Cast: Tim Robinson, Paul Rudd, Kate Mara, Jack Dylan Grazer
Genre: Comedy
Director: Andrew DeYoung
In Irish Cinemas: Now
Watching Friendship isn’t just a passive viewing experience — it’s a full-body reaction. Expect to find yourself physically recoiling: curled up, with your shoulders tensed and your eyes darting between the screen and the safety of your hands. This is cringe comedy distilled to its purest, most potent form — the kind that sends shockwaves of secondhand embarrassment through your nervous system. And yet, it’s that very discomfort that makes Andrew DeYoung’s film such a deliriously funny ride. Powered by the unhinged brilliance of Tim Robinson, Friendship weaponises social awkwardness with surgical precision.
The film was built around Robinson, with DeYoung penning the role of Craig — a lonely suburban dad — specifically for the I Think You Should Leave star. And truly, it’s impossible to imagine anyone else delivering this level of psychotic sincerity. Robinson’s comedic persona — the man who turns minor misunderstandings into operatic meltdowns — is put to perfect use here. Craig is awkward, needy, painfully out of sync with the world around him… and utterly compelling to watch.
At first glance, Craig’s life appears unremarkable, even comfortable. He works a tech job designing psychologically addictive apps and earnestly tries to connect with his teenage son through clumsy attempts at pop culture bonding. (“There’s a new Marvel that’s supposed to be insane,” he offers, like a man trying to speak a foreign language from memory.) But beneath his dad-bod exterior and sleepy routine lies a gaping emotional void — one that no amount of passive TV watching or microwave dinners can fill.
Enter Austin, the neighbourhood’s effortlessly cool weatherman, played with charming ambivalence by Paul Rudd. When Austin invites Craig out for a spontaneous nighttime escapade, it’s as though Craig’s world is suddenly flooded with light. For the first time in what feels like years, he sees a path out of his social isolation. “I can see the future,” he declares, eyes wide. “And it’s full of pals.”
But Friendship cleverly dismantles the fantasy of the flawless best friend. Austin, for all his confidence and charisma, isn’t some mythical bro-god. He’s just a guy—a guy with weird hobbies, a mediocre band, and coworkers who barely tolerate him. Craig, in his feverish hero worship, fails to see the cracks — until one jaw-dropping twist (which we won’t spoil) rips the veil away. The revelation is as funny as it is deflating, perfectly skewering the delusions we build around the people we want to impress.
The film reaches peak absurdity when Austin tries — gently but firmly — to end the friendship. What follows is a spiritual cousin to The Banshees of Inisherin, but with more glass smashing, hallway meltdowns, and deranged monologues about “having each other’s backs.” Craig’s attempts to salvage the relationship spiral out of control in classic Robinson style: wildly inappropriate, loud, and gloriously pathetic.
There’s a subplot involving a psychedelic drug trip that somehow ends in a dental office. There’s a dinner scene that plays like a hostage negotiation. There’s even a band performance so awkward it should come with a trigger warning. The jokes are relentless, fast, weird, and intensely quotable. You’ll find yourself laughing even as your soul tries to crawl out of your body in embarrassment.
In Friendship, DeYoung and Robinson have crafted something that feels both wildly original and painfully real. It’s a hyper-stylised portrait of adult loneliness, emotional repression, and the lengths some people will go to feel included. It’s bizarre, hilarious, and likely to become a cult classic.
If you can stomach the social discomfort, you’re in for one of the funniest, most excruciatingly relatable comedies in recent memory. Friendship doesn’t just make you laugh — it makes you want to text your best friend and apologise for ever being weird. Andrew DeYoung and Tim Robinson have tapped into something special, and they do it with the comedic equivalent of a sledgehammer wrapped in friendship bracelets.
Overall: 7.5/10


















