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.
There is a specific, suffocating horror to being a teenager. Now, imagine that horror compounded by realizing you are gay while trapped in a aggressively mundane, seaside caravan park with your dysfunctional family for a week. That is the masterful, uncomfortable, and surprisingly tender territory staked out by Marley Morrison’s debut feature, Sweetheart . Sweetheart
Rating: ★★★★☆ (4/5)