If nothing else, Sweetpea is a fantastic outlet for Ella Purnell (Fallout) to show off her acting talent. As Rhiannon, a receptionist at a local newspaper company whose profound loneliness and wallflower personality contribute to her feeling invisible, the actress makes this intimate and small-scale setup feel much larger than it is. While Rhiannon has plenty of misfortunes sent her way at the start of the series to endear us to her (her dad dying, her dog getting run over, and a childhood bully making an unwelcome return), none of the show’s emotional resonance would be achieved without someone of Purnell’s acting calibre at the helm.
Sweetpea lives or dies on Purnell’s interior monologues and facial expressions. While it’s rare for any actor to have facial features that amplify their performances, Purnell’s eyes are so expressive that they’re not just her most distinctive trait, they’re immediately captivating whenever Rhiannon is experiencing distress. Which in a story about an unassuming woman trying to ensure that her newfound passion for murdering people isn’t discovered, is a common occurrence.
Profound sorrow seems to drip off this protagonist very early in the story, and that’s only when she’s facing the drudgery of her day-to-day existence. Rhiannon gradually unravels throughout the first episode, where her humanity is continually denied by those around her and her desperation for affection only compounds her loneliness. Conversations involving this protagonist are awkward, both in the ways that Rhiannon is kept at a distance from the viewer as someone to pity, and in the brief, cringy interactions we all experience and can relate to.
Rhiannon’s world is very insular, but not only is this more than enough to facilitate the series’ plotting, it is vividly realised in painful depth. It’s not just Purnell who provides stellar acting: minor characters like Rhiannon’s sister Seren (Alexandra Dowling), who is frustratingly distant towards this protagonist, feel like much richer characters than their brief appearances would suggest. This is because her absence feels like it has its own kind of ghostly presence in Rhiannon’s life. More noticeable characters like Craig (Jon Pointing) are also memorable on this front, as well for offering up interactions that serve as springboards for Rhiannon to bounce off of. Though ‘bounce off of’ isn’t exactly the right way to put it. ‘Shy away from’ is more Rhiannon’s speed.
Sweetpea’s greatest strength—aside from Purnell’s acting ability—is how easy it is to empathise with this protagonist. Yes, she’s a killer, and her ridiculous justifications for these acts only take root after she’s murdered someone she hardly knew in cold blood. But there’s a perverse satisfaction here in witnessing someone who feels they’ve been trampled on their whole life take the reins. It also sets up natural intrigue, with high stakes that make it seem like things can only end badly for Rhiannon.
What’s more muddled is this series’ approach to gender, which becomes more prominent with each episode. At first, it feels almost incidental that Rhiannon’s victims are male, since the attacks aren’t premeditated and are conducted against people she hardly knows. Yet at the same time, these victims being rude and crass men, who possess all the domineering traits Rhiannon lacks, feel pointed. These near-strangers are merely surrogates for this protagonist’s intense anger, which is mostly directed at Julia (Nicôle Lecky), who mercilessly bullied Rhiannon when she was younger. So are these killings rooted in gender dynamics, or aren’t they? For most of its run, Sweetpea can’t seem to make up its mind.
Even the show’s title is rooted in the dismissal and dehumanisation that women face from men, with Rhiannon’s boss Norman (Jeremy Swift) assigning this nickname to her. It’s not as if he starts calling her this near the show’s opening: it’s clear that this is a long-running comment, underscoring how Rhiannon has spent years under the thumb of those around her. The name itself, not dissimilar to calling a woman ‘darling’, isn’t just antiquated, it implies that the person in question is subservient and easygoing, a pretty object that shouldn’t make their identity too pronounced by speaking up or being defiant. Again, quite a pointed nickname (and series title), and it would seem intentional that it’s a man referring to Rhiannon this way, but it doesn’t strike a chord.
The main stumbling block here might be the fact that Rhiannon’s nemesis is a female childhood bully, her secondary tormenters were Julia’s female friends, her only living relation is her cold and dismissive sister, and the person she loved most in the world was her dad. Rounding out the principal cast is Craig, her main romantic interest, who might not be the best potential partner around, but isn’t a bad person. As well as this, the only person who seems truly innocent in the bleak world Sweetpea presents is AJ (Calam Lynch), who’s so uncharacteristically accommodating to Rhiannon that viewers, like this protagonist, will be left questioning why someone would be so nice without an ulterior motive. There’s very little in this protagonist’s personal life that illuminates the series’ subject matter.
