‘Adam’s Apple’ review: Intimate, expertly-crafted doc celebrates power of family and identity

Dir: Amy Jenkins. US. 2026. 99mins

When US transgender teen Adam Sieswerda decided that he wished to officially transition to male, it was not an earthshattering piece of news – Adam had been identifying as a boy from a young age. It was, nevertheless, the start of a challenging time, as Adam and his family navigated not only the logistical, psychological and physical demands of the process, but also their changing dynamic. Over the course of eight years, Adam and his mother, multidisciplinary artist Amy Jenkins, document their unique experience, creating a warm and insightful portrait of a difficult but essential journey.

Unflinching honesty about the difficulties of transition

Premiering at SXSW before playing CPH:DOX, Adam’s Apple, which was supported by the Sundance Institute Documentary Fund, is a deeply personal first-person account that strips away the politicising and sensationalising of this hot-topic issue to reveal the everyday realities of living as (and with) a transgender person. That, together with its personable and eloquent protagonists, should see the film be a title of interest for further festivals. Specialist distributors are likely to take note, and the film will strike a particular chord with others going through similar situations.

Adam was 15 when he decided to officially transition, inspired by the positive role models he was finding on social media (but not, as Amy notes, in mainstream media). Amy had always been a passionate documenter of her family’s rural life in New Hampshire – every birthday came with a set of questions about the future, filmed for posterity, every celebration was caught on film. With Adam’s permission (he is credited as a writer and his original music is used throughout), Amy follows with her camera as he attends psychological appointments, takes his first testosterone injections, undergoes gender affirmation surgery – a ‘boob funeral’ party thrown by family and friends is a joyful highlight – and applies to legally change his name.

Editing is intimate and fluid, Jenkins working with editor Kristina Motwani to organically connect the dots of Adam’s identity, from a toddler wearing Superman and Harry Potter costumes to the charming young man who makes his own music, tentatively gets his first girlfriend and wills his body to match his mind. The forward motion of the narrative is often punctuated by archive home video images – montages of Adam sleeping, playing, going to school – that span both the years and the emergence of his sense of self. It’s here that Jenkins’s artistic background comes into play; the film, like memory itself, loops back to events big and small, making connections between past and present.

Frustrations rear their head along the way, about waiting times, being misgendered, and the challenges of coming out to each new person. There is also conflict in the home, particularly as Amy and her husband John struggle to let go of their daughter even as they support the emergence of their son. (Notably, younger brother Elias has never been anything other than unquestioningly accepting.) Particular flashpoints are mementoes around the home, a monogrammed stocking, for example – understandably, these are treasured memories for Amy and John, but a source of pain for Adam. “I don’t want to be seen as a lost daughter,” he laments. The inclusion of these candid moments, their honesty about the difficulties of transition, is a large part of the film’s strength.

Amy is also aware that Adam is likely to face greater challenges away from the safe bubble of home, and is anxious about him driving, for example, or leaving to attend Columbia University in New York. These go beyond specific worries surrounding transgender children to universal feelings of parental anxiety; the hormonal maelstrom of living with a teenager, the difficulties of stepping back and allowing kids to spread their wings, make mistakes, feel pain. As much as Adam’s Apple is a film about the specifics of identity, it’s also a study of the relentless marching of time – and a reminder to make as much of it as we can with the people we love.