Idiots

Writer-director Macon Blair blends an array of dopey criminals, a botched kidnapping, steady drug use, radicalized nihilists, and accidental self-inflicted gunshot wounds into a dark, twisted comedy called Idiots. Originally titled The Shitheads, Blair’s scenario feels like leftover scraps from various Coen brothers movies, especially The Big Lebowski (1998) and The Man Who Wasn’t There (2001), complete with a shifting, elusive tonality that leaves the viewer unsure whether it’s a madcap romp or something more existential. That’s either a good thing or not, depending on your point of view. As a performer, Blair has made a lasting impression as a character actor and occasional leading man (see Blue Ruin, 2014). His directorial efforts have been uneven, from his 2017 debut, I Don’t Feel at Home in This World Anymore, starring a fraught Melanie Lynskey, to his goopy remake of The Toxic Avenger from last year. Idiots feels far more conventionally offbeat than either of his earlier movies, but it boasts a few shocking turns and a couple of hearty belly laughs. 

One of the funniest moments happens in the first scene, as Davis (O’Shea Jackson Jr.) gets fired by a community leader for taking a group of church kids to what he thought would be an artistic religious film, which I won’t spoil here. Understandably, Davis loses his job, not just for the unauthorized trip, but for staying after the appearance of a “dong” onscreen. Idiots isn’t about bad people, per se; it’s about people who make bad decisions. Davis makes even more of them after being teamed with Mark (Dave Franco), who never met a substance he didn’t want to abuse. They’re both hired by Dorindo Services, a company that transports people to rehab facilities. Their first client is Sheridan (Mason Thames), a psychopathic billionaire’s son who feigns emotional distress and has a conspiratorial smile. They eventually learn that Sheridan is going away because he lit a homeless person on fire for laughs. Meanwhile, I guess we’re supposed to overlook why a world-famous family would entrust a second-rate service with transporting this problematic heir. 

Because Dorindo Services is so substandard, Davis and Mark must transport Sheridan in Mark’s unreliable jalopy—as opposed to, say, professional drivers in a luxury sedan. Davis wants to stick to the schedule and procedure. Mark, accustomed to drinking and vaping on the job, makes the mistake of trying to impress Sheridan. Our protagonists realize too late that Sheridan is a privileged monster who’s manipulating them at every step. The young hellion convinces Mark that he’s a virgin, and so, trying to be cool, Mark hires a stripper (Kiernan Shipka). Sheridan responds by drugging his chaperones, calling them “beta cuck trash,” and violently assaulting the sex worker before escaping. Later, Sheridan uses his vast social media following to announce that he’s been kidnapped and promises $5 million to whoever rescues him. Enter a trio of radicalized and well-armed crackpots: Koko (Peter Dinklage), Lissy (Melanie Loren), and a wannabe rapper who calls himself Pricka Bush da Werewolf—a riotous character played by Nicholas Braun, who hilariously pantomimes a werewolf transition, much to Sheridan’s fearful confusion. 

Although Jackson and Franco have both been solid comedy players elsewhere—see Long Shot (2019) and The Little Hours (2017), respectively—Blair doesn’t give their characters much of an arc. But there’s a hint of something volatile under Davis’ calm surface when he loses his temper at Mark in an epic scene. The filmmaker never bothers with trying to redeem Sheridan; after all, he’s too detestable to earn our sympathy, even after the three lunatics who arrive to help turn on him. What we see of Sheridan is both all there is and somewhat confusing. (Why, for instance, does this twentysomething rich boy have an entourage of a bunch of overweight, middle-aged men?) Blair seems to be playing a familiar game, where a story element’s shock value or strangeness replaces meaning. Compared to his version of The Toxic Avenger, a hyper-stylized work of aspiring cult cinema, Idiots feels visually restrained and straightforward. If the Coen brothers are one of Blair’s influences, he hasn’t captured their knack for winking cinematic stylization. 

I’ve only drawn so many parallels between Blair’s work and the Coen brothers because Idiots doesn’t distinguish itself enough alone. But more than a Coen brothers film, Blair’s movie reminded me of the solo efforts by Ethan Coen—Drive-Away Dolls (2024) and Honey Don’t! (2025). Both are erratic crime comedies more interested in a few lowbrow laughs and abhorrent behavior than applying cinematic finesse to the presentation. Indeed, Blair’s sense of humor ranges from explosive diarrhea to a series of “Your mama” jokes, which made me laugh. But the Coens, together, are masters because they defy the standardized genres they work in through an original amalgamation of tones and established modes. Blair attempts something similar, except the result never quite transcends its influence. Even the finale’s existential voiceover feels forced rather than a thoughtful meditation that brings the story together. Overall, Idiots made me chuckle and gasp a few times, and it reinforced my appreciation for Jackson and Franco, but it never came together in a memorable way for me.