Sweetpea is part of a familiar mould in filmmaking, featuring a dejected main character who doesn’t feel as if they’ll ever experience happiness, and who has accepted that they may well be destined to go down a path that will lead to death or ruin. More male-centred films in this vein like Taxi Driver (1976) and Joker (2019) come to mind, though this series is more similar to Promising Young Woman (2020) in this regard. But unlike this latter movie, Sweetpea’s gender politics have no setup whatsoever, despite how clear-cut the series becomes in its representation of terrible men.
Other issues complicate the heavier aspects of its subject matter. While Purnell is fantastic at depicting Rhiannon as a wallflower who allows life (and other people) to come at her, treating her existence with such meekness it’s surprising she doesn’t apologise just for being alive, it requires a significant suspension of disbelief to imagine that someone this attractive doesn’t often get approached by men. If anything, adding in this element to the story would subvert the slew of works about loneliness that, intentionally or not, are skewed towards male experiences.
But more importantly, including interactions where Rhiannon’s forced to contend with casual objectification and the downsides of being a woman (especially being alone as a woman), would amplify her rage from a perspective that prioritises gender. Such scenes would also be a painful, searing insight into this lonely protagonist’s life, where her only chance for intimacy is through leering, drunken, aggressive men looking for casual sex, who could (and maybe do) become dangerous if rejected. Incorporating these elements would have effortlessly amplified the show’s depiction of female rage and loneliness.
Sweetpea gradually loses its identity the more it identifies with a gendered perspective since it was so unwilling to commit to these themes and issues earlier in the season. And these developments are far from natural, as the most important one is delivered through an absurd plot hole that’s impossible to look past. Characters and situations are presented in such a painfully one-sided way that it would seem they are poised for a ‘shocking’ twist, but more often than not it’s just a glaring example of the series’ inability to make its story riveting.
Once Rhiannon embraces her new life, there’s far less momentum to the show’s drama. This leads to some of the side characters developing banal quirks that are ill-fitted to this story. The humour here does not crash and burn—it’s far too unremarkable for that—but it is disappointing to see these minor characters engage in the ‘stereotypically stupid side character’ archetype.
The lighter tone does serve a grander purpose in terms of how Rhiannon learns to appreciate her new outlook, though this also makes it more difficult to connect with her constant deference to how her life has been forever ruined as a result of what she endured years ago. It is intended on the show’s part to demonstrate how she is obsessing over this point and using it as an excuse to treat her life as if it has been permanently squandered, but it is still aggravating to hear it be continually reinforced. The main positive quality in this story in later episodes is the lightweight but entertaining love triangle between Rhiannon, AJ, and Craig.
A second protagonist is introduced very late into Sweetpea and is scarcely ever shown onscreen. In some ways that’s a good thing, as despite being easy to pity and similar to Rhiannon in uncomfortable ways, this new character is very bland. The bare details of her life might be sketched out, and the parallels set up between her and Rhiannon are admirable, but there is no real character here. Not yet, at least. Sweetpea is clearly setting up a second season, though it would be too late by that point to make viewers care about such a one-note addition to the show’s roster.
As for how it concludes its six-episode first season, though its brevity does make it feel incomplete, the season’s final moments leave plenty of intrigue for what is to come. The plot development itself is easy to predict, but when it finally comes into play it is delivered convincingly enough that it overrides logic and manages to feel sudden and shocking. It is still not enough to cover up the fact that the show’s muddled gender politics and gradually unabsorbing plot leave a lot to be desired.
Ella Purnell’s fantastic leading performance is worth checking out, but overall Sweetpea feels like an unconvincing mash-up of Promising Young Woman and Barry (2018-2023), with the gender politics, female rage and shock factor of the former, and the messy moral system and intrigue in following a violent character who struggles to change in the latter. If this series had been more confident in its vision, it might not warrant these comparisons, nor would it be noticeably weaker than these other works. As it is, Sweetpea isn’t confident enough in its vision to stand out, as its promising start gradually fizzles out in intensity and clarity.
UK | 2024 | 6 EPISODES | 16:9 HD | COLOUR | ENGLISH
Cast & Crew
writers: Kirstie Swain, Krissie Ducker, Laura Jayne Tunbridge & Selina Lim.
director: Ella Jones.
starring: Ella Purnell, Nicôle Lecky, Jon Pointing, Calam Lynch, Leah Harvey, Jeremy Swift, Dustin Demri-Burns & Alexandra Dowling.
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