Friendship

It’s certainly preferable to getting radicalized by social-media algorithms or starting a podcast. Andrew DeYoung's directorial debut feels like a continuation of its two leads’ career-long projects, with Tim Robinson and Paul Rudd both living up to and expanding upon their respective niches in what’s sure to be the funniest movie of the year. Anyone who can’t handle cringe comedy in the vein of Curb Your Enthusiasm, Nathan for You, or Robinson’s I Think You Should Leave need not apply; for sickos who can’t get enough secondhand embarrassment, however, Friendship is the dark comedy you’ve been waiting for.

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It’s also further proof that Robinson is among the funniest people on the planet. Essentially a feature-length I Think You Should Leave sketch with Rudd as the (relative) straight man, it brings to mind the bromances of the late aughts (especially Rudd’s own I Love You, Man) while twisting the concept into something darker and more sinister. Just because men are terrible at making friends doesn’t mean they don’t need them.

What follows delivers every laugh you’re hoping for and then some; it also imbues that humor with unexpected pathos. The laugh-out-loud moments are too numerous to count — watch for a hallucination sequence involving a toad that manages to be funnier than its forebears by upending every convention they’ve established — but Friendship is not without an undercurrent of sadness.

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At first glance, the middle-class existence of Craig Waterman (Robinson) is generic to the point of being anonymous, though a few quirks at the edges quickly make it clear that something is slightly off here. Perpetually clad in drab grey outfits from a company called Ocean View Dining (clothing isn’t their main focus), he works a soulless corporate job and can’t help raising an eyebrow every time his wife (Kate Mara) kisses her teenage son (Jack Dylan Grazer) on the mouth. He’s kinda-sorta friendly with a few of his coworkers, though the longing looks he gives them from his office window as they hang out without him suggest he wants something more. That comes in the form of Austin Carmichael (Rudd), a new neighbor whose mere existence blows Craig's mind.

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A weather man on the local news, Austin has a mustache and fronts his own rock band. He’s also friendly enough to invite Craig over, and it’s here that we first see that Friendship is as insightful as it is hilarious. DeYoung offers keen observations on the many ways in which men never fully grow up, at least not from their wish-fulfilling daydreams or need to impress peers they consider cool. Upon seeing Austin’s band perform, Craig goes wide-eyed as he imagines himself on stage playing drums with him. He wants desperately to match his would-be buddy’s cool-kid energy, even and especially as he knows that the qualities that draw him to his neighbor — like effortless confidence and a devil-may-care attitude — are not traits he shares.

Friendship is the dark comedy you've been waiting for.

So he does what many of us would do in this situation: tries too hard, overplays his hand, and accidentally reveals the person he is rather than the person he wants to be. It’s every overthinker’s worst nightmare, as mortifying as it is uproarious. DeYoung’s thesis is clear: men desperately need friends, but aren’t equipped to nurture those relationships. It’s a real problem, but it’s also largely self-inflicted — and up to them to solve in a way that isn't toxic.

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That’s easier said than done, of course. “You made me feel too free,” Craig says after Austin sends him spiraling by ending their friendship before it’s truly begun. “People need rules.” His reaction to this breakup is yet another example of a Robinson character taking things too far and, rather than quit while he’s ahead, doubling and tripling down until his loved ones are not only embarrassed but worried on his behalf. How we react to such feelings reveals a lot about us, and the entire premise of Robinson’s brand of comedy is that few of us pass this test with flying colors. Why admit you’re wrong and move on when you can instead dig your heels in the sand and make matters infinitely worse for yourself and everyone around you?