Movie Review ~ Friendship

I’d heard the whispers about the brilliance of offbeat comedian Tim Robinson. Robinson’s popular show I Think You Should Leave had carved out a rabid fanbase, but the clips I saw always felt a little too loud, too absurdist, too far down a rabbit hole I didn’t feel like exploring. So when I landed a ticket to the TIFF Midnight Madness screening of Friendship, a black comedy from A24 starring Robinson and Paul Rudd, I approached it with cautious curiosity. Let’s just say, if this is what I’ve been missing, I have a lot of homework to make up. Because Friendship is the rare comedy so precise and hilariously unnerving that it doesn’t just land, it detonates.

Friendship, directed by Andrew DeYoung in his feature debut, is a slow-burning cringe bomb masquerading as a suburban buddy comedy. Craig Waterman (Robinson) is a painfully average husband and father, the kind of person who blends into wallpaper—literally and figuratively. He lives in a taupe-toned house in the fictional town of Clovis, works in marketing (helping products become more addictive, because subtlety is for other films), and treats Marvel movie releases like major holidays.

Craig’s life with wife Tami (Kate Mara, The Martian) and son Steven (Jack Dylan Grazer, Shazam!) is a colorless loop until Austin Carmichael (Paul Rudd, Death of a Unicorn) moves in down the street—a part-time weatherman and frontman for a dad rock band. Austin is everything Craig isn’t and never was: charismatic and cool.   A misdelivered package meant for Austin is their “meet-cute,” sparking a desperate quest by Craig to forge a bromance…even after Austin has politely but firmly told Craig a friendship is off the table. What follows is a painfully funny, slowly spiraling breakdown that mirrors the unraveling of Craig’s identity. Robinson’s Craig is always one awkward pause away from a meltdown, leaning into every micro-cringe and facial twitch with laser accuracy.  Even silent moments squirm with tension.

The genius of Friendship lies in how it navigates the razor-thin line between hilariously relatable and uncomfortably pathological. Men are often socialized to keep things surface-level, giving a deeper friendship a weird energy. In that way, DeYoung, who wrote the screenplay during the 2020 pandemic, has captured something profoundly human.  There can be a crushing disappointment in friendship rejection, which is why we’ll often go to desperate lengths to avoid it.  Craig’s descent from “neighborly” to “obsessed” is handled with an almost queasy intimacy yet it never feels cartoonish.

As a twerp in taupe tweed (an inspired costume choice), Robinson gives a performance of magnificent desperation.  Physically embodying social awkwardness, his comedic timing transforms mundane interactions into gut-busting moments. Despite his increasingly concerning behavior, what’s remarkable is how he maintains Craig’s humanity throughout.  You’ll be simultaneously rooting for and recoiling from him.

Unsurprisingly, Rudd nails the balance.  Austin isn’t a villain; he’s just a guy who starts out trying to be polite and realizes too late that he’s invited a human landmine into his life. His natural charm carries him through scenes with a casual confidence until the walls of courtesy crumble under Craig’s relentless pursuit of his time. Mara provides essential support as Tami, a role that could’ve easily fallen into “long-suffering spouse” territory.  While not the most sympathetic of characters, she’s also just surviving with her head above water, running her business, and trying not to get sucked into Craig’s unraveling.  Her friendship with the suspiciously handsome Devon (Josh Segarra, Scream VI) is an idea the film doesn’t fully follow through with, but it provides shady layers for Mara to play around with.

Rather than overcompensating with flashy techniques, DeYoung’s direction demonstrates remarkable restraint for a first-time filmmaker.  He allows the discomfort to breathe and build organically.  Andy Rydzewski’s cinematography cleverly emphasizes the suburban blandness of endless soft earth tones, symmetrical homes, and lifeless interiors that look like they were built by committee. When Rudd’s character enters the scene with his moderately brighter wardrobe and slightly looser body language, it feels like a burst of vitality in Craig’s monotonous existence.

Audience reactions were fascinating during my TIFF screening and a recent second viewing at the Minneapolis St. Paul International Film Festival. Initial laughs from what I assume were Robinson’s fans gradually transformed into collective gasps of incredulity as Craig’s desperation escalated, followed by cathartic roars as the film crescendoed into its dynamite finale. It’s the kind of viewing experience that could bring strangers together through their shared discomfort.

Not everyone will embrace Robinson’s specific comedic approach to showcasing the dark side of outsider syndrome on the silver screen, but Friendship feels accessible even to newcomers to his style. If you can’t ride with Robinson’s hyper-specific brand of cringe, the film’s message might go right over your head. However, the film works so well because it captures something deeply true about human connection by carefully depicting our desperate need for it and the exposure that need creates. On my second watch, I thought there was something overwhelmingly moving about watching someone risk dignity (and sanity) for something as simple yet profound as friendship.

Continuing its streak of identifying the distinctive voices of new filmmakers, A24’s Friendship is an offbeat gem and cult classic in the making that defies easy categorization.  You’ll laugh while it breaks your heart, relating to the uncomfortable truths it digs up.  Fans of Robinson and Rudd will love it, and anyone who’s ever felt the sting of social rejection will find a movie that welcomes you with open arms.