Charles Buttle
Sweetpea isn’t your typical horror series; it doesn’t rely on grand spectacle, supernatural threats or masked villains. Instead, it centres on a woman, an ordinary, unremarkable woman, who after years of bullying, dismissal and quiet humiliation, is slowly pushed beyond her limits. What follows serves as her origin story, as she begins to discover a distorted sense of confidence and control over her life by embracing her darkest instincts and becoming a killer.
While this dark comedy succeeds on multiple levels — from its tonal balance, sharp character work, to its status as a prequel to a beloved novel series — what lingers most is the discomfort it leaves behind. Sweetpea isn’t interested in the spectacle of violence, but instead, poses a far more unsettling question: if subjected to the same conditions, could anyone be capable of murder?
The Making of Rhiannon Lewis
Set before the events of C. J. Skuse’s novel series, first published in 2017, Sweetpea follows Rhiannon Lewis (Ella Purnell), whose life has been shaped by years of bullying, social rejection and emotional neglect. As a result, she has become a shell of the person she once aspired to be, lacking self-confidence and consumed by doubt. Worn down and diminished, Rhiannon struggles to speak out or assert herself, allowing others to repeatedly dismiss and undermine her.
Following the death of her father, the only person who provided her with a sense of comfort and stability, Rhiannon is pushed beyond her limits. What follows is a gradual and unsettling descent, as grief and long-suppressed anger begin to reshape her sense of self and lead her towards murder.
What initially begins as an instinctive act of violence soon takes on a different form. Rhiannon starts to frame her actions as purposeful, shaping her targets around those in society she considers monsters: bullies, abusers and individuals who have long operated without consequence. Whether it’s a dismissive cashier who is “never happy to help”, a boss who repeatedly fails to acknowledge her, or a childhood bully who shaped her earliest sense of worth, Rhiannon constructs a narrative in which her violence feels not only justified but necessary.
Endurance, Erosion and Divergent Paths
Rhiannon does not operate as a typical serial killer within the genre; she’s not driven by theatrical brutality or a desire to instil fear for its own sake. Instead, murder acts as a mechanism through which she reclaims control and asserts an identity that has long been denied to her. While it’s undeniable that her actions do provide a sense of release and gratification, Sweetpea instead focuses on the psychological transformation that accompanies them, presenting violence as a means of agency within a world that has systematically dismissed her.
Throughout her life, Rhiannon is framed as an outcast, someone without close relationships and repeatedly positioned on the margins of social life. In childhood, she was the frequent target of sustained bullying, a cruelty that embedded itself deep enough to manifest physically through self-harm. However, adulthood does not offer any relief from this erosion, only a change in how it presents itself. The overt cruelty of childhood bullying gives way to more socially acceptable forms of harm: casual misogyny, workplace dismissal, and the quiet minimisation of her feelings and abilities. Rhiannon learns that cruelty does not end with maturity; it simply becomes easier to excuse. All of this contributes to her deeply eroded self-esteem and fragile sense of worth. Shaped by past trauma, Rhiannon exists in a constant tension between wanting more for herself — meaningful connections, confidence and stability — and believing that she is not entitled to any of it, with those desires always remaining just out of reach.
When Rhiannon makes her descent into darkness, her violence is not detached or impersonal, but instead, deeply emotional in nature. She does not separate herself from the act, nor does she seek detachment from its consequences. This emotional complexity is best reflected in her weapon of choice: her father’s old knife. Unlike methods that allow space or anonymity, the knife requires proximity and sustained presence, forcing Rhiannon to remain physically and emotionally engaged with both her victims and the act itself. The weapon’s personal history further binds her actions to grief and unresolved attachment, collapsing past loss into present violence. As a result, the killings in Sweetpea are not clinical or procedural, but raw and charged, shaped by feeling rather than spectacle. The horror lies not in efficiency, but in how closely emotion and violence are fused, leaving no room for distance, denial, or escape.
