The film The Threesome opens on a wedding, but it’s not just the union of Matthew (Tommy Do) and Greg (Jaboukie Young-White) that takes center stage. While their vows are being exchanged, and Greg is being toasted by his best friend Connor (Jonah Hauer-King)—the man who brought them together—the real story begins to unfold offstage. Director Chad Hartigan, known for his ability to balance contemplative dramas like This Is Martin Bonner and raucous comedies like Morris From America, takes on a bold premise with The Threesome. The film, inspired by Ethan Ogilby’s outrageous idea, could have easily devolved into cringe humor, but Hartigan instead leans into the complicated relationship dynamics that emerge, making for a thought-provoking exploration. While the results are mixed—sometimes in ways the filmmakers may not have intended—the charm of the cast and the sincerity of the storytelling make it a compelling watch.
The central couple of the film isn’t Matthew and Greg, but rather Connor and Olivia (Zoey Deutch), a waitress Connor has had feelings for for some time. Olivia works at the same restaurant as Greg, and one evening, Connor’s casual flirting with a customer named Jenny (Ruby Cruz) sets off a chain of events. A marijuana-fueled game of truth or dare leads the three to Connor’s apartment, and by the end of the night, both women have stayed over. The next morning, Connor wakes up to find Jenny by his side, while Olivia has disappeared. He tries to brush off the encounter as a one-night fling, but the consequences of that night linger, tying the three together in unexpected ways.
What follows is a deeply introspective exploration of how the three characters navigate the fallout of their encounter. Hartigan takes a premise that could have easily been the stuff of a raunchy ’80s sex comedy and steers it toward more serious territory. Connor is torn between his long-standing attraction to Olivia and the stability and sense that Jenny seems to offer. Yet the film isn’t driven by a competitive love triangle; instead, it focuses on how the three characters grapple with their own desires and identities in the aftermath of their shared experience. The night in question becomes a catalyst for self-discovery, as each character is forced to confront what they truly want in life—and what they don’t.
Visually, the film is grounded in the same earthy tones and casually beautiful cinematography that defined Hartigan’s sci-fi romance Little Fish. However, this aesthetic sometimes clashes with the broader humor that peppers the story. A supporting cast, including Arden Myrin and Robert Longstreet as Jenny’s hilariously uptight, God-fearing parents and Julia Sweeney as Connor’s quirky mother, adds a sitcom-like feel to certain scenes. These moments can feel at odds with the film’s more introspective elements, but Zoey Deutch’s performance helps bridge the tonal gaps, as she navigates the complexities of Olivia with ease. The cinematography, courtesy of Sing Howe Yam, adds a layer of playfulness, and even small details—like the use of a sad trombone when Connor is working as a sound engineer—underscore the film’s humor and creativity.
One of the most admirable aspects of The Threesome is its refusal to settle for cheap laughs or easy answers. Hartigan and writer Ethan Ogilby clearly want to dig deeper into the High-concept premise, aiming for something more mature and thoughtful. This ambition doesn’t always pay off seamlessly; at times, the film feels uncertain about its own identity, oscillating between raunchy humor and heartfelt introspection. However, the very act of striving for something more meaningful makes the film richer and more memorable. The characters’ growing pains are evident, but they’re also relatable, as they navigate the messy, often contradictory nature of human relationships.
Ultimately, The Threesome is a charming, if imperfect, exploration of love, identity, and connection. Its title might suggest a certain level of audacity, but the film is more interested in nuance than shock value. With a talented cast, a thoughtful approach to its subject matter, and a balance of humor and heart, Hartigan’s latest effort is a reminder that even the most unconventional premises can yield deeply human stories. It may not always know what it wants to be, but its willingness to take risks and explore the complexities of its characters makes it a standout effort in the romantic comedy genre.
