On paper, Friendship (2025) is a film that dares you to predict what happens next. The formula isn’t new. Narratives have been built around annoying neighbors for centuries now with the late 20th century turning them into homicidal comics more likely to blow up the premises or result in fisticuffs. One will likely walk into a theater and see Tim Robinson’s sad sack protagonist Craig and assume an onslaught of pathetic slapstick and self-deprecating hijinks that amount to 100 minutes of cruelty. It is there, but not quite how you’re thinking.
Craig goes to great lengths to convince his new friend (or, more appropriately, stand-in for one) Austin, played by the evergreen Paul Rudd in one of his best performances in years, that he’s interesting. The issue seems obvious if one pulls the curtain back far enough. Like the audience's relationship with him upon dropping into this mundane world, there isn’t that much to know. His wife Tami (Kate Mara) has more going on than he does. She’s beaten cancer while operating her own floral company that’s become so successful she pines for a larger minivan. Craig, meanwhile, is paid to make apps that are intentionally terrible in ways he refuses to acknowledge are addictive. At first, he sounds like a big shot when it becomes clear that he has his own office. But as Austin quickly learns, Craig’s joy comes from isolating himself from the coworkers he speaks poorly of. Adding insult to injury, said employees spend their lunch hours on the lawn below his window mocking his every flaw.
In lesser hands, Friendship would be one long escalation. There would be scenes of Craig plotting revenge against Austin as their time together ends. The cringe factor would be so obvious that one can’t help but turn on him. While it’s true that Craig earned his own misfortune, it comes with well-intentioned stumbling along the way. His efforts to be loved often come with shallow efforts to find things that connect him with Austin. When he sees him collecting archaeology, he buys his own historical artifact. When he finds out that Austin plays punk music, he buys a drum kit and shows up at his doorstep at inappropriate hours wanting to play. So much of Craig’s life is defined by his need to be validated that his life becomes tragic. His spiraling is more defined by a lack of self. He is someone who never “figured it out” and is now at the age where his decisions are catching up with him. In theory, he could still live a redemptive life, but it comes at the expense of realizing how achingly empty his existence currently stands.
Craig is the prototype for the modern American male. He is the latest in a long line of men who were sold an American Dream of hard work standing in for actual self-worth. Every chance he gets to potentially grow and experience genuine connection, he falls back on consumerist traits, believing that the latest gadgets will make him cool. He buys into the myth so much that there are hints of it impacting the family budget. Even then, his efforts are outclassed by those around him. His codependence on materialism blocks emotional maturity, where he can distract himself with learning drums instead of understanding why Austin would hate him.
He is someone trapped in the manmade horrors of a planet decaying. Every attempt to connect with nature finds his body revolting. He complains about how quicksand has ruined his slacks. When he takes his son on an impromptu walk through the woods, he naively eats bad mushrooms. This all comes to a hilarious crescendo in a scene involving a toad that reveals just how empty his mind is of greater nuance. Everything Craig loves is designed to crumble. Austin’s life may also be imperfect, but he’s a weatherman who provides a valuable public service. Even the fact that Tami sells flowers suggests a symbolic connection to a more sustainable world which has brought these characters peace beyond their struggles. That is, of course, when Craig is not involved.
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The masterstroke of Friendship is not that it’s so uncomfortable at points that the audience feels stuck in hell, but that everything feels a tad too familiar. Most of the objectionable moments have a suddenness that they’re borderline accidents. For those superstitious enough, Craig can be seen as a cursed figure. His good intentions start with things as trivial as not asking for Marvel spoilers before evolving into a heated argument. It’s one of the rare instances when Craig is more victim than bully. The fight for male dominance results in his submissive tendencies causing him to flail, realizing he has even less power than he thinks. In a country that currently promotes conformity, Craig’s inability to fit a mold, even when he tries, shows how hopeless it is to follow the ideal success narrative.
At the same time, Craig’s near-lionizing of Austin’s masculinity comes with its own pitfalls, which reveal how much his image has been tailored for public acceptance. He has a passing privilege that is downright envious. Even then, director Andrew DeYoung allows Rudd to be less of a cardboard lothario and more a man struggling for local market success. He’s not dissimilar from Don Draper, save for the fact that his extracurricular hobbies make him seem eager to pointlessly rebel. Like Craig, he’s stuck in a state of arrested development. The only difference is that he’s got a welcoming crowd to make his youthful tendencies look acceptable.
Another tragedy is that nobody respects Craig, yet he doesn’t respect anyone. Following a traumatic experience, audiences would assume he would ask Tami how she feels. It has been days since they last saw each other. Instead of apologizing for placing her in a terrible situation, he’s concerned with the artifice. None of it will matter to the plot going forward, and yet his fixations speak to his unwillingness to engage with reality. The humor hits like a sledgehammer mostly because by this point, Craig’s humor masks his greater comeuppance. In an arc worthy of Ingmar Bergman, he is a man lacking a self. Nothing he does matters. It’s maybe why when he does something truly profane and against tone, the film doesn’t go off the rails so much as acknowledge how long ago it went off-road and had been stuck in a chaotic spiral.
To watch the film scene by scene is to be disappointed by its lack of flamboyance. Craig’s deviance is one more grounded in a need to belong. He doesn’t want to be the bug-eyed creep who bothers everyone around him. His instincts are more social traits he’s learned from people who probably didn’t think to teach him better. It’s a role so grounded in menial advancements that it encourages the viewer to occasionally sit in the ongoing plot and question what they just witnessed. Somewhere in the prior conversation was a stab of emotional betrayal, of someone more willing to assimilate than engage. But what happens when that connection doesn’t work? Sometimes the truth is that certain people are never able to connect. Craig had every chance to move on to other people and build again. Yet, like his first line in the film suggests, the cancer may come back. He may just wreck the next good thing that comes his way.
The dark comedy takes risks that encourage you to question why we laugh. There isn’t anything funny about Craig being an absolute mess of a human. If anything, he’s a tragic figure who stumbled into a comedy by accident. He belongs in a drama. He’s like the Pagliacci joke if nobody liked the clown and mostly went there to look the other direction. Nobody wants him around and, thankfully, Robinson’s portrayal allows for depth that challenges why this archetype is worthy of sympathy. Not enough to warrant a happy ending, but enough to acknowledge that he’s as much a victim of The American Dream’s shortcomings as everyone else. This isn’t a one-dimensional bad neighbors tale. This may not even be as transactional as The Odd Couple. It’s more of an acknowledgment that in an age where everyone has their own little bubble, it gets harder to relate to the most basic of human conditions.
In a better world, Friendship would get Robinson considerable awards consideration. It’s a ballsy performance that constantly pushes the audience away while they long to lean forward and understand what his deal is. There is humanity underneath that longs to be accepted but, at the same time, whom among us would want to hang out with Craig? This brief running time is enough for me, and I pray we don’t get a sequel. He exists in this small window as a perfect malcontent who wears a smile not only to appear nice, but also attempt to manifest it as well. The tragedy is, of course, that he’s tried to buy his way there and it’s left him with less room in his house. While the highs may be sweet for a while, one day he’ll stop playing the drums and realize that he’s alone in his garage without the backing band he always dreamed of. He could’ve worked harder to achieve his dream, but maybe he never had the tools to begin with. He is a paradox of the modern id. He is, regrettably, the living embodiment of The American Dream in 2025. God help us all.
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