While Sweetpea is told primarily from Rhiannon’s perspective, allowing the viewer intimate access to her psychology, the series sharpens its tension by offering a clear counterpoint in the form of Marina Farrar (Leah Harvey), the junior police officer investigating the murders. Like Rhiannon, Marina operates within systems that consistently underestimate and dismiss her, with her instincts overlooked and her competence questioned within a male-dominated hierarchy. Yet where Rhiannon internalises this treatment and ultimately uses it to justify her violence, Marina responds by doubling down on restraint, persistence and duty. This familiarity, paired with such a stark divergence in response, creates a compelling dynamic between the two women and complicates the viewer’s relationship with Rhiannon herself. By presenting parallel experiences alongside radically different outcomes, Sweetpea resists any simple reading of cause and effect, instead forcing viewers to confront how easily the line between endurance and rupture can blur.
Female Killers and the Limits of Sympathy
From Michael Myers to Patrick Bateman, serial killers within horror have largely been dominated by male figures, often framed through assertions of power, masculinity, or an apparent pleasure in violence itself. When female killers do emerge, their actions are frequently expected to be explained away, softened, or redirected through familiar frameworks. Against this backdrop, Rhiannon stands apart. Her violence is neither eroticised nor mythologised, nor externalised through supernatural or symbolic means, but rooted instead in recognisable emotional and social conditions. Rather than functioning as an exception or novelty, she exposes how rarely female rage is permitted to exist in horror without being reshaped into something more palatable.
While horror has made space for female killers, it has long struggled to depict their violence without softening it or filtering it through spectacle, obsession, or metaphor. In Hellraiser, Julia Cotton’s murders are driven by erotic obsession and devotion to a man, her violence framed as an extension of desire rather than self-directed rage. By contrast, Tiffany Valentine embodies a camp, performative excess, with her killings exaggerated and stylised in ways that diffuse their emotional weight through humour and spectacle. Even in cases where female violence is grounded in psychological distress, such as Carrie White — who is not typically considered a serial killer but commits a single act of mass violence — that violence is externalised through supernatural ability, transforming rage into something mythic rather than socially grounded. In each instance, female violence is reframed in ways that create distance, making it easier for audiences to categorise, contain, or dismiss.
Rhiannon’s violence feels markedly different from that of other female killers in horror. Her actions are neither eroticised, stylised, nor externalised through supernatural means, but rooted instead in recognisable emotional erosion and social neglect. By refusing the genre’s usual methods of containment, Sweetpea presents a form of female rage that feels unsettlingly familiar, forcing viewers to confront how easily such conditions can justify catastrophic actions.
Sweetpea Season Two
While details surrounding the continuation of the series remain limited, Sweetpea has officially been renewed for a second season, with Purnell set to reprise her role as Rhiannon Lewis. Production took place in London between August and December 2025. The upcoming season has been described by Purnell as “big” and “bonkers”, suggesting an escalation of both narrative scope and thematic ambition. While it remains to be seen how Rhiannon’s story will continue to unfold, the renewal signals confidence in Sweetpea’s distinctive blend of psychological horror, dark comedy and social commentary.
Final Thoughts
Sweetpea does not ask its audience to sympathise with Rhiannon’s actions, nor does it present violence as a solution. Instead, it strips away the genre’s familiar comforts when approaching serial killers. There are no monsters to blame, no supernatural forces to absorb responsibility, and no safe distance between the viewer and what unfolds. By grounding its horror in recognisable emotional erosion and social neglect, the series refuses to allow Rhiannon to be dismissed as an aberration or an outlier.
What Sweetpea ultimately leaves behind is unease rather than resolution. Rhiannon’s anger is legible, even familiar, rooted in experiences many viewers will recognise, but the series is careful never to confuse understanding with justification. By shifting the focus away from who Rhiannon is and towards the environments that allow someone like her to go unseen for so long, Sweetpea reframes its central question into something far more unsettling. The true horror is not simply what she becomes, but how easily her descent can be ignored until it is too late.
