Splitsville Review: A Resuscitation of the Rom-Com

Michael Angelo Covino and Kyle Marvin know no sophomore slump. The best-friend filmmakers––who met acting opposite each other in a commercial 15 years ago and made their feature debut nine years later with bromance bike comedy The Climb––write, produce, and lead their own films with one fresh, unfettered voice. Under Covino’s direction there’s a holistic sense of artistry, comedic precision, and creative control in their approach––especially per the romcom, an of-late-anemic subgenre that gets some resuscitation in their newest, Splitsville. 

It opens in the middle of a road trip singing session between two people who, per their unbearably pitchy voices, are more than comfortable with each other. A year or so into their marriage, Carey (Marvin) and Ashley (Adria Arjona) seem like a match made in heaven––until Carey brings up pottery lessons. “You said you wanted to try new things…?” he pleads. “I meant sexually,” she throws back without a blink. But she looks past it, tries to find the fun in the moment: “Hand or mouth?” she propositions him. “Uh, hand’s fine,” Carey says with a tremor, revealing the eviscerated romance between them. Mere moments pass before she caves to her temptation and (verbally) files for divorce.

Then, suddenly––in a move executed with the devastating twist of a drama in its third act––there’s a breathtaking car crash that quickly (and mid-chest-press on a dead woman) melts into witty banter about who’s responsible for changing the ABCs or CABs of official CPR policy. In the dark comedic chaos, one of Splitsville‘s funniest moments lands in triumph: a dick joke that sends Carey sprinting (read: heaving) through the forestry and manicured backyards of the Hamptons, as far away from Ashley as possible. Dabney Morris and David Wingo’s bass-throttled jam of a score lands bright and heavy over the title card that balloons into a hazy orange glow while Carey gallops across a gray-green field à la Freddie Quell in The Master.

Covered in dirt and twigs, Carey finally arrives in the backyard of Julie (Dakota Johnson) and best friend Paul’s (Covino) modern architectural marvel of a house on the coast. Ashley already visited a couple hours ago to drop off his stuff. In their attempt to reassure and calm their friend, Julie and Paul tell Carey about an open arrangement wherein they sleep with other people and don’t ask questions, setting up the central scenario and conflict of the film: what happens when your best friend sleeps with your wife if it’s technically “okay”?

Cue: an outrageous romp of a fight scene that’s choreographed with the scrupulous brutality of a Bourne movie, lasts ten minutes, and includes a raucous fish-saving scenario (not the film’s only one!), underwater fighting, and a panoply of wrestling moves called out in real time. Where the film goes from there is a delightfully unexpected roller coaster––at times literally––of sidesplitting, self-deprecating open-relationship exploration that almost always places the pitiful dudes in the palms of their gorgeous, relatively unaffected wives.

Marvin and Covino have certainly carved a distinct path in this early phase of their careers. Apart, Covino caught the acting bug a bit more than Marvin, picking up roles in Oscar contender News of the World and starry ensemble dud Riff Raff, while Marvin won a significant supporting role in the Apple TV+ miniseries WeCrashed and launched his feature directing career with, of all things, 80 for Brady. Together they write whip-smart, Sorkin-quick buddy comedies that tee up the duo’s inimitable comedic chemistry and timing. Their relatable, down-to-earth brand of foolhardy, dipshit-driven, erratic comedy feels like the arrival of a style that could catch fire––a fresh comedic voice that harkens back to the emergence of Wes Anderson’s playfully dry indie tone in the ‘90s.

Covino and Marvin pen and perform these leads with a tone very particular to each of them. For Marvin, that looks like some variation of a bumbling sweetheart fool with the ghost of backbone, a wheezy-whine of a voice, and (somehow) lackadaisical charm. For Covino, that looks like a cocksure, unemotive man who has everything he wants and truly doesn’t know how to appreciate it. But both play, in some way or another, an unfiltered manchild full-speed crashing into a bonfire of their untapped emotions. 

Grounded in the duo’s sense of humor––which draws out unforgettably funny moments from, first and foremost, lover-turned-roommate Jackson (Charlie Gillespie) and heavy-cry classic Lorenzo’s Oil (perhaps the funniest choice for a group of grieving, jettisoned men to be watching in solidarity with each other)––Splitsville is overflowing with one-liners and gut-busters that make it ripe for subsequent viewings. Like someone asking if a Superhost is “an Airbnb slumlord” or trying to sneak-quote Vanilla Sky in a serious conversation (“When you sleep with someone your body makes a commitment even if you don’t”) only for the person to be familiar enough with the Cameron Crowe mindbender to call them out on it. (This comes seconds after one grown man belly-bumps another in a sincere attempt to intimidate him.)

Or consider a middle-schooler––one who’s about to be expelled––intelligently and dismissively explaining to a concerned parent that “the school system is broken” because Rockefeller modeled it in such a way to make factory workers more obedient. The same spoiled, reckless kid spends his free time stealing neighbors’ jet skis and sinking them in the Long Island Sound. (“You never know how valuable something is until you sink it,” he tells his buddy with a shrug.) Much like the adults in focus, he tries things just for the sake of trying them, irrespective of the damage his actions might cause others. 

The Climb might’ve been a terrific start, but few people saw it. That won’t be the case for Splitsville, which is set for wide theatrical distribution through NEON. Split into five articles that reinforce the tone of the title––a consistent theme from the opening sequence onward––with legalese divorce-paper subtitles like “Article I: Termination Event” and “Article IV: Free of Duress,” Splitsville is bound to buy Marvin and Covino another picture deal, even more money, and potentially the beginning of the coveted household-name status.

Splitsville premiered at the 2025 Cannes Film Festival and opens on August 22.

The post Splitsville Review: A Resuscitation of the Rom-Com first appeared on The Film Stage.