See You When I See You Is Too Afraid to Be Funny, Too Inert to Be Sad

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Last year, director Jay Duplass returned after a 13-year break with the delightful comedy The Baltimorons. Though funny and heartwarming, that film surprisingly began with a failed suicide attempt, and a sense of sadness lingered throughout. Now, Duplass is back at Sundance with See You When I See You, a sincere adaptation of comedian Adam Cayton-Holland’s 2018 memoir, Tragedy Plus Time, which details his struggle with his sister’s suicide. Both films explore depression and grief with humor, and they’re clearly deeply personal projects (Cayton-Holland himself wrote the screenplay for this new one). However, See You When I See You‘s more straightforward approach doesn’t quite work. The movie focuses so much on showing the characters’ emotional pain that it feels stifled and lacks natural flow.

Cooper Raiff plays Aaron Whistler, a comedy writer with a very close relationship with his sister, Leah (Kaitlyn Dever), and delivers a performance similar to his others – lines delivered with little emotion. While the film seems to suggest Aaron is struggling to cope with grief, Raiff doesn’t quite convey the necessary depth. This is especially noticeable when acting alongside the incredibly talented Dever, who appears in flashbacks and dream sequences. These scenes show Leah’s lively personality and are meant to highlight the strong connection between the siblings, but instead, Raiff feels miscast. He doesn’t even bring the expected lightheartedness you’d anticipate from a comedy writer. The film hints at Aaron using humor to mask his pain – something other films have done effectively – but ultimately feels hesitant to actually be funny.

Aaron discovered Leah’s body and is haunted by that night, with the memory often intruding on his present life. His therapy focuses on gaining control over these flashbacks, either by changing them into more positive memories or simply deciding when and how they surface. The film See You When I See You attempts to show this process by revisiting the flashbacks in various ways, which is a commendable and ambitious approach. However, the director, Duplass, doesn’t quite have the skill to make these scenes emotionally impactful. When Aaron remembers his sister’s suicide, the audience should feel something – dread, sadness, pain – not just think, here we go again. Simply showing these events doesn’t mean the director has successfully conveyed them through filmmaking.

The supporting actors deliver stronger performances. David Duchovny is particularly good as Aaron and Leah’s father, realistically portraying a parent struggling with grief. A scene where he mentions his daughter to a potential client is painfully awkward and relatable. Hope Davis, as their mother, powerfully conveys deep emotion with subtle expressions. One moment shows her discovering a possible lump while looking in the mirror – a cruel twist, considering she’s already dealing with her daughter’s tragic death, and clearly doesn’t want to face more bad news. While these scenes with the supporting characters are well-done, they ultimately highlight how much the film relies on flashbacks and how much more we need from the main story and its central characters.

This movie might especially resonate with viewers who have experienced similar hardships and are familiar with therapy. While the film’s portrayal of dealing with painful memories isn’t particularly strong, it’s hard to judge how truthfully it represents that experience. It’s possible some viewers will find it deeply moving. The film tackles important issues, and the filmmakers clearly had good intentions, but ultimately, that isn’t enough to make it truly impactful.

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2026-01-28 00:54