Sweetheart May 2026

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

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. Morrison understands that first love, especially queer first