Finally, a Movie That Tells Twentysomethings to Grow the Hell Up

Are you really an adult if you haven’t couch-surfed for at least a brief period of your life? The vagabond in me, who once slept on his friend’s pull-out sofa for a month between apartments, would say no. Bed-hopping from place to place builds character, instills grit, and makes you tenacious! But the real truth is that no one enjoys taking advantage of someone else’s generosity, especially when it’s out of necessity.

That is, unless you’re the boys of Rent Free, a delightfully caustic new indie comedy premiering at the 2024 Tribeca Film Festival. The film is all about trying to ride out a year of your twenties without paying for any of it. It’s a fantasy that sounds easy enough to make into a reality with a little perseverance, but one that’s much more difficult to bear than you realize once you’re actually in it. Besides debasing yourself to beg friends for a place to crash, it’s also emotionally and spiritually exhausting to not have a place to call your own.

That’s the feeling that Ben (Jacob Roberts) and Jordan (David Treviño), the two best friends at the film’s core, eventually find themselves entrenched in, after their initial excitement about their plan begins to sour. Jordan and Ben have been close for 15 years, and it’s that closeness that makes the both of them think they can successfully go an entire calendar year without paying rent. If they can avoid a proper lease, and pick up enough odd jobs, they might even be able to save up for a big move from Austin to New York. Such a laborious plan causes an inevitable strain on their relationship, one that could easily grow trite in the wrong hands. But writer-director Fernando Andrés graceful touch makes Ben and Jordan’s bond feel special. That distinct perspective and Andrés’ stylistic filmmaking turn Rent Free into an enjoyable—and bleakly relatable—journey through the unease of young adulthood.

Courtesy of Tribeca Film Festival

Like all terrible ideas that seem great at conception, Jordan and Ben devise their plan to live rent-free for an entire year after a string of unfortunate mishaps. Ben was just inches from his dream of living in New York, having secured a swanky pad in Brooklyn with his old college friends. But he’s also struggled to outgrow the messiness of those collegiate days, and a shortsighted decision involving his soon-to-be roommate’s boyfriend, some weed, and the sensual allure of a warm rooftop breeze gets him kicked out on his ass before he can even Venmo them the first month’s rent.

As quickly as Ben’s dream materializes, it vanishes in one moment of bad judgment. That’s precisely what navigating your twenties feels like, and Andrés—who co-wrote the film alongside Tyler Rugh—allows his characters enough room to grapple with the weight of their decisions. Ben has to start back at square one, alongside Jordan, scraping by in Austin’s bleak gig economy, and Andrés’ soft and sympathetic approach to his direction aptly depicts the boys’ creeping malaise. Occasionally, that gentle touch can feel too featherlight, making it difficult to empathize with two characters who should be growing up much faster than they are. But when Rent Free grazes vexation, it reins itself back in with a conscious speed, often aided by Treviño and Roberts’ amiable performances.

Rent Free doesn’t scream “queer comedy” with the confrontational style of other films in the subgenre, but that’s where it finds its novelty. The story is subtly spun, and that’s what makes it feel all the more realistic. Ben and Jordan don’t talk about their sexualities (Ben is gay with some bisexual tendencies, and Jordan is bisexual but leans straight) so much as live them, and it continues to be refreshing when queerness can come across like a colorful detail as opposed to an objective. It’s unfortunately the kind of storytelling you see more often in smaller indie films rather than big-budget studio efforts that tend to commodify queerness in all its forms. But Rent Free adds to the steadily growing pile of thoughtful, modest movies leading a new generation of filmmaking for queer audiences who demand stories that reflect their own experiences, and not the whims of culturally detached industry players.

That’s not to say there isn’t plenty of potential star power here, because Rent Free brims with burgeoning talent. Treviño and Roberts share the kind of organic chemistry that begs for more collaborations in future projects. Their friendship isn’t just believable, but enjoyable too. Even when they each skirt odiousness, it’s fun to watch them come together to combat their unlikability together, just like real friends do.

Courtesy of Tribeca Film Festival

But it’s Roberts who often steals the show, both when Ben is alone, running delivery orders for Austin gentrifiers who don’t tip him enough, and when he’s trying to make it work alongside his best friend. He has the kind of malleable, expressive face that is destined for comedy, but his talents hold up when the film slants toward drama, too. During Rent Free’s shakier moments, Roberts defaults to griping and whining, propelling the film back onto steady ground. He makes Ben’s immaturity charming, and that’s exactly what the movie needs to execute its premise. No one wants a couch-crasher who isn’t somewhat adorable!

But even lovable drifters have to grow up sometime, and Rent Free’s jaunt to that realization will be achingly relatable to anyone who has tried, failed, and repeated the process so many times that full-blown insanity starts to feel like a viable solution. Jordan and Ben never quite reach such fatigued extremes, but where they end up is better. Their listlessness is genuinely pleasant, and suggests that maybe all you need to get over yourself is a friend who will put up with your bullshit on the ride.