The Threesome

There is a specific kind of dread reserved for the "sophisticated" sex comedy that thinks it’s more revolutionary than it actually is. We’ve all seen the version where a suburban couple tries to "spice things up" and ends up in a slapstick routine with a misplaced vibrator. Thankfully, Chad Hartigan’s The Threesome isn't interested in being that movie. It’s a film that takes a premise usually reserved for late-night cable or raunchy Farrelly-brother knockoffs and treats it with the terrifying gravity of a home invasion thriller—except the thing being invaded is the comfortable delusion of "casual" intimacy.

I watched this while my neighbor was power-washing their driveway for three straight hours, and the relentless, high-pressure drone weirdly synced up with the mounting anxiety on screen. It’s a movie that starts with a giggle and ends with the kind of silence that makes you want to apologize to your exes.

The Anatomy of a Hookup

The setup is deceptively simple: Connor (Jonah Hauer-King) has been pining for Olivia (Zoey Deutch) for what feels like an eternity. When they finally click, it’s not through a standard dinner date, but through the addition of Jenny (Ruby Cruz), a "sweet, alluring stranger" who facilitates the kind of peak-life experience Connor thinks will define his happiness. The problem, as Hartigan and screenwriter Ethan Ogilby astutely observe, is that most people use sexual experimentation as a shortcut to intimacy they haven't actually earned.

What follows isn't a romp. Once the "fun" of the title's act concludes, the film shifts gears into a thorny, contemporary drama about what happens when the catalyst for your relationship refuses to remain a ghost. When Jenny reappears, she isn't a villain or a "fatal attraction" trope; she’s a person with her own needs, and her presence acts as a chemical reagent that exposes the cracks in Connor and Olivia’s foundation. It turns out the only thing more crowded than a bed for three is a relationship for two that’s built on a shared secret.

Deutch and the Art of the Internalized Panic

Zoey Deutch continues to be one of the most underrated weapons in contemporary cinema. She has this uncanny ability to play "put-together" while letting you see the microscopic tremors of a breakdown behind her eyes. As Olivia, she has to navigate the transition from a woman who thinks she’s "cool" and "evolved" to someone realizing she might just be traditionally, painfully jealous.

Jonah Hauer-King plays Connor with a blend of boyish charm and a frustrating lack of backbone that feels incredibly true to a certain subset of modern masculinity. He wants to be the "good guy" so badly that he becomes a vacuum of accountability. But the real standout for me was Ruby Cruz. She plays Jenny with a disarming lack of guile. She isn't a seductress; she’s just there, and her refusal to play by the unspoken rules of "hit it and quit it" social etiquette makes her the most disruptive force in the film.

The supporting cast adds some much-needed oxygen. Jaboukie Young-White brings his signature dry wit as Greg, and Josh Segarra—who seems incapable of giving a boring performance—shows up as Kevin to remind us that even the side characters in this world are grappling with their own versions of "adulthood."

The Burden of Being Contemporary

Released into the post-pandemic landscape of 2025, The Threesome feels like a reaction to the "Poly-curious" discourse that has dominated social media over the last few years. It’s a "now" movie in the sense that it deals with the vocabulary of modern therapy—boundaries, triggers, accountability—without feeling like a textbook. Hartigan’s direction is restrained, leaning on the cinematography of Sing Howe Yam to create spaces that feel intimate but increasingly claustrophobic.

The film’s modest box office—barely cracking $850k—is a bit of a tragedy, but not a surprise. In an era where audiences mostly head to the theater for spectacle or brand-name horror, a talky, uncomfortable drama about the consequences of a hookup was always going to have an uphill battle. It’s the kind of "forgotten curiosity" that usually finds its second life on a streaming service on a rainy Tuesday night, where someone will stumble upon it and feel personally attacked by its honesty. It’s a movie that understands that the hardest part of a threesome isn't the logistics; it’s the conversation at breakfast three months later.

The Threesome is a sharp, often uncomfortable look at the gap between who we want to be (adventurous, uninhibited, modern) and who we actually are (messy, possessive, fragile). It avoids the easy path of being a "sexy" movie and instead chooses to be a human one. While it might drag slightly in its second-act transition from comedy to drama, the performances—especially from Zoey Deutch—carry it through the finish line. If you’ve ever made a "cool" decision that you immediately regretted, this one is going to sting in the best way possible. It’s a small, thoughtful gem that deserves more eyes than its box office suggests.