Cannes #78 - “Splitsville” Review

“It’s better than The Climb. 100%, no doubt,” declares Michael Angelo Covino, the Mediterranean glittering behind him as he munches McDonald’s fries the night before Splitsville’s premiere. Then, just a beat later, he turns to his crew—“It’s better, right?”—his voice suddenly less certain.

Could it really be better than The Climb, his breakout debut that made waves in Un Certain Regard back in 2019? Now he was back in Cannes, facing the dreaded Second Feature Test: was he a one-hit wonder?

Enter Kyle Marvin - best friend, co-writer, co-star, looking equally excited and happy. Together, they huddle over to check the screener one last time, just hours before it would light up the Debussy Theatre, like students cramming for finals. I don’t think they slept much that night.

And yet, hours later, the answer rang clear: Splitsville had the entire Cannes audience in stitches.

This is a triumph of modest ambition: a romantic comedy about open marriages, modern masculinity, guilt, jealousy, and the tangled mess of human connection. It doesn’t try to reinvent the wheel, it just makes it spin faster and funnier.

Covino and Marvin have eloped with their own style and now, at last, they’ve settled down with it. Gone are the one-shot flexes of The Climb; instead, we get crisp, confident storytelling, with a rhythm and comedic timing so sharp it could cut glass.

Once again, they play their signature roles: Kyle, the earnest, overly generous man you’d trust to water your plants while you’re away; Mike, the selfish, obnoxious hurricane who would absolutely forget them. It’s familiar territory, but they’ve grown, both as characters and filmmakers. The chaos is still there, but now it’s delivered with more confidence, through a carousel of inventive set-pieces that never stops to surprising.

And yet, what makes Splitsville truly sing isn’t just the laughsit’s the emotional sophistication humming beneath it all. It’s a film about how people flail and fumble toward connection, how we rationalise—and sometimes sabotage—our own happiness. That Splitsville manages to explore all this while being constantly, properly funny is a small miracle.

Dakota Johnson and Adria Arjona bring sharpness and sparkle to the ensemble, but make no mistake: this is Covino and Marvin’s show. They’ve carved out a comedic tone that’s all their own: warm, self-aware, messy, emotionally grounded. It’s commercial enough to to make your grandad laugh and sly enough to make a critic nod in grudging approval.

It’s not just funnier than The Climb, it’s deeper, more emotionally agile, and more confident in its comedic muscle. The jokes aren’t just in the dialogue—they’re baked into the rhythm of the edit, the sound design, the awkward silences and off-screen glances. You’re glued to the screen not because the stakes are high, but because it feels so good to be in the company of these characters, even when they’re at their worst. Especially when they’re at their worst.

Splitsville doesn’t ask for much—it just wants to make you laugh. But by the time the credits roll, it’s done far more than that. It’s tender without being saccharine, sophisticated without being smug, and funny without ever feeling effortful.

It deserved a slot in Official Competition, honestly. But that night on the Croisette, Covino and Marvin were just two best friends, pacing the beach, nerves jangling, screeners glitching, fries going cold. A few hours later, their film would light up the Debussy and leave the room roaring.

If a movie can make you feel that happy in the least glamorous moment of the most glamorous festival in the world, it’s already a classic. And I have the feeling they’re only just getting started.

4/5