I’ve never been one to particularly enjoy horror comedies, so when I do, it’s a rare exception. My biggest issue with the genre often lies in its imbalance: many horror comedies lean too heavily to either “horror” or “comedy”. Some feel like slapstick movies dressed up with monsters (usually zombies, à la Zombieland or Little Monsters) and extreme gore (think Evil Dead II and the “splatstick” subgenre), while others come across as simply meta horror movies—satirical, sure, but not laugh-out-loud funny (like Scream or Cabin in the Woods). Of course, none of those movies are bad (Evil Dead is literally my favorite horror franchise), but they don’t feel like true “horror comedy” to me. The best examples of the genre strike a delicate balance, blending humor and tension so seamlessly that you’re laughing one moment and hiding your face the next. Companion achieves just that.
Directed by newcomer Drew Hancock and produced by Barbarian director Zach Cregger, Companion follows Iris (Sophie Thatcher), an AI sex robot crudely referred to as a “fuckbot” and technically referred to as a “companion”, as she navigates a weekend trip hosted by Sergey (Rupert Friend), a local rich guy, alongside her boyfriend, Josh (Jack Quaid), and his friends: aloof and edgy Kat (Megan Suri), comic relief Eli (Harvey Guillén), and Eli’s doting boyfriend, Patrick (Lukas Gage). Iris struggles to connect with the group, shy and awkward for reasons she cannot wrap her head around. The trip spirals out of control when Sergey makes an inappropriate advance, devolving into a chaotic, high-stakes cat-and-mouse game as wacky as it is stressful where the roles of predator and prey get more and more blurry as the story progresses.
The film’s casting is one of its biggest strengths. Sophie Thatcher shines as Iris, delivering a performance that evolves alongside her character. She starts out the movie closer to “factory settings”, an overly emotional, lovestruck automaton, grappling with feelings she can’t quite articulate or control. There’s a sense of inexperience and helplessness about her. Her feelings—fear, heartbreak, guilt, love—are raw and childlike like she’s experiencing them for the first time, and she visibly seeks reassurance and validation from Josh. As the story unfolds, she grows more accustomed to her emotions, comes more into her own, and learns to keep her cards close to her chest in a way she clearly never knew before. She fights for her own “survival” all the while trying to figure out what it truly means to be alive and autonomous. It’s a nuanced performance that feels authentic, and all of her progress—her newfound maturity and independence—feels earned. If you were to put clips of her performance at the beginning of the movie and at the end, they would seem like two different characters, totally separated by the weight of experience.
Jack Quaid’s portrayal of Josh is equally effective, if familiar. The role is reminiscent of his characters in The Boys (Hughie’s hapless charm) and Scream (Richie’s hapless-charm-turned-incel-obnoxiousness)—overall, he’s a seemingly endearing, nerdy nice guy with a dark edge. I think his recent appearances in both The Boys and the Novocaine trailer emphasize the “endearing” and obscure the “incel” enough to allow his character some plausible deniability, leaving you unsure of what he will bring to the table because it could be so either-or; it’s almost the opposite of Bill Skårsgard’s appearance as a shockingly good guy in Barbarian. Regardless, he is evidently typecast for a reason, moving between romantic charm, deranged entitlement, and raw menace with ease.
I enjoyed seeing Megan Suri play a more sharp, no-nonsense character with Kat after previously enjoying her softer, preppier roles in It Lives Inside, Missing, and Never Have I Ever, and I hope she continues picking up all kinds of varied roles since she seems to do great work in all of them. Harvey Guillén provides intermittent comic relief as Eli, though not all his jokes land. Lukas Gage also impresses with a softer yet more imposing performance, which seems to be becoming a specialty of his (such as his brief but effective role in Smile 2).
In terms of story, Barbarian’s influence is clear. One of my favorite moments of that movie is when it abruptly cuts from a brutal murder to Justin Long casually driving down the highway, sunglasses on, singing along to Donavan’s “Riki Tiki Tavi” on the radio: a quick switch that brings you from the pinnacle of fear to a moment of catharsis so fast that the confusion adds to the humor. Companion bounces back and forth in a similar way, moving seamlessly between laugh-out-loud moments, genuine emotion, and nail-biting tension.
That doesn’t necessarily mean that all of these tones are mutually exclusive, however, as the movie often uses these differently charged moments to elicit more emotion in the viewer later on. One specific gag that occurs repeatedly throughout the movie centers on the idea of cheesy “meet-cutes” between the characters. These moments are always associated with joy, romance, or humor, building a positive association with them from the beginning, but later in the story, another recollection of the moment is almost imposing or intimidating, and the intrusive change of the memory makes it feel almost like a violation. At the end of the movie, when the balance is restored, reminding you of the humor those moments always held, it’s nostalgic, familiar, and satisfying to us in the same way it is for the character. Literally the same scene played out the same way three times—all the same music and dialogue—and yet it manages to make you feel three completely different ways.
The tone switches never feel jarring: one moment, a character is kicking their way out of a car, and you can almost feel the ticking of a clock with each hit of their feet against the glass, the threat growing closer, closer, closer, but within a minute, you find yourself laughing at a familiar comedic beat with a dumb-as-rocks sheriff (played by Marc Menchaca). The kind of tonal layering and variation is a hallmark of the film’s finely tuned screenplay, ensuring that the humor never undercuts the horror and the scares never make the jokes feel out of place: a true-blue overlap of fear and comedy.
Also like Barbarian, Companion offers sharp feminist commentary without feeling excessively didactic or condescending. The film explores the objectification of women through the lens of AI, examining how men blame women for their own insecurities and shortcomings. As their superficial charms give way to entitlement and manipulation, the satire, though occasionally on the nose, becomes both biting and deeply unsettling because it never feels very far removed from reality. No part of me doubts that this is how men would behave with these “companions” because they don’t behave any better with living, breathing women today. We’re reminded yet again of the ugly underbelly of so-called “nice guys”: layered with a lack of self-awareness, an over-reliance on the blind devotion and forgiveness of the women in their lives, and hatred of women who refuse to give in to what they want.
At its heart, the film explores themes of codependency, self-discovery, and autonomy, particularly through Iris’s journey to assert her independence after being trapped in a less-than-equal relationship with Josh. She refuses to limit herself for the sake of his success and happiness or go down for his mistakes. The story underscores how societal norms and male entitlement can stifle women’s freedom, often forcing them into dependency on partners who readily discard them when convenient.
All in all, Companion is a cutting, scary, and truly funny horror comedy. Sophie Thatcher excels (as she usually does in horror roles, frankly) and elevates this to a must-watch. If Companion is what The Sun envisioned when, a decade ago, they speculated about women preferring robot companions over men by 2025, I’m all for it. See it in theaters on January 31st, 2025.
★★★★☆
8.2 out of 10
Check out Companion in theaters.
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