Sweetheart →
Morrison understands that first love, especially queer first love when you haven’t even admitted it to yourself, is not elegant. It is fumbling, terrifying, and often hilarious. The film earns its tender moments because it refuses to cheat for them. Sweetheart is not a perfect film. The pacing in the middle sags slightly, and the subplot with AJ’s sister feels undercooked. But when it matters—in the quiet looks between AJ and Isla, and the devastating final conversation between AJ and her mother—it lands every emotional punch.
Fans of Eighth Grade , The Edge of Seventeen , and anyone who believes awkward silences are more romantic than grand gestures. Sweetheart
Rating: ★★★★☆ (4/5)
Do not let the saccharine title fool you. This is not a glossy rom-com. It is a raw, often painfully awkward character study that dares to make its protagonist genuinely unlikable—and all the more real for it. At the center of the film is AJ (a blistering performance by Nell Barlow ). Clad in oversized hoodies, scowling at her phone, and armed with a tongue as sharp as broken glass, AJ is the family member everyone dreads bringing on holiday. She is sulky, sarcastic, and seemingly determined to ruin every moment for her overbearing mother (Jo Hartley) and her pregnant sister. Morrison understands that first love, especially queer first
Most coming-of-age films soften their leads with a hidden sweetness. Sweetheart refuses that shortcut. AJ is genuinely prickly, and the film’s first act is a masterclass in second-hand embarrassment. You cringe as she mocks a lifeguard, snaps at her little brother, and generally radiates teenage misery. But Morrison’s script is clever: it slowly reveals that AJ’s cruelty is a suit of armor against a world she feels is rejecting her before she’s even entered it. The setting is brilliant. The British seaside in autumn is grey, windy, and slightly depressing. The caravan is claustrophobic—thin walls, plastic cups, and forced family board games. Morrison uses the cramped quarters to amplify every argument, every sigh, every unspoken resentment. You feel trapped alongside AJ, which makes her eventual escape into the nearby town feel like a gasp of fresh air. Sweetheart is not a perfect film
This is for anyone who was an angry, awkward teenager. For anyone who felt like a monster until someone saw them differently. It is a small film with a massive heart, hidden under a hoodie and a scowl.
That escape leads her to (a radiant Sophia Di Martino), a bubbly, confident lifeguard working at the local leisure centre. Isla is everything AJ is not: sunny, open, and comfortable in her own skin. Their chemistry is not the explosive fireworks of a blockbuster romance; it is the quiet, terrifying electricity of a shy person realizing they are allowed to want something. The Power of the "Cringe" The film’s greatest strength is its willingness to sit in the awkwardness. The flirtation between AJ and Isla is not smooth. It is filled with stilted sentences, long silences, and moments where AJ says something so bluntly honest that you want to hide behind your hands. One scene involving a shared set of headphones and a nearly-kiss in a dark hallway is so perfectly awkward it feels like a documentary.
