I thought I knew what “I Swear” was going to be so much, I thought writing about it would be as obligatory as a side project can be—more like being a beat reporter than pretending I really got to be a cultural scribe like the people I’ve online-met from Vulture and Salon. Because we’ve all seen that movie multiple times by now, right?
Dedicated, crusading mom finds the beauty in her freakshow kid who uses the ability in his inabilities to carry the day on the soccer pitch, right? Blah, blah, blah. If that had truly been my job (Or is it?) I might have felt tempted to scribble something down to that effect already.
. But that would have been wrong…it’s not that kind of movie, at all. (And, no, being among the “Most Liked” on Netflix so far this week is not a great tip-off in that direction, either. Mainstream America apparently loves themselves an “I know my boy, and he’s still in there, Dr. Smith!1” like it loves pie. Some of their most liked have been my Most Eyerolls.) Even in non-American versions like this one might have been.
The loving mum in “I Swear” doesn’t end up handling the pressure and a neighbor, facing her own health crisis, steps up to help support the ticcing teen and become part of the support system he doesn’t get from his own parents. These are painful moments in a real life so I hate to say that the views of the Scottish countryside after young John fails to exhibit his earlier precocity on the soccer pitch in front of a coach from out of town and either jumps or falls into the river—I haven’t been a critic in enough places to be that jaded—but it was a sign that we got beyond the tropes of it all, and that’s what made me pay attention and stick this film out. Not like “More abandonment and suicide attempts, please!”, I promise, although the disability experience can be a dark one at times. Or maybe I should say something like “Being that different,” because John Davidson (As far as I know, not connected to the toothy late American broadcaster that hearing the name makes me think of) doesn’t self-identify as a disabled person.
There is nothing like a film about Tourette’s Syndrome to make you think about how much of what is polite can be seen as repression of one’s first thought (although it would seem that verbal tics are often composed of the things a person might know might be the worst things one could say in a specific environment or context.)