Adulthood

Most people know Alex Winter as the time-traveling, air-guitar-shredding Bill S. Preston, Esq., but I’ve spent the last decade more interested in his work behind the camera. From tech documentaries to the beautifully bizarre cult hit Freaked, Winter has always had a knack for finding the "weird" in the mundane. His 2025 feature, Adulthood, feels like the culmination of that sensibility. It’s a pitch-black comedy that asks a terrifyingly relatable question: what if your parents weren't just embarrassing, but actually subterranean-level criminals?

I watched this while nursing a cup of peppermint tea that was so hot I’m convinced it was brewed in the heart of a dying star, and honestly, the physical pain of my scorched tongue perfectly complemented the cringe-inducing stress of the first act.

A Skeleton in the Family Tree

The setup is a classic "oh crap" moment. Noah (Josh Gad) and Meg (Kaya Scodelario) are siblings who have clearly spent their adult lives trying to recover from whatever neuroses their upbringing instilled in them. When they discover a literal skeleton in the basement of their childhood home—one that’s been there long enough to be considered part of the foundation—the film shifts from a domestic drama into a frantic, "how-do-we-hide-the-evidence" spiral.

Josh Gad is in peak form here, and I say that as someone who occasionally finds his high-energy shtick a bit much. In Adulthood, his frantic energy is anchored by a genuine sense of betrayal. He plays Noah as a man whose entire moral compass has been demagnetized. Opposite him, Kaya Scodelario provides the necessary ice. She has this way of looking at Gad like he’s a particularly loud piece of furniture, and their chemistry as siblings—that specific blend of "I love you" and "I want to push you down a flight of stairs"—is the engine that keeps the film running. The way Gad panics when he sees a shovel is practically a masterclass in hyperventilation.

The Carrigan Calibration

While the siblings are the heart, Anthony Carrigan is the absolute wild card. Ever since his breakout in Barry, Carrigan has cornered the market on "menacingly polite weirdos," and as Bodie Geller, he doesn't disappoint. He enters the frame and immediately tilts the movie about fifteen degrees off its axis. He’s the catalyst that turns a family mystery into a crime thriller, and every time he’s on screen, you’re not sure if you should laugh or check your locks.

The comedy here is rhythmic, almost percussive. Winter and his writer don't lean on punchlines as much as they lean on the absurdity of the situation. There’s a scene involving the disposal of a very old piece of evidence that is timed so precisely it feels like a dark piece of orchestral music. It’s the cinematic equivalent of a panic attack in a Home Depot. It works because the stakes feel real; even when the situations get absurd, the fear of "getting caught" (both by the cops and by the realization that their parents were monsters) stays front and center.

Why You Probably Missed This (And Why You Shouldn't)

In the current landscape of 2025 cinema, Adulthood is a bit of an anomaly. It didn't have the $200 million marketing spend of a superhero legacy sequel, and it didn't arrive with the algorithm-fueled fanfare of a "Must-Watch" Netflix original. It’s a Fresh Fish Films production that seems to have slipped through the cracks of a crowded festival-to-streaming pipeline, perhaps because it’s a bit too dark for the "cozy mystery" crowd and a bit too funny for the "hardcore crime" fans.

It’s a "hidden gem" in the truest sense. It feels like the kind of movie you’d discover on a Saturday night when you’re tired of scrolling through the same twenty recommended titles. There’s a certain "democratized filmmaking" feel to it—it’s not flashy, but it’s incredibly competent. Billie Lourd also shows up in a supporting role that reminds me why she’s one of the most underrated deadpan comedians of her generation. She plays Grace Briscoe with a level of detached irony that feels specifically calibrated for the post-pandemic, perpetually exhausted audience of today.

The film does occasionally struggle with its tonal shifts. There are moments where the crime elements get a bit too grisly for the comedy to land, and a subplot involving Nck Name as Diego Vargas feels like it could have used another ten minutes of development to really hit home. But these are minor gripes in a movie that manages to be this consistently entertaining.

Adulthood is a sharp, jagged little pill of a movie that captures the anxiety of realizing your parents are just flawed people—multiplied by a body count. Alex Winter has crafted something that feels both modern and oddly timeless, like a 90s indie thriller that’s been updated with 2020s cynicism. It’s a reminder that even in an era of franchise dominance, there’s still room for a well-told, moderately-budgeted story about two people who really, really wish they hadn't looked in the basement. If you find yourself with 97 minutes to spare and a desire to see Josh Gad lose his mind, this is your best bet.