I Swear

I Swear is not looking for pity. It’s looking for empathy and understanding, as if to say there is no such thing as good or bad disabilities.

The story, while unique enough in its presentation of Tourette’s, follows the same patterns as any number of other feel-good disability dramas, but all the actors are so believably in touch with their humanity, in all its messiness, that they make the material sing.

While this stirring dramatization of Davidson’s life hits conventional narrative beats, sensitive handling and a remarkable central performance from Robert Aramayo do heartwarming justice to a remarkable life.

This is an absorbing, compassionate film.

It will make you cry, it will make you uncomfortable, but at the end of the film's runtime, it will leave you with a feeling of profound satisfaction that even the most heartfelt movies struggle to replicate.

Written and directed by Kirk Jones (“Waking Ned Devine”), the film wrestles enthusiastically and mostly successfully with the potential pitfalls of making a funny yet respectful project about a condition that sometimes lends itself to laughter, even as it wreaks havoc with Davidson’s life in serious ways.

It’s well meaning and all done with the best of intentions, but it doesn’t really say or do much more than the BBC documentary did nearly 40 years ago.