‘Shithouse’ goes where most college movies don’t dare, and it’s not what you think
IFC Films
Loneliness is sad. Sadness is lonely. These are not statements you expect to open the review of a movie called “Shithouse.”
Of course, anyone hearing that title for a movie about college and expecting an “Old School” spinoff will be sorely disappointed. Rather, writer/director/star Cooper Raiff has crafted a portrait of raw, evolved sensitivity, tackling an emotional late bloomer in a way that is never ironic or played for laughs (but that can still be pointedly funny). Instead, Alex (Raiff), a freshman at an L.A. college who quite simply misses his mom (Amy Landecker) and sister (Olivia Welch) in Dallas and has a hard time making connections with others, is drawn with honesty and compassion. Also, he receives encouragement from a stuffed dog that doesn’t appear to have a name.
That stuffed animal (through onscreen subtitles) encourages Alex to ask his bro-y, water polo-playing roommate Sam (Logan Miller) about parties and notes, “College sucks, but you’re also not trying.” It’s uncommon, and admittedly not particularly cinematic, to make a movie about a 19-year-old dude being homesick, but the SXSW-winning “Shithouse” feels sincere rather than cloying as Alex attends a party at the titular location, experiences an unforgettable night with his floor’s resident advisor Maggie (Dylan Gelula of “Support the Girls”) and then struggles to know how to move forward after events that seem so life-changing to him. There is serious, universally relatable tension between what happened and what’s going to happen, especially at a time when transparency and generosity are anything but fashionable.
There is obviously a big-time innocence to repeatedly identifying your main character missing hugs from his mom, and it’s to Raiff’s credit that “Shithouse” achieves uninhibited truth that’s more in the spirit of Judd Apatow’s TV shows (“Freaks and Geeks,” “Undeclared”) than his movies about arrested development (“The 40-Year-Old Virgin,” “Knocked Up,” “Trainwreck”). “I think all the blood is in my brain,” Alex tells Maggie, explaining that their hookup isn’t going to be able to go any further because he can’t get out of his head. Later, an incident that at first seems like ill-advised physical comedy actually proves to be revealing of character and patience. Much of “Shithouse” could’ve had an entirely different tone, but Raiff aims to say something that is especially necessary viewing for anyone who thinks mask-wearing and masculinity are mutually exclusive: That men, just like women, experience fear and sadness and the need for support, and good things come from talking about it.
So I’m pretty baffled then that Raiff decided to end “Shithouse” with a time-jumping coda that only invites glossed-over questions about everything that happened in between. It doesn’t work. But this is a movie about how meaningful it is to bond with people who demonstrate empathy rather than merely self-interest, and how much can be established in just a few hours of conversation and adventure.
No, that’s not something we’ve never seen before. But whether Alex is telling Maggie she’s had a really sad day after learning of the death of her turtle or he’s holding back tears until he gets off the phone with his mom, “Shithouse” leans into real feelings -- not the meaningless cliche of “the feels” -- and the difficulty of everyone acclimating to everyone else’s understanding of humor and love and support and kindness at all times, which isn’t something that only happens in college.
B
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