The comedy of Tim Robinson has always had one foot in horror. The shared sense of tension and release linking the two genres is well known, but even with that in mind, Robinson always seems to want to go further. His seminal sketch show I Think You Should Leave is filled with moments that twist awkwardness and discomfort into full-on terror—ranging from the grotesque to the cosmic and existential. I honestly think “Darmine Doggy Door” is one of the best psychological horror short films of the last decade, while also being intensely funny.
It’s not surprising that Robinson’s sensibilities would eventually make the leap from the small screen to the big one. But the first time I saw Friendship, even I was surprised by just how much horror is packed into its runtime. A collaboration between Robinson, Paul Rudd, and writer-director Andrew DeYoung (whose awkward comedy résumé includes episodes of PEN15 and Shrill), it’s a film loaded with psychological tension—and while much of that tension is released through laughter, some of it curdles into something much darker.
Robinson plays Craig, your classic middle-class guy with a boring life. He works a soulless corporate job, argues with his wife (Kate Mara) over her need for a minivan to support her floral business, and struggles to connect with his teenage son (Jack Dylan Grazer). The more we get to know him, the more stuck and sad his life appears, especially as those around him seem capable of growth in ways Craig simply isn’t.
That changes when he meets Austin (Paul Rudd), the new neighbor down the street whose mail Craig receives by mistake. A TV weatherman with his own band and charm to spare, Austin is everything Craig is not—and their friendship seems to change Craig for the better. But when Craig can’t get out of his own way and that friendship is threatened, a dark spiral into madness begins.
I’ll avoid major spoilers for Friendship in case you haven’t seen it yet, but the plot isn’t really the point. This is a character piece, focused almost entirely on Craig and how his state of mind evolves in relation to everyone around him. Like comedies such as I Love You, Man, it’s the story of a man who doesn’t know what he needs until he finds it—and then doesn’t know what to do when it’s gone.
It’s simple, and yet it isn’t, because DeYoung’s film is suffused with menace from the very beginning. Gothic choral music sets the tone, revealing that Craig’s wife, Tami, is recovering from cancer and terrified it might return. She copes by throwing herself into her work, which she’s genuinely good at and which her son Steven deeply supports. Craig says he supports her too, but like everything else in his life, he’s just going through the motions—engaged in rituals that drain him of vitality day after day. Even his job, which involves making digital products like apps more addictive to users, is an exercise in slow soul destruction.
It’s no wonder, then, that when his relationship with Austin is tested, Craig unravels in a way that’s part Forgetting Sarah Marshall and part Single White Female. His descent includes delusional visions of friendship, imagined memories of shared triumphs, and even stranger moments—like his growing jealousy of his wife and son, as though they’re the “other couple” in his life. Then there’s Austin, who glides effortlessly through the world, initiating Craig into their friendship by leading him into a network of mysterious tunnels beneath the city. Deep within those dark spaces, the film’s horror undertones reach their peak. It’s a literal descent into the shadows of Craig’s psyche—and he spends the rest of the film wondering if he’ll ever escape them again.
The morning after their underground journey, Austin appears with a bowl of pomegranates for Craig’s family—the same fruit that tempted Persephone in Greek mythology when she was trapped in Hades. Has Craig unknowingly made a deal with the devil? Is this his last temptation, a test of what he truly desires in his caged, suburban life?
However you choose to read it—and whichever character you identify with most—Friendship hums with the horror of these questions and choices. It’s not a horror movie, and when the laughs hit, they hit hard. But horror fans shouldn’t skip it, because in so many ways, it’s speaking our language.
Friendship is now streaming on HBO Max.
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