign, it’s genuinely uplifting.
It also raises interesting questions about diagnosis and labels without turning into a lecture. You’re left thinking less about “conditions” and more about how quick we are to define people by the thing that makes us uncomfortable.
Is I Swear worth seeing in the cinema?
Short answer: yes, absolutely. Watching it with an audience makes the laughs louder, the silences heavier and the awkward moments more electric.
If you’ve lived with Tourette’s or any visible difference, some scenes may hit very close to home. The film is considerate but honest about bullying, misunderstanding and medical mishandling, so it’s worth knowing your limits.
For everyone else, this is one of those films that quietly upgrades your empathy without feeling like homework. You walk out with John still rattling around your head, not as “that guy with Tourette’s”, but as someone you feel you’ve properly met.
As an October 2025 release, I Swear easily earns its place among the month’s most talked-about films. It’s funny, bruising and unexpectedly hopeful, and it treats its subject — and its audience — with more respect than most biopics manage.