If 2024 told us anything, it’s that three-way relationship dynamics are back, baby! After Zendaya took care of her little white boys, and Lily Rose-Depp found herself at the center of an erotic fever dream of carnal desire, it’s undeniable that the mainstream throuple is in full throttle regardless of genre. Whether or not writer Ethan Ogilby was tapping into that energy with his aptly titled script, The Threesome, he successfully subverts the expectations of its genre with as much tender and comedic absurdity as anything the rom-com has offered in the 2020s.
When Ogilby’s script came into the hands of director Chad Hartigan, a certain spark almost assuredly lit up the liminal space between Hartigan’s vision and the pages in his hands. It’s a match made in heaven between a screenwriter so aptly interrogating the ambiguities that come with digital-age dating and a director who thrives in character-driven storytelling. While there have been a handful of mildly successful contemporary attempts to revitalize the once-thriving genre through a contemporary lens, none seem to contend with the social clutter of modern relationships as sharply as this.
Connor (Jonah Hauer-King) clearly has an affection for Olivia (Zoey Deutch). Olivia clearly is reaching deep into her sarcasm arsenal of defensive mechanisms to avoid awkwardly entangling herself in his friends-to-lovers fantasy. Enter Jenny (Ruby Cruz), who, after a drink or two and some charismatic social lubrication to incite jealousy from Olivia, ends up at home with not just Connor, but both of them. It’s important to note that Connor and Olivia have hooked up in the past, hence the palpable sexual tension that’s only elevated by their mutual attraction to Jenny and a sensual suggestion to play Truth or Dare.
I can’t say there’s definitive research on the matter, but I’m willing to bet that the epicenter of a Venn diagram featuring alcohol, Truth or Dare, and three horny twenty-somethings with past sexual history lands directly on a threesome. In this case, queue the titular Threesome and add this story to a dataset supporting my hypothesis.
The immediate sense of magic that saturates the screen is the simplicity of the film’s willingness to let us into the world of its three primary characters through their witty dialogue and humanistic interactions. These aren’t caricatures destined to ride off into the sunset while magically overcoming the social obstacles they face; these are (for Hollywood standards) fairly average human beings just trying to do their best. That truth is the heart of what makes their interactions inherently relatable, because we are too.
After the title reveals itself earlier in the runtime than you may expect, the heart of the story starts beating. The consequences of that three-wheeled evening are indelible, and what follows is an unpredictable series of events laced with political implications of autonomy and a truly impossible juggling act of human emotions. It’s a credit to both the screenwriting and direction that what could hypothetically (and literally) be the climax of the film is only the foreplay to what becomes a far smarter version of that film.
Hartigan is willing to allow his characters to make mistakes, but not without care for their respective thought processes. Faced with impossible choice after impossible choice, The Threesome plays out as an honest exploration of their social and emotional reactions. They are not perfect characters, but that’s what makes them human.
The trio, alongside scene stealer Jaboukie Young-White, have pitch-perfect comedic timing in a clever, unpredictable, and emotionally grounded slice of life where extraordinary circumstances encounter ordinary people. The charisma, charm, and heartbreak are felt simply through entangling emotionally rich characters navigating the mess of life. It’s a timeless screenplay that’s also socially and politically timely, another balancing act the film threads with astute nimbleness.
What The Threesome ultimately understands is that love, sex, and intimacy are no longer functioning on the same operating system as the heyday of romantic comedies. The classic version of the rom-com often comes with expected, pre-packaged plot beats, often structured to leave the audience feeling warmly rewarded in an unearned resolution by the movie’s close. By contrast, this is a film that dares to ask what it actually means to forge emotional connections in an age where commitment often feels like a scripted performance and emotional transparency is a rare currency.
Hartigan and Ogilby aren’t trying to reinvent the rom-com so much as wrestle it into the present, where relationship dynamics are more complicated, and grand romantic gestures aren’t the saving grace of emotional stability. It’s rare for a film to lean into that uncertainty, embracing the ambiguity and very real possibility that sometimes we don’t grow toward each other–we just grow. In that unresolved friction, the film gnaws at something honest. It’s three people trying to figure it out in real time, and maybe that’s the most romantic thing of all.
Review Courtesy of Danny Jarabek
Feature Image via IMDb