WWhat do vicars do in their free time? Last week I went with two friends, fellow vicars, to see new movie I swear. I knew from the trailer that it was about a person with Tourette Syndrome (TS). What I didn't know was that it was about a real person: John Davidson, who was the subject of a 1989 BBC documentary called John isn't angry and who later received an MBE for his efforts to educate people about this disease and support his fellow sufferers.
Before this program, most people had never heard of TC. Almost 40 years later, everyone (sort of) knows what it is, but it's still often treated as a punchline – especially in comedy circles.
From the trailer, it seemed obvious that the film would try to have its cake and eat it, while simultaneously capitalizing on the undeniable comic potential of a man shouting the most inappropriate things (“I use sperm instead of milk”) at the most inappropriate times, and attempting to continue Davidson's work of raising awareness in a respectful and sensitive manner. I hope it's not a spoiler to say that the game was a success on both counts – but, of course, I only found out about that at the end.
As the film began, a young man sitting in the row in front of us suddenly shouted a series of obscenities. For a minute I thought it was a joke, albeit a very tasteless one. However, it quickly became apparent that this was a real person with TS: a teenager accompanied by his father.
And as the film continued, so did the boy – without any visible interference from his father or anyone in the audience. I felt somewhat conflicted. It was obviously very important for this family to see their no doubt incredibly difficult lives portrayed on the big screen and I was glad they had the opportunity. But was it normal that I (and everyone else in the audience) ended up barely hearing the film? Could the movie theater have failed to host a special screening—as most chains regularly do for neurodiverse people in general?
I'm ashamed to admit that I was actually going to say something, but not to the boy's father himself (I'm not a monster), but to the director of the theater. However, both of my apparently more merciful fellow vicars seemed resigned to what was happening. Also, in the back of my mind was the incident (admittedly fictional) in Masque when Ricky Gervais' Andy Millman complains about a child who is making too much noise in a restaurant, unaware that he has Down syndrome. He barely survived the bad press that followed – and my crime would have been much worse because I knew there was literally nothing the boy could do about it.
Luckily, my better qualities took over and something extraordinary happened over the next hour and a half. At first I just got used to the once intrusive noise. Then, as the film reached its climax and we saw the incredibly liberating effect that Davidson's Tourette's camps had on so many people, I felt humbled and very privileged to share this moment with people who actually experienced it as more than just actors – although Robert Aramayo's performance as Davidson was excellent and, in my opinion, award-worthy.
I'd had similar movie experiences before—watching The King's Speech with a friend who stutters and his speech therapist wife, or bumping into actual Normandy landing veterans in the lobby after Saving Private Ryan—but this was on another level. It was like a 4D show, but instead of chairs moving and water splashing in your face, the characters sat next to you and said, “This is not just a movie. This is my reality.” And then swear. Spank for milk.
So I didn't complain. As the credits rolled, I went and thanked Joe, who was 14, and Mark, his father, for the gift of their presence, which undoubtedly made our experience even more profound than it would have been anyway. We then had a long talk and took a selfie together, during which everyone shouted a rude word in solidarity with Joe.
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I highly recommend everyone go and see this brilliant film and if you are lucky enough to be in the theater with someone like Joe, don't be as quick as I was at first. You know, things like: “Of course, I want people with this disease to be able to see this film, but not at the same screening as me!” Trust me, your experience will be even richer because they are there.
