A young man breaks his dying best friend out of hospice for one final night out in Ollie Gardner and Jake Harvey’s The State of Us.

Friendship has been explored on screen in countless ways, and the “defining night out” is a familiar device in coming-of-age stories. These narratives often hinge on moments that broaden horizons and become touchstones people revisit with nostalgia. Cinema also frequently examines the inevitability of loss and the weight it leaves behind. What’s far less common is a film that brings these impulses together.

The State of Us stands out because it avoids the usual focus on transformative experiences or horizon‑expanding rites of passage. Instead, it follows two friends who want to relive the moments that shaped their bond because they know those moments are almost gone. Frankie (Samuel Bottomley) breaks Taylor (Callum Scott Howells) out of hospice for one last night of chaotic indulgence, revisiting the familiar rituals that have defined their friendship since childhood. The escape is a small act of rebellion because Taylor isn’t supposed to leave, but it also signals their refusal to let illness dictate the terms of their final hours together.

Finality stays in the background for much of the film. Frankie refuses to face what’s coming and behaves as if nothing has changed, adapting to Taylor’s needs and even joking about them while ignoring the reality that surrounds their escape from the hospice. Taylor knows his life is nearing its end, but Frankie can’t accept that truth and his denial shapes almost everything he does. The film follows Frankie’s perspective, encouraging the audience to set the inevitable aside until it becomes impossible to ignore.

The film follows the familiar shape of a coming‑of‑age night out. They drink, take drugs, flirt, fight and fall out, and none of it is new to them. What makes it stand out is the reason behind it. These aren’t fresh experiences. They’re the rituals of a friendship being replayed because there won’t be another chance. Taylor’s terminal status sits quietly in every scene and gives their misbehaviour a strange, unsettled tone. The tragedy is always present, even when it isn’t spoken aloud, and Frankie can’t bring himself to face what it means.

Everything in this return to their old habits highlights the divide between Taylor’s acceptance and Frankie’s collapse. Taylor understands what’s coming and knows that people who enter the hospice don’t leave alive. He even mentions being used to seeing bodies taken away, and talks about it with a calm that suggests it’s become part of his daily reality. Callum Scott Howells delivers the line with a quiet sadness that shows how much he’s already processed. He doesn’t like the reality he’s facing, but he’s preparing himself for it.

Frankie is the opposite. He hasn’t accepted that Taylor’s dying and has no idea how he’ll cope without him. His fear comes out as self‑destruction, whether he’s drinking too much, taking drugs or throwing himself into situations that put him at risk. At first, he looks like a troublemaker who will dive into anything chaotic, but it becomes clear that he’s a young man in pain with nowhere to put it. Their interactions and flashbacks show how much Taylor steadies him, and without that support Frankie has started to spiral. The glimpses of his father’s alcoholism and depression add another layer to what he’s carrying. His pain spills over into the people around him, especially during a heated exchange where he admits he doesn’t want to go on without Taylor and would give up the rest of his life to avoid losing him. It’s a raw and harrowing moment.

Outside the chaos, the film finds moments of genuine tenderness. Frankie and Taylor return to their favourite bench to set off fireworks as they’ve done many times before, and the scene gives them space to reflect while deepening what they’re not saying. Flashbacks to their childhood show how much they relied on each other when they had nobody else, and the memories feel poignant and wholesome. It’s a warm but volatile portrait of male friendship that shows how deeply a best friend can shape a life.

Gardner and Harvey balance the film’s tone with real precision. They handle a serious subject with dignity and grace and never shy away from the uglier sides of terminal illness. Dark humour softens the morbidity, and there’s a clear sense of when to hold a moment to create discomfort or let an upsetting beat land. At times, though, the film doesn’t trust the audience enough, using on‑the‑nose song lyrics or repeating flashbacks that have already done their job. Those additions pull focus from moments that were strong enough to stand on their own.

The State of Us is a powerful viewing experience with engaging leads, a deliberately unflattering portrayal of young debauchery, raw emotional honesty, challenging themes handled with care and a confident command of tone. At its core, it’s a story about how profound friendship can be, and it leaves a lingering question about what it means when that bond is taken away before its time.

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Verdict

A heartfelt movie that handles difficult themes with assured tonal control and a deep understanding of what friendship means in its final hours.

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