“Sweetpea” is a twisted yet surprisingly funny journey into the psyche of a woman pushed to her absolute limits. The show, adapted from C.J. Skuse’s novel, takes what could have been a bleak crime drama and spins it into something far more entertaining and provocative.
The protagonist, Rhiannon Lewis (played by Ella Purnell), is a character you don’t often see at the center of a story. At the start, she's invisible to everyone around her—just another face in the crowd stuck in a dead-end job at a local newspaper and dealing with the recent death of her father. Add to that a self-obsessed sister and an ex-school bully who’s now her realtor, and you have the recipe for a psychological meltdown. Rhiannon, however, doesn't take the expected path of self-pity. Instead, she turns to murder as her coping mechanism, which the show treats with a darkly comedic flair.
What makes Sweetpea stand out is the delicate balancing act between the grotesque and the humorous. Rhiannon’s inner thoughts—her list of people she'd love to kill, from annoying co-workers to inconsiderate strangers—resonate with the petty frustrations we all have, but she takes it a step further, acting on them. The show dives deep into her trauma and insecurities without dragging the viewer down with heavy-handed moralizing. It’s clear that Rhiannon is a broken person, shaped by her past bullying and deep feelings of invisibility. But instead of wallowing, the show lets us ride along as she explores what it means to finally feel seen—albeit through a violent, chaotic lens.
Ella Purnell’s portrayal of Rhiannon is one of the show’s strongest assets. She deftly handles the duality of Rhiannon’s character—meek and ignored on the outside, but simmering with barely contained rage and dark humor beneath the surface. It’s a performance that keeps the audience both sympathetic and horrified. Her character’s descent into murder is strangely relatable in the sense that we can understand her frustrations, even if we (hopefully) wouldn’t follow the same path.
The show has been compared to Dexter for its moral ambiguity and Fleabag for its razor-sharp wit and self-awareness, but it manages to carve its own identity. Rhiannon’s kills are not just senseless acts of violence; they’re cathartic, albeit deeply troubling, expressions of her attempt to reclaim control over her life. The dark humor is key here—it’s the show’s way of asking, “Have you ever felt so powerless that murder almost makes sense?” It’s this constant push and pull between sympathy for Rhiannon and disgust at her actions that keeps the audience engaged.
Visually, Sweetpea takes a straightforward approach. It doesn’t rely on overly stylized shots or flashy editing but focuses instead on Rhiannon’s internal world. The set pieces—the drab office, her childhood home now being sold out from under her, and the city streets she roams—reflect her emotional state, adding to the sense of her being trapped in a life that doesn’t belong to her anymore. But when she finally snaps, these spaces take on a different feel, becoming the backdrop for her violent transformation.
One of the standout aspects of the show is its refusal to neatly categorize Rhiannon’s actions as purely good or evil. She’s complex, and the show constantly challenges us to question how much of her victimhood is a product of external forces, and how much is self-inflicted. The supporting characters, especially her old bully-turned-realtor Julia (played by Nicôle Lecky), are more than just targets for Rhiannon’s rage—they’re people who force her to confront her own sense of worth, and whether her murderous actions are really solving anything.
But as with any show that toes the line between comedy and tragedy, Sweetpea is not without its flaws. While the pacing keeps things moving, there are moments where the show feels a bit too comfortable with Rhiannon’s violence, letting her actions become almost too easy to justify. This moral ambiguity can be unsettling in a way that goes beyond the show’s intent, leaving the viewer unsure if we’re supposed to laugh at her kills or feel horrified. Additionally, the character development of some side characters feels undercooked—Julia, for instance, could have been given more depth beyond her role as the foil to Rhiannon’s rage.
Despite these minor setbacks, Sweetpea manages to pull off a tricky premise with remarkable finesse. The show doesn’t try to answer the questions it raises about morality, trauma, and power—because, frankly, it doesn’t need to. It’s more interested in exploring the messy, uncomfortable space where comedy and horror collide, and it does so with biting wit and a sense of gleeful chaos.
If you’re someone who enjoys black comedies that challenge your expectations, Sweetpea is a must-watch. It’s not afraid to get its hands dirty, both literally and figuratively, and it delivers a fresh take on the psychological thriller genre. Just don’t be surprised if you find yourself laughing at things you probably shouldn’t.
In short, Sweetpea is a delightful mix of grim humor, moral ambiguity, and psychological tension, offering a unique glimpse into what happens when a wallflower decides to bloom—with blood on her hands.
Final Score- [7/10]
Reviewed by - Anjali Sharma
Follow @AnjaliS54769166 on Twitter
Publisher at Midgard Times