THE STORY – A straight-laced wallflower embarks on a violent quest for agency after the unexpected death of her father, and the return of her childhood bully pushes her past a breaking point.
THE CAST – Ella Purnell, Calam Lynch, Nicôle Lecky, Leah Harvey & Jeremy Swift
The TEAM – Ella Jones (Director), Kristie Swain (Writer/Creator), Krissie Ducker (Writer) & CJ Skuse (Based on the Novel By)
Between the ongoing popularity of the meta murder mystery and the seemingly never-ending onslaught of ill-advised Netflix biopics, shows looking to ride the true crime wave aren’t going anywhere any time soon. But if Ella Jones’ “Sweetpea“ is any indication, they are getting gutsier, messier, and more interesting. Though it veers dangerously close to soapy before Jones quickly finds her footing, “Sweetpea“ is an unexpectedly subversive, cynical series anchored by an enthralling turn from Ella Purnell.
Based on CJ Skuse’s 2017 novel of the same name, “Sweetpea“ follows the agonizingly timid Rihannon Lewis (Purnell), an unassuming receptionist whose humdrum life is turned upside down when her father dies, and her high school bully re-enters her life on the same day. Encouraged by a misguided interpretation of her father’s dying wish for her to “stand up for herself,“ Rihannon embarks on a violent spree to take revenge on those she feels have wronged her.
At a short but sweet six 45-minute episodes, Sweetpea is less a groundbreaking entry in the genre and more an eclectic combination of winning elements from contemporary cat-and-mouse murder mysteries. Leaning heavily on the likes of “You“ (particularly seasons three and four), “Only Murders in the Building,“ and with a healthy dash of “Killing Eve“ for good measure, there’s nothing narratively groundbreaking about “Sweetpea“ — less generous viewers might go so far as to call it predictable.
But “Sweetpea” ‘s adherence to genre convention (at least in terms of narrative structure) gives Jones and Swain ample room to subvert expectations through their characterization of Rihannon and the deconstruction of the archetypes and ideas of victimhood she represents. “Sweetpea“ bills itself as a “coming-of-age“ story, and though the series itself doesn’t take place in high school, the trauma Rihannon endured in high school acts as her myth of creation, guiding her actions to the bloody end.
Though her bully Julia (Nicôle Lecky) has gone on to become a beautiful, successful realtor (decidedly not peaking in high school, as Rihannon says she was “supposed to”), Rihannon is unable to move on, forced to live with a constant physical reminder of her torment. As we learn via flashback (“Sweetpea’s” first episode is by far its clunkiest and most exposition-heavy), Julia convinced Rihannon she wasn’t real and bullied her so severely she began pulling her hair out and had to wear a wig.
Once she begins killing, Rihannon uses Julia’s bullying as her ethical get-out-of-jail-free card: jumping through mental hoops about how murders are justified and her victims deserving of their fates, never mind that most killings were spur-of-the-moment. The more Rhiannon kills, the more confident she grows — but most crucially, the more validated she feels. The self-righteous, morally dubious, unreliable narrator isn’t necessarily groundbreaking, but there’s a tangible vulnerability and frailty to Rhiannon that makes her an intoxicating subversion of a familiar archetype.
But as fascinating of a character Rhiannon is on the page, Ella Purnell is the undeniable key to “Sweetpea’s” success. It’s no small task to turn an obsessive, psychotic murderer into an empathetic, almost tragic figure. Still, it’s impossible to watch “Sweetpea“ and not feel for Rhiannon in her lowest moments. Somehow juggling a vindictive, twitchy, suspicious killer with the sweet, awkward girl next door, Purnell makes for a magnetic lead and a commanding presence, especially when opposite the revolving door of men in Rhiannon’s life.
Whether it’s “Ted Lasso’s” Jeremy Swift as Rhiannon’s schlubby boss (who has neglected to learn her name and simply calls her “sweetpea”) or Jon Pointing as well-meaning but painfully lad-ish Craig, the men of “Sweetpea“ walk a curious line between being pig-headed human caricatures to be brutally slain and empathetic, multi-faceted supporting players with unforeseen depth.
Sure, it takes a couple of episodes for Jones to blend the more satirical edges of Swain and Ducker’s writing with the earnestness of Purnell’s performance and the complicated nature of Rhiannon’s trauma, but once she strikes the right balance, “Sweetpea’s” male characters turn into human embodiments of Rhiannon’s slightly warped-mirror world. As unexpectedly endearing as the men in Rhiannon’s life are, her most compelling relationship ends up being her bond with Julia, the bully-turned-real estate agent whose re-entry into Rhiannon’s life jumpstarts the entire series.
Though Julia’s story has elements that aren’t articulated as gracefully or effectively as they might’ve been (referring back to Jones’ struggles to translate the nuances of Swain and Ducker’s script), Julia still ends up being “Sweetpea’s” most challenging, engrossing character, reminiscent of Shalita Grant’s scene-stealing turn in “You“ season three.
Set to the shrill strings and staccato keys of Isobel Waller-Bridge’s singular score, “Sweetpea’s” slick cinematography, simple yet effective set dressing, and pop-punk-inspired soundtrack all work in tandem to create an offbeat, decidedly female-driven addition to the serial killer canon.
THE GOOD – A surprising, subversive, stylish revenge tale with a deliciously messy protagonist and a whirlwind of a performance from Ella Purnell.
THE BAD – Struggles to nail down tone in the first episode and formulaic for murder-mystery aficionados.
THE EMMY PROSPECTS – Outstanding Actress in a Limited Series
THE FINAL SCORE – 7/10
You can follow Lauren and hear more of her thoughts on the Emmys & TV on her X account @laurenjcoates