As living on college campuses in America becomes increasingly dangerous and inaccessible, college freshmen are experiencing their first year virtually. Cooper Raiff’s debut feature Shithouse perfectly fills the void of the traditional college experience, following a chaotic 24 hours between freshman Alex (Cooper Raiff) and sophomore RA Maggie (Dylan Gelula). Alex faces immense struggle at school, failing tests, and constantly calling his mom while a stuffed animal talks to him through subtitles. Maggie, by contrast, has several friends and a fun but cold personality, drinking lots of wine and (trying) to have plenty of party sex. Their night together, after both fail to have fun at a house party and instead journey to bury Maggie’s dead turtle, shines as an intimate portrait of the complexities and balance one needs to be at peace while in school.
Alex clings to home while Maggie rejects it, but they’re both in the same place: living in lonely mundanity. Montages cut between the two do an excellent job highlighting their similarities while both characters are just eccentric enough to feel real. Their night out is articulated by awkward, genuine conversations that feel reminiscent of the college experience. The amazing balance the film achieves is not only through its in-depth focus on Alex and Maggie, but through an equal dose of humor and angst, being heartwarming and heartbreaking all the same. One minute you laugh at the suggestion by Alex’s stuffed animal that maybe he could stop being sad by exercising, the next you feel your heart sink as Maggie struggles to speak a eulogy for her turtle.
This balancing act is achieved by Raiff’s remarkable juggling. Raiff acts as writer, director, editor, and star of the film — a task so fearsome that most A-listers do not dare to attempt it. Though not every joke lands and sometimes the awkward confusion can be a little too much, Raiff’s debut is a brilliant effort at capturing the college experience. It feels like a Gen Z film, not because of aesthetics, music, and topical references, but because of its unique and unmistakable energy. The charm of the film grounds it firmly in our reality, in each of the mundane and silly things we do, but it especially understands what a college campus is like. There is an understated fear at school, especially among younger students, that you won’t be able to live up to the movies of the past and have wild parties while getting blackout drunk. Not only does Shithouse understand this, it calls for a compromised approach.
Alex and Maggie are fundamentally different in how they’ve handled school. Alex, with such a loving mother and sister at home, judges the other students harshly and remains isolated, struggling to even talk to his roommate. Maggie, a child of divorced parents, maintains her distance from them and tries to thrive by growing up fast. A fight between them late in the film makes their stances blatantly obvious: Maggie tells Alex he needs to grow up, while he tells her that her cold rejection of home makes her evil. A lesser film would have you side with one or the other as they become more divided, , but Raiff is smarter than that.
The film’s ultimate push is to find the balance between home and school, the adult world and family. Apart, the two live in silent worlds of disappointment. Together, they dumpster dive and play softball with random students and drink and eulogize. Raiff’s direction and writing keeps you engaged with the two because of their differences bringing out the best in each other. Plus, he and Gelula have a chemistry that feels natural and calm. The conversations and connections they share fit together like puzzle pieces, rejecting Maggie’s notion that college is all about being selfish: you can find yourself with the help of others.
