Companion: Do Androids Flirt with Feelings?

You know that feeling when you finish a film and immediately want to rewind and watch the first five minutes again, just to see what you missed now that you know where it's going? That’s Companion. A genre-mixing oddball that starts like a rom-com with a strange aftertaste and ends somewhere between soft sci-fi and low-key existential horror. It's got ideas, but it doesn’t shout them at you. And that, honestly, is part of its charm.

The story (don’t worry—no spoilers) revolves around a guy in a bit of a life slump—played by Jack Quaid—and his unexpected connection with an AI companion, Iris, played by Sophie Thatcher. At first, you think you know where this is going. You don’t. The film zigzags beautifully between satire, horror, and surprisingly sweet character work. It plays like Her on a sugar crash, or Black Mirror after a few drinks.

Jack Quaid is having a good time here, and so was I watching him. After a few seasons of seeing him in The Boys dodging exploding heads and running from supes, it's genuinely refreshing to see him in a more internal, slightly washed-up role. He’s funny in that very human way—someone trying to hold himself together while slowly realising he’s completely out of his depth. There's a slightly tragic, slightly comic rhythm to how he moves through the story, and it works.

And then there’s Sophie Thatcher. She plays Iris with gleeful unpredictability—half affection, half glitch. She gives the character this weird, bouncy energy that never feels fully safe, even when she’s doing something sweet. It’s fun, it’s sharp, and it always keeps the viewer a little off-balance. You’re never quite sure if she’s learning love or just learning how to act it out better. I think Thatcher nails it without overdoing it, which is no small feat when playing an artificial intelligence on the edge of self-awareness.

The genre mix is a blast. Horror and comedy can easily trip over each other, but here they upright. One minute you’re laughing at an awkward breakfast conversation, the next you’re wondering if someone’s about to lose a limb. But it’s not just for kicks—there’s a solid through-line of unease, especially when it comes to the tech. The film never turns into a sermon about our digital future, but the questions are baked in: What does intimacy mean when it’s programmable? Can love be real if one of you can be updated?

Visually, it’s got that near-future sheen without turning into another grey, minimalistic sci-fi set. Everything looks a bit too polished, a bit too eager to be helpful. The way consumer tech looks when it’s brand new—friendly on the outside, but you know there’s something watching underneath. The design of the companion interface alone deserves praise.

There’s also something quietly devastating running just beneath the surface. Companion doesn’t wag its finger at technology, but it gently nudges at a very modern ache: the way we’ve come to rely on curated, digital comfort. Connection has never been more available, and yet so many of us feel more alone than ever. What the film captures so well is that strange texture of modern loneliness—not being physically isolated, but emotionally unacknowledged. That’s what makes Iris so seductive. She’s always there. She listens. She reacts. But is that presence real? Or just a clever simulation of what we crave?

If I had to point out a flaw—and no film’s perfect—it’s this: Companion hints at deeper philosophical territory but doesn’t linger long. There are moments when you catch a glimpse of something bigger, something melancholic and strange—especially in Iris. But the film stays just shy of going full Do androids dream? mode. It brushes past those questions like someone at a party who doesn’t really want to talk politics. That said, maybe that’s fine. Maybe it’s better this way—more mood, less monologue.

Still, I kept wondering: does Iris actually feel? Or is she just mimicking what we want? And is there really a difference? The film doesn’t answer that—and maybe that’s why it lingers.

In the end, Companion lands exactly where it should. It’s funny, slightly creepy, and doesn’t overstay its welcome. The pacing is tight, the soundtrack hums along without getting pushy, and the performances—particularly from Quaid and Thatcher—are so finely tuned that even the strangest moments never tip into parody.

Put simply: I really liked this film. It’s clever without being smug, emotional without being sentimental, and it knows how to play with genre without getting lost in the gimmick. Companion might not change your view on technology, but it’ll leave you just a bit more aware of the silence when you put your phone down.