In Twinless, James Sweeney pulls off a heart-wrenching comedy — a feat that defies rom-com convention the same way his 2020 debut Straight Up outclassed the When Harry Met Sally prototype. Sweeney portrays Portland graphic designer Dennis, a frail lovelorn bachelor who befriends cocky Roman (Dylan O’Brien) at a support group for siblings who grieve the loss of their twin.
Roman accepts that Dennis is gay, as was Roman’s late brother Rocky. As the men’s rapport increases (“Rocky would have liked you”), Dennis plays into Roman’s sympathy, connecting through shared loneliness. An odd couple, brainy Dennis and jock Roman, riff on the fraternity they lack (joking about “the gay gene” that accounts for so many fashion designers), quickly finding the closeness they miss.
When Dennis introduces Roman to his amiable co-worker Marcie (Aisling Franciosi), the triangle ignites differences and secrets that were hidden in the relationship. This makes Twinless an unusual yet extraordinarily recognizable big-L love story.
Dennis and Roman’s symbiotic brotherhood challenges the gender-war conceit that sexuality is fluid and anxiety-free, or that it nullifies traditional boundaries and precepts. There’s boldness — and some genius — in the way actor-writer-director Sweeney works through his own idiosyncrasy. The Twinless gimmick admits the desperation of Dennis’s deception. Sweeney dares what often goes unsaid about romantic longing, straight or gay. Sweeney’s hang-ups are symptomatic of the era’s forced gayety. (Consider: Woody Allen’s best films depend on his feigned neuroses.)
The flashback to Dennis and the late Rocky’s pick-up establishes the frisson of attraction. Shy Dennis and dashing, mustachioed Rocky are both ultra-articulate urban men — saved from cliché by Rocky’s confession, “I’m very adept at sharing myself with people, but I often come up empty. I’m always giving instead of taking.” It contrasts with Dennis’s temperamental behavioral deficit.
Perhaps the key moment that earns popular appeal for Twinless comes when Dennis solicits the empathy of co-worker Marcie. After his one-night stand with raffish Rocky, Dennis confesses, “Sometimes I just want to show up at his door like that Carole King song.” The reference to “You’re So Far Away” vouchsafes the essence of his loneliness. Sweeney replaces those American Songbook tunes that, in When Harry Met Sally and Annie Hall, supported Hollywood’s bogus meet-cute conformity.
The attraction Dennis feels toward both Roman and Rocky isn’t merely physical. It goes beyond straight-boy crush and responds to some essence — physical, behavioral, call it masculine — that in some way is also spiritual. Twinless implies the idea of twinness and pines for it. Parallel details abound — the under-the-sheets adolescent reminiscence with Rocky; the Christmas visit to Moscow, Idaho, where the triangle shares childhood bunk beds; the double date with one of Rocky’s exes. These moments spark unrequited longing — hilarious when Dennis runs a gauntlet of twins on the street, or devastating when Roman and Rocky’s mother (Lauren Graham) acknowledges the pain of feeling “split.”
This loneliness repeats the crisis that was at the heart of Straight Up. The separateness that inspires Sweeney’s stand-up comic reflections (“What’s one thing you don’t miss about your twin?”) usually renders other gay filmmakers cautious. He reveals/confesses his process when Dennis selects and deselects computer graphics to create his imaginary twin self.
Roman understands and resolves that sense of lost affirmation. At Rocky’s funeral, a mourner simply says to him: “Your face.” A montage of Roman’s unconscious gestures offers a visual essay on American masculinity traits. For Dennis, he’s the ideal of young manhood, especially in the post-hockey-game scene where Roman confronts three rude homophobes. (“It was self-defense. At first.”) O’Brien’s dual performance spans a dazzling range but locates virility in each brother’s sensitivity. (“I was always the stay-at-home twin. Do the cooking,” Roman recalls.) And Sweeney aces complementary feyness. Whining “I don’t know what to do!” when his ruse is discovered, he is movingly abject and apologetic.
But Sweeney’s humor is a saving grace — whether it’s Dennis recognizing his dilemma in an Olsen-twins TV clip, or musing “Maybe twin identity is just a construct, like gender.” Sweeney’s self-mockery saves him from the pitfalls that doom other filmmakers in the era of self-righteous gender diversity. He even avoids typical gay-male gynophobia by making Franciosi’s emotionally generous Marcie (in a worthy homage to De Palma’s Carrie) the catalyst for Dennis and Roman’s breakthrough.
Twinless is a profound attempt at self-examination. “What version of me?” Dennis asks. But Roman’s inaccessible masculinity — both attractive and forbidden — becomes his mirror. Such a punchline should make Twinless endlessly popular and relatable. This is what movie art is for: humanizing the tensions that keep us apart. Sweeney knows that the need for a perfect companion is not answered by Obergefell v. Hodges and never will be. If Twinless isn’t a popular hit, our movie culture doesn’t deserve to have hits.