Idiots Review: The Curse and Comedy of Self-Deception

“Are you familiar with the philosophy that everyone, everywhere is always doing the best that they are able to in that given moment?”

If seemingly irredeemable but ultimately harmless scumbag Mark (Dave Franco) is right when he muses this thought to a motel manager, then he’s in real trouble because his best is not that great. And if this is the highest to which Davis (O’Shea Jackson Jr., Ingrid Goes West) can aspire, then it’s no wonder he is reconsidering his life choices. Fired from his church job helping the youth after a catastrophic field trip, Davis is partnered with ex-cubicle jockey Mark to transport spoiled rich kid Sheridan (Mason Thames, The Black Phone) to rehab. 

Of course, nothing goes right in this road trip, and Mark and Davis end up in the shit, metaphorically and quite literally. The real journey turns out to be the one to the realization that this is their own fault.

Originally premiering at the Sundance Film Festival under the less multiplex-friendly but still apt title of The Shitheads, Idiots is a return to the restrained, character-driven comedic melancholy of I Don’t Feel at Home in This World Anymore for director Macon Blair after the untrammeled gleeful carnage of The Toxic Avenger. Yet Idiots isn’t really about becoming a better person. It’s about Mark and Davis realizing exactly how much self-delusion they labor under. When aggrieved stripper Irina (Kiernan Shipka) cuts Mark to the quick with an all-too accurate observation, his wince of recognition and yelping defense is a subtle reminder of why Franco is so perfect for this part. Mark plays off his earlier roles in frat-friendly comedies like the Neighbors movies and so this is the next step for the bro-y characters with whom he is synonymous: thirtysomethings who haven’t wised up enough to regret that neck tattoo yet or learned not to watch Bum Fights at work.

While Franco is deconstructing his unfairly earned douchebag persona, Thames and Jackson are seemingly thoroughly demolishing all preconceived notions about them as actors. Thames puts his angular, awkward teen years behind him with a portrayal of the worst kind of wealthy brat so convincing that the audience will be craving for someone, anyone, to throttle him until his head pops. However, much of the film depends on a truly revelatory performance from Jackson, who has previously been burdened with the reputation of being cool. By contrast, Davis is a well-meaning mess, his do-gooder persona both endearing and frustrating.  

But Blair doesn’t just restrict himself to character-driven humor. There’s a mercilessness to the trials he puts Davis and Mark through, often with a real sense of peril. After all, Sheridan isn’t the traditional smug heir hiding a heart of gold. Thames lets the absolute callousness of wealth emanate from him like a stench, and the indignities he subjects his guardians to, all the while sporting a twisted smirk, show that Blair hasn’t lost his Toxie touch when it comes to gross-out humor.

Yet Blair’s also inherently a satirist and social commentator, and he’s assisted in these aspects by regular collaborator Peter Dinklage. The Game of Thrones star appears as Coco (“like the well-known Western Lowlands Gorilla”), the head of a pack of real degenerates who look like they got kicked out of the Juggalos for being too skeezy. The bottom-of-the-heap reality of Sheridan’s poseur bad boy social media persona, they’re as uncaring towards the equally put-upon Davis and Mark as Sheridan’s absentee parents are about the mess they indulged. For all their plentiful flaws, Blair still makes his downtrodden duo show at least a little decency. In this world of true scumbags, it’s better to be a self-aware loser.

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This article appears in August 28 • 2026.