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| Roommates Recap & Review: A Messy, Funny, and Honest Take on Girlhood. (Credits: Netflix) |
Roommates (2026) wastes no time throwing us into the emotional chaos of university life, where first impressions matter and friendships form fast—but don’t always last. What starts as a hopeful new beginning for Devon quickly spirals into something far more uncomfortable, and far more real.
The film builds its premise on a deceptively simple idea—two girls sharing a room—but turns it into a sharply observed study of personality clashes, insecurity, and the quiet ways people hurt each other.
Devon enters university carrying a familiar weight—she wasn’t disliked in school, just never truly seen. That lingering loneliness shapes her decisions early on, especially when she meets Celeste.
Celeste represents everything Devon thinks she lacks: confidence, ease, and social fluency. Their instant bond feels like fate, but it’s built on projection rather than understanding.
Living together exposes the cracks almost immediately. Celeste isn’t malicious; she’s simply unaware, self-absorbed in a way that feels natural to her but suffocating to Devon.
Meanwhile, Devon avoids confrontation, letting frustrations build quietly. This imbalance becomes the film’s core tension.
What follows isn’t explosive drama but something more uncomfortable—a slow escalation of passive-aggressive behaviour.
Small acts—messy spaces, ignored boundaries, subtle digs—become emotional weapons. The brilliance of the film lies in how recognisable this dynamic feels. Neither is entirely right, neither entirely wrong.
By the third act, the emotional stalemate breaks. Devon finally voices what she’s been suppressing, not in a clean or articulate way, but in a messy outpouring of resentment.
Celeste, caught off guard, reacts defensively, exposing her own insecurities beneath the polished exterior.
The ending doesn’t offer a neat reconciliation. Instead, it lands on something more honest: distance.
Devon chooses to step away—not just from Celeste, but from the version of herself that sought validation through others.
Celeste, for the first time, is forced to confront how her behaviour impacts people. There’s no dramatic apology scene, no tidy resolution.
The conclusion suggests growth rather than closure.
They don’t become enemies, but they’re no longer friends.
The film closes on Devon finding a quieter, more grounded sense of belonging elsewhere—hinting that real connection comes not from chasing “coolness” but from mutual understanding.
Roommates walks a fine line between broad comedy and emotional honesty, and while it occasionally stumbles, it lands more often than it misses. The humour is deliberately messy—sometimes loud, sometimes awkward—but it reflects the chaos of its characters’ inner worlds.
Sadie Sandler carries the film with an understated performance that leans into discomfort rather than avoiding it. Her Devon is painfully relatable, capturing the specific awkwardness of trying too hard to belong. Chloe East, meanwhile, brings a compelling duality to Celeste—effortlessly charismatic on the surface, yet quietly fragile underneath.
The supporting cast adds texture without overwhelming the central dynamic. Nick Kroll and Natasha Lyonne inject sharp comedic energy, while smaller roles help flesh out the social ecosystem of university life.
Director Chandler Levack shows a clear interest in balancing tone. The film’s sillier moments never fully undermine its emotional core, though the framing device feels slightly detached from the main narrative. Still, the film’s willingness to sit in discomfort—rather than rush to resolution—gives it an edge over more formulaic comedies.
It’s uneven, but undeniably engaging. A comedy that understands that the funniest moments often come from the most uncomfortable truths.
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| Netflix |
Sadie Sandler delivers a grounded, quietly powerful performance as Devon, anchoring the film’s emotional arc.
Chloe East stands out as Celeste, balancing charm and obliviousness with surprising nuance.
Nick Kroll and Natasha Lyonne provide memorable turns as Devon’s parents, adding warmth and humour.
Storm Reid and Bailee Madison contribute strong supporting presence, enriching the social dynamics.
Aidan Langford’s subplot as Devon’s younger brother adds a subtle emotional layer that pays off in the final act.
Is the ending happy or sad?
It sits somewhere in between. There’s no dramatic heartbreak, but also no tidy friendship repair. It’s a realistic, slightly bittersweet ending focused on personal growth.
Do Devon and Celeste become friends again?
Not within the film. Their relationship ends on a note of distance, suggesting that not all connections are meant to last.
Will there be a sequel or Roommates 2?
Nothing officially confirmed. There are quiet industry rumours about a continuation, but nothing solid yet. Fans are hopeful, though it’s worth taking that speculation cautiously.
If a follow-up happens, it would likely explore new stages of adulthood—possibly reuniting Devon and Celeste later in life, or following them separately as they navigate identity, independence, and evolving friendships. The groundwork is there for a more mature continuation.
Was the ending planned for a sequel?
Not explicitly. The story feels self-contained, but leaves just enough emotional space to revisit these characters if needed.
Roommates doesn’t aim to give you a perfect friendship story—it gives you a real one. Messy, awkward, and occasionally uncomfortable, it captures a phase of life many films gloss over.
If you’ve ever outgrown someone or realised a connection wasn’t what you thought it was, this one will hit closer than expected.