Tim Robinson Stars in a 100-Minute I Think You Should Leave Sketch
DIRECTOR: ANDREW DEYOUNG/2025
I don’t entirely understand the noisy comedy of Tim Robinson, but perhaps that gives me more empathy for his character, Craig.
Craig’s existence could generously be described as routine, though it would be more honest to call it dull. His job? An ad agency that helps consumers get addicted to new products. His home? The place he’s the third wheel to his son (Jack Dylan Grazer) and wife (Kate Mara), who tells her cancer support group about her lack of attraction to Craig. His entertainment? Whatever the “new Marvel” is—he heard it’s nuts! Then a misdelivered package introduces him to his new neighbor, Austin (Paul Rudd). Austin plays in a band, forages for mushrooms, and explores underground tunnels. But it doesn’t take long for Craig’s awkwardness to get the best of him, and when Austin tells him that he doesn’t want to be friends anymore, Craig has no method for coping.
Like Craig, I love the idea of Friendship, but I struggle to connect with this one. When Robinson’s sketch comedy show I Think You Should Leave took off, I gave it a shot after raves about it from co-workers, but for every skit that made me chuckle, there would be one or two more that left me cold. Your response to Robinson’s ear-splitting series will likely match your take on Friendship, and if his high-decibel tone leaves you rolling, his starring role in a (slightly) less absurdist world will likely be for you, too. At the heart of many of the most memorable ITYSL bits is a sense of self-loathing also on display here. In the Netflix series, that self-loathing prevents Robinson’s characters from meaningful ties with friends, co-workers, or acquaintances, even though it’s what he always wants. Think of the viral sketch in which he, dressed as a hot dog, crashes a hot dog-shaped car into a storefront and then tries to convince the shoppers he wasn’t driving. He distracts them with performative commentary about how broken our society is, but as he attempts to build a rapport, he shoplifts and pivots to R-rated arguments. Turns out the hot dog costume isn’t the most damning thing about him.
Craig is a further analysis of these kinds of characters, with every dream for connection foiled by his own selfishness. But even more than ITYSL, Friendship is descriptive, not informative. How to make friends as an adult is a frequent topic of conversation in just about every existing circle of friends I have, and plenty of studies and essays in the last few years have reflected on modern culture’s tendency toward loneliness, meanness, and antisocial behavior. This film’s premise also reflects the anecdotal idea that men have a tougher time making friends than women do, but its character study is too specific to be revelatory. Many before me have compared this film to Paul Rudd’s 2009 comedy I Love You, Man, which also explored the challenges men face in trying to develop platonic relationships through garage band jams. Though that star-studded comedy was broader (and raunchier), Rudd’s awkward everyman was still grounded even when getting into hijinks with Jason Segel. In contrast, Craig oscillates between blissful oblivion and a misguided mania that always leads to self-sabotage, and his behavior is so one-of-a-kind it’s hard to parse any larger insight.
Friendship has some chuckles in store for everyone. Little runners like Craig’s phone and clothing shopping habits as well as mini set pieces like the reveal of one of Austin’s secrets and trip to Subway are too silly not to be amusing. Still I left the theater feeling a bit like Craig: wishing for more.