Oh, if only that mail person hadn’t improperly dropped off that one package. If Craig Waterman (Tim Robinson) hadn't accidentally received a package belonging to his neighbor Austin Carmichael (Paul Rudd), Craig never would've waltzed right over to Austin's house to return this trinket. During that incidental meeting, Austin invited Craig back to his place for drinks and hanging out. These guys couldn’t come from more different worlds. Craig works for a tech company that tries to make apps more addictive. Per his wife Tami (Kate Mara), he spends every night in his easy chair fiddling with his phone. Austin, meanwhile, is a gregarious local weatherman with a warm smile and active social life.
Despite their differences, this pair of dudes from Clovis, Colorado bond over looking at mushrooms and uncovering secret aqueduct tunnels. Quickly, though, a small wrinkle becomes apparent in their relationship. Like most of Tim Robinson’s I Think You Should Leave characters, Craig Waterman isn’t good socially. Scratch that, he’s terrible at reading the room and thinking of others. Inevitably, that leads to this newfound connection with Austin fizzling out, much to Craig’s chagrin. He’s not giving up his first real friendship without a fight. Look what madness that mail person inadvertently wrought.
Writer/director Andrew DeYoung’s creative vision on his feature-length directorial debut happily corrects some grave problems that have plagued the last decade of R-rated comedies. For one thing, Friendship actually looks like a motion picture. DeYoung and cinematographer Andy Rydzewski confidently unleashes bursts of cringe comedy in deeply uncomfortable extended single takes. Best of all, there’s actually interesting uses of bright color throughout Friendship. Other R-rated comedies like Strays use mundane domestic environments as an excuse to revel in uninspired color palettes and production design.
Here, though, Craig Waterman’s social awkwardness odyssey is riddled with various striking hues. A jail cell, for instance, is coated in a sickening, chipped shade of urine yellow. Bright red lighting in a bar suggesting “happiness” mocks one of the domiciles inhabitants, a despondent Craig. There’s even flickers of natural rainbows dancing across the frame in a scene where Friendship’s protagonist creepily explores Austin’s home. Even just setting the story in the dead of a Colorado winter infuses Friendship with more imagery specificity than most modern R-rated comedies. You can practically feel the chill seeping into your body as characters constantly navigate snow descending from the heavens. Innate ennui emanating from icy conditions perfectly visually compliments Friendship’s dark comedy.
It’s also great that DeYoung’s screenplay doesn’t chicken out on an unlikeable dark comedy protagonist. Other yukfest’s in the last decade like The Boss, The Wrong Missy, and countless additional features love focusing on a foul-mouthed loose cannon for a movie’s first two acts. Inevitably, though, these projects rush into unearned third-act sentimentality. Lewd protagonists suddenly become vessels for hokey life lessons. Friendship, though, never loses sight of its darker sensibilities. Discomforting darkness constantly lurks on the story’s margins. Friendship’s improvements on modern comedy cinema norms even extend to its inspired and hysterical take on the requisite drug trip sequence every R-rated comedy indulges in.
Friendship doesn’t just provide a welcome respite from the likes of Vacation Friends, The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent, and Anyone but You. It also proves Robinson can anchor an entire motion picture. I’ve been a card-carrying member of the I Think You Should Leave fandom for eons now. Robinson’s immense talent has been apparent for that entire time. However, headlining sketch comedy segments and a 97-minute-movies are two different things. Even Keegan-Michael Key and Jordan Peele’s first post-Key & Peele movie Keanu suffered from some pacing problems.
DeYoung’s script and direction, though, is a perfect vessel for Robinson’s chops. Scenes of Craig stuffing a bar of soap into his mouth or even just the way the character awkwardly shuffles around beautifully build off Robinson’s skills for comic timing and physicality from I Think You Should Leave. Friendship’s longer runtime, though, really lets Robinson spiral out into entertaining new levels of demented obsession. The misplaced confidence and obliviousness underpinning his “Coffin Flop” and “Darmine Doggy Door” shenanigans are still as transfixing as ever. Now, though, they’re servicing Vertigo-style long-term infatuation that just wouldn’t work in four-minute sketch.
Despite being Friendship’s leading man, DeYoung wisely makes sure this movie doesn’t just turn into a free-wheeling showcase exclusively for Robinson. The fourth and fifth Pirates of the Caribbean sequels or worst Will Ferrell comedies showcase how amusing performers can become intolerable when a director doesn’t know when to yell “cut!” Luckily, Friendship gives its larger cast plenty to do, they’re not just stiff cardboard cutouts reacting to Robinson’s wackiness. This extends to a handful of moments (including Friendship’s opening image) where the camera focuses on Tami and her point-of-view.
In these shots, Robinson’s presence as an actor takes on intriguing new layers. Suddenly, when he’s a figure in the background or captured through camerawork simulating Tami’s point-of-view, he’s functioning as an uncomfortable intrusion on Tami’s reality. The character and Robinson are still amusing, but the unnerving nature of being around Craig really comes through. Both Mara and Robinson flourish within these memorable visuals. DeYoung's script also gives fleetingly-seen supporting actors like Ivy Wolk and Conner O'Malley some uproariously oddball dialogue to deliver. These figures reflect an amusing detail in Friendship's story. Everybody in this world is weird with attributes like kissing their mothers on the lips and saying things like "I look like a Marvel!"
Oddball Craig isn't just ostracized for not fitting into the "normal" world. He's the wrong kind of weirdo in a world of weirdos. Or, as a wise Yukon Cornelius once said, “even among misfits you’re misfits!” This detail both gives Friendship an extra distinctive aura and just ensures the script is even more jam-packed with jokes. Everyone from the 18-year-old selling cell phones to Tami to Austin’s pals can deliver a line you’ll be quoting with your pals for weeks to come. Speaking of Austin, Paul Rudd’s a fantastically fun presence here. He skillfully oscillates between endearing affability and something a little more intensely off-kilter. After being poorly served in Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania and Death of a Unicorn, Rudd effortlessly delivers some career-best work opposite Robinson.
Beyond that killer cast and sharp visual sensibilities, Friendship’s greatest distinguishing trait from many recent comedy movies is how funny it is. I found myself cupping my hands over my mouth in discomfort-induced disbelief once or twice, but primarily, the antics on-screen left me cackling like a fool. Friendship handily joins 2020s gems like Bottoms, Anora, The People’s Joker, and Hundreds of Beavers in hysterically reinforcing enduring joys of quality big screen comedies. One heads up to viewers sensitive to profanity: unlike Patti Harrison’s very helpful Driver’s Ed videos, Friendship does indulge in language harsher than darn and shoot.