‘Friendship’ is equal parts unsettling and hilarious

“Friendship”
R | 100 minutes
Director/Writer: Andrew DeYoung
Stars: Tim Robinson, Paul Rudd, Kate Mara

As adulthood unfolds — spouses, careers and responsibilities consume our time — forging new friendships feels less like an inevitability and more like an absurd social experiment. Andrew DeYoung’s “Friendship” leans into that absurdity with the unhinged comedic brilliance of Tim Robinson, delivering a cringe-worthy, laugh-out-loud exploration of male connection (or the lack thereof). Equal parts hilarious and unsettling, the film is a reminder that it is still OK to laugh at people who just can’t get it right — no matter how hard they try.

Craig Waterman (Robinson) is the epitome of suburban mediocrity: a 40-something marketing drone who prides himself on installing neighborhood speed bumps and maintaining a stable, if unremarkable, life with his wife, Tami (Kate Mara), and teen son, Steven (Jack Dylan Grazer). His existence is a masterclass in banality — until a misdelivered package introduces him to Austin Carmichael (Paul Rudd), the effortlessly cool new neighbor. Austin is everything Craig isn’t: a local weatherman with a mean pornstache, a guitarist in a band, and a charmer with effortless magnetism who makes even his quirks seem intentional.

Craig, desperate for validation, latches onto Austin with the fervor of a man who has just discovered oxygen. What follows is a cascade of social disasters — misread cues, forced bonding and increasingly deranged attempts to stay relevant in Austin’s life. When Austin finally cuts him loose (“We had a couple nice hangs, but let’s go our separate ways”), Craig’s unraveling begins. His obsession escalates from awkward texts to full-blown stalking, property destruction and even petty hostage-taking. 

Robinson, best known for “I Think You Should Leave,” is a genius of discomfort. His face contorts into a symphony of misplaced confidence and creeping despair, each expression amplifying Craig’s tragic lack of self-awareness. In one early scene, Craig attends Tami’s cancer support group and, after she confesses her post-treatment inability to orgasm, chirps, “I’m orgasming just fine.” It’s a jaw-dropping moment — equal parts horrifying and hilarious — that sets the tone for Craig’s social ineptitude.

DeYoung’s direction heightens the absurdity, framing Craig’s antics against a world where other men’s quirks (like Austin and his pal’s spontaneous singing and boxing matches) are endearing, while Craig’s identical behavior (buying a new drum kit or showing off an ancient artifact) is met with revulsion. The double standard is brutal, ironic and uproariously funny. Robinson’s performance walks a tightrope: Craig is undeniably awkward, but his loneliness — raw and universal — makes him weirdly sympathetic. You laugh at him, then catch yourself wondering if you’ve ever been him.

Rudd, sporting a mustache that screams “I’m ready to film Anchorman 3,” is perfectly cast as Austin. He is the platonic ideal of male charm (easy-going, quick witted and laid-back confidence) until Craig’s obsession forces him to reveal his own flaws. Their dynamic inverts the buddy-comedy formula: Austin isn’t the manic pixie dream bro who saves Craig from himself; he is a regular guy who realizes too late that he’s attached himself to a human grenade. Rudd’s comic timing — especially in scenes where Austin’s patience wears thin — adds layers to what could have been a one-note role.

“Friendship” isn’t just a comedy; it’s a scathing critique of modern adult isolation. Craig’s job — designing “habit-forming” apps that keep people glued to their phones — mirrors his own addiction to validation. His desperation for friendship exposes a darker truth: In a world where men are conditioned to avoid vulnerability, connection becomes a performance. Craig doesn’t want Austin’s friendship; he wants Austin’s identity. When Austin offers a glimpse of excitement (sewer explorations, mushroom foraging), Craig clings to it like a lifeline. His eventual breakdown isn’t just about losing a friend; it’s about realizing he has no self beyond his need to be liked.

The film’s third act struggles to maintain momentum. A subplot involving Tami’s disappearance (which Craig reacts to with baffling indifference) feels undercooked, as if the script isn’t sure whether to escalate into full-blown thriller territory or stay in cringe-comedy lane.

“Friendship” isn’t for everyone. If you’re allergic to secondhand embarrassment, steer clear. But, for fans of Robinson’s brand of humor, it is a revelation. DeYoung’s debut is a fearless, messy and uproarious examination of adult loneliness, packaged as a comedy but lingering like an existential scream.