I don’t know how incredulous this sounds, but it took me until the third “Shut up, Mike!” in the “Zipline” video to realize that it was a skit. Yes, that means I didn’t know what Tim Robinson really looked like, but also somehow confused him with who I thought was Tim Heidecker (who I imagined was a Jemaine Clement variant, so there’s a missing comedian at the end of this equation), and that I had never seen I Think You Should Leave. I mention all of this to underline the sad disclaimer that I might be out of touch with today’s comedy scene (is it not crowdwork?) and that, as a result, my perplexed initial reaction to Robinson in his entirety in Andrew DeYoung’s Friendship had been an overwhelming experience.

Here’s what I’ve gathered. Robinson does not appear to want to fit into the funny-cool Matt Rife / Andrew Schulz crowd (respectable). I can’t imagine him in front of a crowd, or wanting to hang out in a crowd. I’m still having a hard time imagining that he was a part of SNL, let alone hang out with the cast members afterwards, as in a recent interview with Seth Meyers. But if I think of him exactly like his character Craig in Friendship, where he may have enviously stared at Taran Killam and Bobby Moynihan shooting the shit with the writers, then it oddly clicks in place.

Believe it or not, I’m not trying to be disparaging. Against the easy access to poreless skin and white veneers, there are thankfully regular-looking people fighting the good fight on screen. Robinson has a special kind of chameleonic talent, in which potential costuming as a Verizon technician or coworker that you only see at the copy machine can work so well because his comedy-essence is facially amorphous, personality-muted, and overall more realistic than finding people that look like Carrie Brownstein and Fred Armisen in wigs. It’s chewing this bit over again and again that helped me understand that I really like Friendship because it’s completely unnerving, partly due to how boundless Robinson’s mannequin shenanigans are and partly because the truth of how awkward situations rots so closely underneath.

It initially didn’t help that Friendship feels like one long skit, eschewing traditional scene transitions for cheesy fade-ins of falling snow against the midnight sky or having the camera track Craig like a raccoon stumbling onto a movie set. It’s hard to be a fan of sketch comedy where the character is at their utmost ridiculous form of parody, so when Craig first appears on screen in a monochromatic tan outfit provided by a fictional Ocean View Dining (never pictured and uncertain of its business as a clothing ware or dining establishment), I held my breath for the worst as he walks over to a neighbor’s house to hand over a package incorrectly delivered to his house. This neighbor is Austin (Paul Rudd, charmingly bright-eyed as ever), who at first takes to Craig’s awkwardness. Their subsequent hang-outs include sneaking onto the city hall roof to smoke cigarettes and skipping work to go mushroom foraging. Unfortunately, when Craig meets Austin’s friends for a group hang, things turn sour and Austin cordially breaks off the friendship.

The experience of watching Friendship is similar to a horror movie, but instead of gore and violence, social ineptitude is the tool and Robinson and DeYoung are the craftsmen. I felt my intestines tightly wrung inside me when Craig does yet another misguided, embarrassing thing, and yet, I have laughed at scenes that I could not envision any other movie this year trying to pull off (the best one is probably the hallucinatory trip at Subway, but I’m open to “Would you rather?”). My kind of humor is usually some back-and-forth quips found in Hacks and Abbott Elementary, but Friendship has given me a new form of comedy to enjoy – when done both correctly and awfully.

While I have mentioned that the film feels marginalized by its long-form skit, it’s filmed with a lonely suburban draft within the streets and house interiors. Though DeYoung cites The King of Comedy as an influence, I’m reminded a bit of Todd Haynes’ May December, in which time feels frozen and the location feels off-grid. Craig, who loses his cellphone twice in the film, has been able to reliably contact people through an indoor payphone or landline. His pairing of a long winter parka and his oft-accompaniment of an extra-large Styrofoam cup gives the impression of a man uncomfortable in any weather condition, set to his own comfort-culture without realizing how absurd he looks.

A big part of me wants to say, “I hate this” — and I do hate the feelings that I’ve felt during this film — but I truly mean it endearingly. Horror movies often get my “That’s so sick!” of “What the fuck” comments, but Friendship makes me feel aghast long after the credits stop rolling. There were times where I had to repeat to myself that this character is not a real man. Robinson is not about mystery (though the only thing that I can’t figure out is how Craig and his wife Tami, played by Kate Mara, got together in the first place); he opens himself up to constant ridicule without a chance for redemption. The performance is quite commendable — but I’m not even close to wanting to pat him on the back for it.

Friendship
2024
dir. Andrew DeYoung
100 min.

Now playing @ Coolidge Corner Theatre, Kendall Square Cinema, and AMC Boston Common