Recently I lost a friend. I’ve spent an appropriate amount of time consumed in grief. I miss them, the moments shared, and most of all, the moments we will not get to share. The potential of growth. When we grieve an absence, especially when they’re really gone, it can be hard to see what we still have in front of us. It can be hard to even see ourselves.

Every time I look in the mirror, my sense of sense blurs into abstract sadness, who am I now, what am I as a friend to others, am I good enough, have I done the work and will I find what I need? Questions spin through us in grief and we get dizzy from so much doubt and apprehension.

It’s hard to make friends. I’ve always loved other people. I want to help them. I want to act out of love. I also have a high standard for who I really want to let in and have around. That’s more clear than ever, in the darkest moments.

And as I sat, watching Friendship, my laughter felt like the release of grief, as over and over, deeply uncomfortable situations around male friendship were confronted with unflinching honesty and piercing self-sabotage.

We see parts of ourselves in it and our mind wants to reject it. I sunk deeper into my seat than in any horror movie, holding my partner tighter, knowing I am not really alone in this universe, feeling grief wash over me like I went to the movies for immersion therapy.

The brand of comedy Tim Robinson engages in is confrontational to an audience. Love it or hate it. He doesn’t give you much room for indifference. He wants to provoke something in you, as his popular show I Think You Should Leave (2019) has so often done.

Craig, his character in Friendship, is having a midlife crisis. His wife Tami (Kate Mara) has survived cancer and is in remission. She has her own flower business and he works for tech, making apps more addictive for consumers. In the midst of this crisis of self, the couple want to sell their house but before this happens, a misdelivered package leads Craig into a hilariously awkward and tumultuous bromance with his weatherman neighbor Austin (Paul Rudd).

Their relationship falls apart just as it begins. Craig doesn’t really know how to hang. He’s fine with Austin one-on-one but when invited to a house party, he runs head-on to Austin’s glass door, shattering it and making a scene at the get-together. When he’s inevitably shunned and turned away, he tries to become Austin, and do all the things they did together, with others.

This is part of the grief cycle. You want to replace what you had with the same feeling. You want to know what you have felt that is good, is still available to you, and that your attachment to the person you were with this person, is still valid and whole.

So, you do your best to fill in the gaps. I think of my friend and I’ve tried to act, too, in ways they would appreciate. When I do things I’d like to do with them, I try to fill in the gaps of absence.

Tension is at the heart of comedy. So, coming into movies like Friendship with such a raw sense of feeling, can be productive, as laughter is the best medicine. So they say.

It doesn’t get easier. But what you take away still matters. If someone mattered to you, then it will hurt, and you will not forget them, but you will move forward with the dignity of honoring what was, and maybe your loss will help you cope with other things you’ve been putting off. Maybe it will result in new friendships, new places, and new things. Maybe you just need to laugh, so you don’t cry.

7/10