If you are one of the many audience members seemingly disappointed that Dakota Johnson‘s love triangle with Chris Evans and Pedro Pascal’s in Materialists earlier in the year wasn’t as romantic as you were led to believe, then it’s possible that Michael Angelo Covino‘s Splitsville may be the antidote. Of course, this self advertised “unromantic comedy” is, similarly, not promising traditional narrative steps in its romantic inclinations, but it’s much funnier than Celine Song’s quieter, more reflective film.
That’s not to say Splitsville isn’t emotional either. In fact, for a film that gets such comedic mileage out of its farcical nature, Covino roots his complicated, multi-dimensional players in a true sense of self. These people may be unlikeable at times and frustratingly complicated, but we care about them, and, in turn, that only makes the film’s humorous temperament all the more resonate.
Said people are Carey (Kyle Marvin), his wife Ashley (Adria Arjona), and their married couple friends, Paul (Covino) and his wife Julie (Johnson), who have planned a weekend away together at the latter’s lush, perfectly polished lakeside estate. A freak car accident on the way brings about an unexpected revelation for poor Carey though, with Ashley announcing she wants to divorce. He’s understandably taken aback, and, quite literally, runs away from the situation, tailing it all the way to Paul and Julie’s home, unloading his emotions upon arrival.
In waxing lyrical about his failed marriage, Carey learns that the secret to Paul and Julie’s seemingly perfect union is that they have an “open” understanding. Carey is immediately intrigued about the concept of their open marriage, and, in a step that we already know will cause repercussions, sleeps with Julie – both because he needs the emotional and sexual comfort after the breakdown with Ashley, and that he knows it isn’t technically cheating on Julie’s end. Or is it?
Paul and Julie’s understanding is one thing in practice, but does Carey being their friend cross something of an unspoken line? Across the film’s 104 minutes, Covino’s witty, deep script explores the many facets of the relationships at bay here – the romantic, the sexual, the platonic – with the lead quartet all clearly game to map that exploration with dimensional performances that weave in and out of empathy and awareness.
There’s no right or wrong with Carey, Ashley, Paul and Julie. More shades of behaviour that we either accept or not, but it’s always played with an understanding. Marvin excels at playing the type of likeable sad sack who believes he’s making the right decisions, despite owning a clearly misguided moral compass, which plays well off Covino’s more dominant mentality. His Paul has a certain surface level sleaziness to him, but, ironically, he’s just as clueless as Carey. Ultimately his heart is in the right place, and he evidently loves his wife so much, he just wishes he actually honed the confidence he falsely projects.
Not to be outdone, Johnson and Arjona both flex their effortless comedic sensibilities as the more obviously exasperated wives. Johnson has always had a knack for projecting a sense of dry humour and aloofness, and she utilises both to perfection as a woman who appears as if she’s the most mature, but is just as susceptible to letting her emotions get the best of her. Arjona has perhaps the most fun as Ashley, someone whose divorce suggestion feels like it comes more from a sense of wanting to explore herself, rather than not necessarily loving Carey anymore. Covino’s script is particularly tickling when it sets Ashley up as a woman freely exploring both her sexuality and her professional aspirations, resulting in a neat crew of supporting players entering the film at certain intervals; the adorable, oft-naked Charlie Gillespie particularly a standout as Jackson, a musician who befriends Carey, much to her annoyance.
Given how the practices of relationships and sexual spectrums have drastically changed over the years, it makes sense that Covino would explore such with an earnestness. And it’s with that earnestness and clear respect of one’s sexual identity that allows the heightened comedic mind set to hit that much harder. It can call itself an “unromantic comedy” as much as it wants, but, ironically, the fact that it is so grounded in reality when looking at its coupling dynamics makes it all the more romantic and relatable. Sure, it’s not expecting every viewer to have explored open relationships, but in its presentation of a group of adults – who all clearly love each other – figuring themselves out, it proves the most romantic of scenarios.
FOUR STARS (OUT OF FIVE)
Splitsville is screening in Australian theatres from September 11th, 2025 following a wide American release on September 5th.
