Splitsville is the kind of relationship comedy that refuses to cushion the viewer with predictable lessons or moral clarity. Instead, it embraces the tangled and often contradictory emotions that arise when people try to live by ideals they don’t fully understand. Directed by Michael Angelo Covino and Kyle Marvin, who also star, the film blends cringe humor, raw confession, and emotional chaos into a story that feels simultaneously absurd and painfully familiar. Rather than aiming for a tidy romantic arc, it leans into the reality that love in 2025 is frequently messy, self-contradictory, and full of poorly timed revelations.
The story follows two couples who are closely connected and increasingly entangled. Carey, played by Marvin, and Ashley, portrayed with aching vulnerability by Adria Arjona, are a married pair trying to recover from a recent trauma that neither of them can articulate without stumbling. Their communication has become hesitant, and the sense of partnership that once defined them is now fragile. When Ashley confesses that she has been unfaithful several times, Carey is knocked off balance. He must confront both his hurt and his uncertainty about whether he even wants to repair the marriage. At the same time, their close friends Julie and Paul live in what they describe as an open marriage. Julie, played with understated depth by Dakota Johnson, presents herself as grounded and emotionally literate, while Paul, played by Covino, often masks insecurity behind carefully phrased justifications and philosophy about honesty and freedom. Their system of rules and emotional check-ins appears sophisticated from a distance, but as the film progresses, it becomes clear that the structure is held together more by fragile egos than true confidence.
The turning point arrives when Carey and Julie cross a boundary that neither intended to cross. Their moment of connection, which is brief and deeply confusing, becomes the spark that sets off a chain reaction. What was once a delicate, unstable balance between the two couples collapses into a storm of jealousy, contradiction, and frantic attempts at damage control. The film shifts tone dramatically at this point, moving from introspective drama to comedic disaster, yet the transition feels earned because the emotional groundwork has slowly been building. Carey's guilt, Julie’s confusion, Ashley’s pain, and Paul’s bruised pride collide in ways that feel both chaotic and truthful, as though all four characters are crashing into the limits of the identities they’ve tried to maintain.
Covino and Marvin’s direction thrives on this kind of controlled chaos. The film has an improvisational texture, with scenes that stretch uncomfortably long or swerve into unexpected emotional territory. Physical comedy is used sparingly but memorably; arguments escalate into frantic sequences where the characters seem almost trapped inside their own spiraling thoughts. Stylistic choices such as time-distorting montage, abrupt cuts, or unbroken long takes help convey the emotional disorientation the characters experience. Even when the pacing falters, the unpredictability keeps the audience invested because the film never drops into formula or predictability. The humor often comes from watching the characters try to rationalize emotions they clearly don’t have control over, and the film treats these moments with both comedy and compassion.
The performances play a crucial role in grounding the narrative. Dakota Johnson brings complexity to Julie, portraying her as someone who speaks the language of emotional maturity but doesn’t always embody it. She projects confidence in one moment and retreats into defensiveness the next, making her character feel layered and human. Adria Arjona delivers Ashley with a combination of guilt, resilience, and uncertainty. Her portrayal avoids simplistic moral framing; instead, she allows the audience to sense the emotional exhaustion and self-questioning behind Ashley’s choices. Marvin and Covino, meanwhile, bring a natural, lived-in dynamic to their characters’ friendship and conflict. Their scenes together reveal a tension between love and resentment that feels authentic, especially as the characters are forced to confront uncomfortable truths.
At its thematic core, the film is less interested in labeling certain relationship structures as right or wrong and more interested in how people justify themselves when their desires clash with their ideals. The characters frequently try to sound enlightened, drawing on vocabulary about boundaries, growth, and emotional honesty. But their actions reveal fear, pride, insecurity, and longing, elements of human nature that no relationship philosophy can fully erase. Communication, which they all claim to value, becomes a double-edged sword: at times a genuine effort to connect, at others a way to manipulate, evade, or rationalize. The film captures the subtle ways people can talk themselves in circles, convinced that explaining their intentions is the same as facing their realities.
Despite its strengths, Splitsville is not without flaws. The pacing can be uneven, particularly in the latter part of the film, where emotional revelations begin stacking on top of one another. Some tonal shifts will feel abrupt for viewers expecting a more conventional narrative rhythm. And the story’s deep engagement with open marriage, emotional theory, and flawed introspection may feel alienating to audiences who prefer clearer moral anchors. Yet these imperfections are also part of the film’s identity. Its willingness to be chaotic mirrors the emotional unraveling of the characters, and the looseness contributes to its authenticity.
Ultimately, Splitsville succeeds by embracing the truth that relationships, no matter how modern, progressive, or well-structured, remain unpredictable. People contradict themselves, hurt each other, panic when confronted with vulnerability, and cling to ideals they can’t fully live up to. The film doesn’t try to soothe or guide the audience toward a lesson; instead, it offers a funny, painful, and refreshingly unvarnished look at human connection. By the end, the characters haven’t solved their lives, but they’ve begun to understand themselves a little better. For a story about the instability of love, that feels like the most honest conclusion possible.
For those considering a physical release, the home edition of Splitsville may not overflow with bonus material, yet it still earns a place on the shelf. The small collection of supplemental features offers a brief but engaging window into the creative process behind the film, and the technical presentation is clean and thoughtfully handled. Ultimately, though, the real value lies in revisiting the movie itself. This is one of those rare films that feels just a little different each time you return to it, not because the viewer overlooks anything, but because the film reflects back whatever stage of life you happen to be in. Its emotional contours shift as you do, making it a work that continues to grow long after the credits roll.
Splitsville is available to own on Blu-ray today on Blu-ray and DVD
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