Guest Post: I Don't Understand You (2025)

I Don’t Understand You, Either

By Jonas Schwartz-Owen

Note: Spoilers ahead—all of which appear in the trailer.

Buried inside I Don’t Understand You is a razor-sharp satire that never fully emerges. In a polarized world where opposing sides seem to speak in code, the concept of a gay couple trapped by cross-cultural misunderstandings feels timely and full of potential. But the film, co-written and co-directed by real-life spouses David Joseph Craig and Brian Crano, loses momentum early and never quite recovers.

Dom (Nick Kroll) and Cole (Andrew Rannells) are celebrating their anniversary in Rome while awaiting news from an adoption agency. After being previously duped by one mother-to-be, they’ve now pinned their hopes on Candace (Amanda Seyfried). Meanwhile, they’re invited to dinner by Dom’s Italian uncle at a remote country estate. What follows is a misadventure marked by language barriers, poor navigation, a busted power line, latent homophobia—and eventually, an escalating body count.

The setup plays like Babel meets Tucker & Dale vs. Evil. Like Iñárritu’s Oscar-winning film, Craig and Crano explore how language and cultural confusion sow chaos. A recurring theme is miscommunication: an early gift of pocketknives, intended as a nod to their passion for cooking, becomes symbolic (yes, Chekhov would be proud). A misread road sign leads to a crash. A panicked conversation during a blackout devolves into bloodshed. Even the local police misinterpret their one witness, fueling further disaster. It’s a comedy of errors that builds cleverly—until it hedges its bets.

The comparison to Tucker & Dale highlights the film’s identity crisis. Unlike that film’s innocent hillbillies, Dom and Cole contribute significantly to their own spiral. Yet the script refuses to let them fall. Enter the adoption subplot—a narrative safety net that seeks to exonerate them. After all, can loving prospective parents be held fully accountable? The baby thread feels like a calculated plea for jury nullification, softening characters who might otherwise be compellingly flawed. Lift that element out, and the story might dare its audience to grapple with real ambiguity. Instead, it blinks.

Still, Craig and Crano display a flair for suspense and have a deft hand at spinning grotesque farce into laughs. Their major set pieces are crisply staged, and the tension is often laced with a slapstick edge.

Kroll and Rannells shine as the central couple, radiating both friction and fierce loyalty. You believe these two share a kitchen, a bed, and eventually, parental potential. Nunzia Schiano delivers a touching turn as a nearly blind and deaf chef mourning her lost son—pouring out her grief in Italian to two men who understand none of it. Her monologue lands like a private exorcism. Morgan Spector also stands out as her volatile surviving son whose garbled diction seals his fate.

In the end, I Don’t Understand You is a nasty little black comedy that blinks when it should bite. Strip away the emotional cushioning, and the satire might have left a scar.