The bleak, stone faced, but uproariously silly comedy Friendship proves that comedy really is subjective, and the most rewarding films often don’t play to everyone’s taste one-hundred percent of the time. Every generation has a comedic actor or performer that could be best described as an “acquired taste,” yet they go on to become supremely successful because of how they connect with an audience. The Three Stooges. Jerry Lewis. Steve Martin. Pauly Shore. Adam Sandler. Tom Green. All are legends in one way or another, but also apt to rub someone the wrong way if they don’t find their talents amusing. To this list, one could easily add Tim Robinson, a talent who can move from sheepish understatement to raging lunatic faster than one of the Toretto family’s cars. His style of humour is odd, wince inducing, and frequently surreal, meaning that people who don’t like their jokes and gags pitched more evenly down the middle will have a hard time finding enjoyment in his antics.
With Friendship, writer-director Andrew DeYoung (delivering his first feature film) plays to Robinson’s compelling knack for being a less than charming sad sack who’s worthy of both scorn and pity in equal measure. Throughout his previous projects like Detroiters and I Think You Should Leave, Robinson has shown an uncanny ability to avoid pigeonholing himself, while drawing on classic comedic styles that have proven effective for others. He can play a bumbling, downtrodden everyman like Bob Newhart one second before flying into a babbling, nonsensical Sandler-esque rage the next. And to top it all off, Robinson never plays it safe when it comes to choosing or tailoring material to his jazzy sensibilities. Friendship is the kind of project tailor made for Robinson: a creepy comedic parable that’s pervasively bizarre, low key frightening, and also strangely plausible.
Widely disliked and unnoticed marketing executive Craig (Robinson) doesn’t have any friends. He only knows two settings: coming on strong or making no impression at all. Craig is so bland of a person that he barely exists to his cancer survivor wife (Kate Mara) and their teenage son (Jack Dylan Grazer). That looks like it could change as soon as he meets his new neighbour, Austin (Paul Rudd), a charming local weatherman with a calm disposition and a thirst for adventure. Austin and Craig hit things off pretty well out of the gate, but a single unfortunate incident during a hang sesh among the former’s close circle of friends sours things. Austin decides it might be best if they break up their friendship, but a dumbfounded Craig doubles down on his worst and most desperate impulses, leading to stalker-like behaviour and a further crumbling of his already frayed marriage.
DeYoung forces the viewer to view Friendship through Craig’s limited perspective. It’s a gloomy looking film where sunshine is at a premium and there’s a pall of depression that hangs over the lives of these characters. Friendship also isn’t the type of a comedy that moves at a breakneck pace to string together a bunch of set-pieces. DeYoung moves at Robinson’s pace, leisurely to a point of almost monotony, which is befitting of the character, but is definitely not going to be everyone’s cup of tea. There are plenty of gags worthy of belly laughs in Friendship, but a lot of the best bits come from either throwaway bits of dialogue and uncomfortable reactions and/or body language. Robinson and the cast are willing to do anything for a laugh, but most of the time they’re looking for subtler emotional responses that the audience will barely clock in the moment.
Friendship leans into thriller territory, especially during its final act as Craig’s desperation to redeem himself as a neighbour, husband, and father reaches a critical limit. DeYoung never goes head on into King of Comedy or Observe and Report darkness with its cruelty, and the film turns out to be a lot more reflective and layered for it. Craig is unnerving to be around and while it can be amusing to watch someone slowly digging the hole they’re going to spend the rest of their life in, it’s not always a laugh riot. It’s a delicate balance that DeYoung pulls off, even at the risk of audiences that came expecting either a comedy or a thriller separately. On paper, Friendship sounds like it could be a modern reimagining of the Belushi and Aykroyd cult comedy Neighbors, but in execution, it would make for a better double bill with last week’s suburban set thriller of desperation and personal failure, Sharp Corner.
Robinson excels at playing an oblivious oaf with barely any social skills, but he can also get a laugh out of something as simple as trying to drink from an overfilled coffee mug. Similarly, Robinson has an unparalleled ability to hit the viewer with an extra punchline from out of nowhere after a joke or bit has seemingly ended, like Craig is so bad at leaving well enough alone that he prolongs his own pain. He also finds a way to build some sympathy for such an unhinged character, mostly because the inciting incident that causes a falling out between these new chums isn’t entirely Craig’s fault if one stops to think about it. Rudd works so well opposite Robinson because Austin is so charming in opposition to Craig that one almost doesn’t register immediately that this guy is just as big of a dishonest jerk, but in a much different way. They might not make for good friends, and they certainly don’t seem made for each other, but the differences between them aren’t as deep as Austin seems to think.
This isn’t meant to sound like a knock against it, but there are only a handful of moments in Friendship that are designed to elicit widespread laughter, most notably during one of the finest drug trip sequences in film history. The key to finding enjoyment or perverse fascination in DeYoung and company’s escalating series of embarrassments and misunderstandings comes from paying attention to the little details. The fascinating part of watching Friendship with an unaware audience is noting what people are reacting to. There were some moments where a good number of people in my theatre were laughing, but I didn’t register much of a reaction. At others, I was the only person laughing at things I’m pretty sure were meant to be funny and not profoundly sad. Or maybe I’m a sicko. Or maybe everyone else is a sicko. And that’s kind of the point of Friendship. We’re all sickos, but in different ways.
Friendship opens in select Toronto and Vancouver area theatres on Friday, May 16, 2025. It expands to additional cities in the following weeks.
