A quartet of characters go through a chaotic array of romantic entanglements only to end up where they started in Splitsville, which star Dakota Johnson introduced at this year’s Karlovy Vary International Film Festival and opens wide in Czech cinemas from Aug. 21. This fresh, funny, and wildly over-the-top screwball romance is bursting at the seams with inventive filmmaking techniques, and carries the invigorating spirit of American independent cinema from the 1970s and 1990s. While the offbeat narrative—and offbeat characters—may not be for all audiences, this one is a pure delight for cinephiles.
Splitsville was directed by Michael Angelo Covino, from a script co-written with Kyle Marvin, and represents a kind of spiritual follow-up to the pair’s 2019 bromance The Climb. Covino and Marvin reunite onscreen alongside Johnson and Adria Arjona, forming a diverting central quartet. The two male stars share the same kind of raw camaraderie as in their previous film, but it is Johnson and Arjona who elevate the ensemble, matching the zany energy of their counterparts and creating a fully realized, chaotic world of love, lust, and domestic mayhem.
The story follows Carey (Marvin) and Ashley (Arjona), a young couple whose seemingly idyllic relationship takes a literal turn toward tragedy during a drive to their friend’s New York beach house. Ashley abruptly ends their marriage, sending Carey scrambling toward his best friend Paul (Covino) and his wife Julie (Johnson). Paul and Julie claim to maintain a successful open marriage, but as the narrative unfolds, all four characters are drawn into a dizzying series of breakups and reconciliations.
But it’s the dizzying work behind the camera that sets Splitsville apart from the usual romantic comedy. This summer has featured films with wall-to-wall action (see: Ballerina or Nobody 2, also opening this weekend), but it’s this low-key romantic comedy that features one of the most impressive action scenes of the year.
In a tour-de-force display of stunt choreography and long, unbroken takes, Carey and Paul literally demolish the luxurious beach home while engaging in a physically elaborate fight that feels both absurd and exhilarating. The sequence stands out both for its inventive craft as well as its unexpected placement in a character-driven relationship comedy, offering a memorable contrast to the film’s otherwise low-key emotional stakes.
Long, continuous takes are a theme. In another memorable sequence set in Carey and Ashley’s apartment, the camera impressively follows Ashley through an evolving roster of dates over a number of weeks or months, each of whom Carey awkwardly befriends, resulting in a surreal, sitcom-like comedy of errors—all showcased within a single take. When your indie comedy crafts a sequence on a par with the standout musical scene in Sinners, you’re doing something right.
Ashley’s fleeting dates, which include a massage therapist (O-T Fagbenle) and a mentalist (Nicholas Braun) who can read her mind, stick around in the background throughout much of the film, an inventive reminder of the cumulative effect of past encounters. A hilarious highlight occurs when the group gathers to watch and discuss, of all the timeless cinematic classics that might have influenced these filmmakers… the 1991 Nick Nolte–Susan Sarandon medical drama Lorenzo’s Oil.
Stylistically, Splitsville is a love letter to 1970s American indie cinema infused with the screwball energy of classic 1930s and 1940s comedies like Bringing Up Baby and His Girl Friday. From the bravura opening car ride to the climactic birthday party, the filmmakers create a world in which chaos is meticulously orchestrated, allowing the comedy to feel both outrageous and controlled.
Despite the film’s many pleasures, Splitsville contains a notable caveat: these characters, while endlessly engaging, aren’t exactly likable. Carey and Paul are hapless in ways that are funny but frustrating; even Julie and Paul’s son is a mischievous presence whose antics go largely unpunished by the screenplay.
Johnson and Arjona are key to the film’s success. They infuse their characters with intelligence, agency, and timing that elevate them beyond mere foils to the male leads’ antics. Unlike the hapless Carey and Paul, Julie and Ashley are decisive, witty, and often in command of their lives—though they are in no more control of their own destiny.
By the time the narrative loops back to its starting point, it is clear that Splitsville is less concerned with conventional resolution than with celebrating the joy and messiness of human connection. Along with other breakout festival hits including Sorry, Baby and If I Had Legs I’d Kick You—both of which made a big impression at Karlovy Vary this year after premiering at Sundance—Splitsville signals a welcome shift in American independent film towards filmmakers who approach intimate stories with visionary craft.
