‘Sweetpea’ Review: Ella Purnell Is in Full Control of Starz’s Deliciously Queasy Serial Killer Thriller

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As a fan with a penchant for dark tales and a soft spot for flawed protagonists, I must say that Ella Purnell‘s portrayal of Rhiannon Lewis in Sweetpea has left me both disturbed and captivated. The series seems to be a perfect blend of revenge fantasies, moral ambiguity, and the complexities of adolescence.

It’s rare for me to ponder over whether a person’s life might have benefited from associating with the cannibalistic girl groups portrayed in Yellowjackets.

However, Rhiannon Lewis, portrayed by Ella Purnell from the series Yellowjackets, could potentially be an unusual case. Perhaps if she had addressed her teenage turmoil directly instead of allowing it to grow into something unmanageable, she might not have found solace in the extreme act of serial killing as a means to vent her overwhelming anger.

In support of Rhiannon, it’s true that the Starz drama can make her actions appear enjoyable – up to a certain extent. It’s easy to imagine oneself seeking revenge against bullies from childhood, rude strangers, or annoying colleagues. However, what makes the British series truly chilling and captivating is its exploration of the ambiguous territory between vengeance and brutality, victim and offender. (A disclaimer to my THR peers: I’m not suggesting any of you fit this description.)

I’m Rhiannon, a 26-year-old gamer by night and office assistant to the town editor, who seems to find my ambition amusing when I ask for a promotion. In between my workday grind, I exchange text messages with an old fling, Jon Pointing, who rarely takes the time to respond more than a simple emoji.

For years, Rhiannon has been overlooked and underappreciated. She traces her ongoing struggles back to her teenage years, when a cruel classmate, Julia (Nicôle Lecky), pushed her to develop trichotillomania – the compulsion to pull out one’s own hair – due to anxiety, publicly humiliated her, and overall damaged her self-esteem. It comes as no surprise that her witty inner thoughts frequently revolve around a list of people she wishes she could eliminate, reminiscent of Arya Stark’s vengeful musings.

In Rhiannon’s life, there are only a few positive aspects – her cherished Chihuahua Tink and her ailing father Tommy (David Bark-Jones), who she cares for in her childhood home. However, after an extremely difficult day as portrayed in the hourlong premiere, she decides to retaliate against a universe that seems intent on continually inflicting pain upon her. Although her initial act of aggression is driven by self-defense, it triggers something within her. For the first time in ages, the previously timid Rhiannon exits the encounter with newfound confidence and pride.

However, one might question whether we’re witnessing the ascent of an unlikely champion or the emergence of a formidable force. Rhiannon firmly believes it’s the rise of the underdog, and she emphasizes this repeatedly in her show. Yet, the series itself seems more hesitant about the matter.

Right from the beginning, author Kirstie Swain, adapting a novel penned by C.J. Skuse, subtly sows uncertainty about Rhiannon’s self-centered viewpoint. Is it truly Julia who should bear blame for Rhiannon’s unfortunate accident, given her furious reaction to the billboard showcasing Julia’s real estate empire? Or could it be that Rhiannon merely perceives herself as being overlooked, rather than acknowledging the people around her – such as the charming coworker AJ (Calam Lynch) – who genuinely care and attempt to connect with her?

This method has its boundaries. Though the show intentionally muddles the distinction between perpetrator and victim, it sometimes resorts to using trauma as a quick means to evoke empathy – an action that may result in some secondary characters appearing more like theoretical constructs rather than complex, fully-developed individuals.

Primarily, I find myself captivated by the moral gray areas that make this story so enticing. As someone who often feels misunderstood like Rhiannon, I see her struggle between victim and antagonist as two sides of a complex coin. Just like Joe from You, she manages to slip seamlessly into a relatable character type, making her even more menacing because of it.

Purnell, who has been succeeding in dark settings such as ‘Fallout’, ‘Yellowjackets’, and the characters she’s portrayed, effortlessly conveys her character’s complex contradictions. The softness suggested by her wide-eyed gaze is contrasted by the secret smirks she gives following her delivery of twisted justice. Jo Thompson’s costumes subtly downplay Purnell’s striking appearance, making it appear as if she blends into the surroundings. At one point, someone even mistakes her hunchbacked figure in a raincoat for a trash bag. Although this situation is infuriating for her, it’s hard not to understand why the mistake was made.

In Sweetpea, it’s not hard to predict what comes next; often, I found myself anticipating characters reaching conclusions or having realizations that were foreshadowed quite obviously. However, what I yearned for to unfold was more elusive to express, especially during the latter half of the six-episode season. This part introduces a detective named Marina (Leah Harvey), whose relentless grudge against Rhiannon stems not from their contrasts but from their shared traits, making her vendetta all the more complex.

If there’s a disadvantage in the series being vague about its intentions, it means that viewers may not feel completely content when they weren’t clear about what they wanted at first. However, Sweetpea doesn’t force us to take sides, instead providing an unresolved ending that hints at more shocking developments in the future. No matter where she leads us next, I’ll be eager to follow the story of a girl who once claimed to be hidden from the world.

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2024-10-09 16:55