Sweetie (1989)

Sweetie is special because it announces Jane Campion as a filmmaker with a fearless eye for the way families can be funny, cruel, tender, and all of those things in the same breath. It plays like a darkly comic domestic spell: the air feels charged, the details sting with recognition, and the camera seems to notice every small compromise people make to keep the peace—until the peace can’t be kept. Geneviève Lemon’s Sweetie is a thrilling, unpredictable force of nature, and the film’s brilliance is how it lets you laugh and wince without ever cheapening the pain underneath. It’s not a cozy watch—its emotional volatility can be unsettling—but if you want something original, atmospheric, and sharply observed, this one lingers like a vivid dream you can’t quite shake.

Sweetie is Jane Campion’s early, deliberately abrasive family portrait, aiming for dark comedy through raw, uncomfortable intimacy and the chaos one volatile person can unleash. It’s sharply observed and often imaginatively staged, with Geneviève Lemon giving a fearless, electric performance, but the film can feel like it’s poking bruises rather than healing them. The humor is sour, the characters aren’t designed to be liked, and the emotional experience is more exhausting than cathartic, which is exactly why some viewers label it “mean-spirited.” If you want warmth, clear redemption arcs, or an easy-to-love indie dramedy, this will likely feel punishing; if you can handle messy, confrontational art that doesn’t apologize, it may land as bracing and memorable.