Two grieving men form an unexpected friendship after meeting at a support group for “twinless twins” in James Sweeney’s Twinless.

Grief is a pervasive subject that most people can relate to, whether they have directly lost someone or know others who have. Loss reshapes people in profound ways and settles into every part of life, often long after the initial shock has faded. It never truly disappears, even if living with it becomes more manageable. Triggers linger, and the smallest reminder can pull someone back to the moment everything changed. Losing a twin carries its own distinct weight, a form of grief so specific that only those who have lived it can fully understand its depth. The film turns its attention to this particular turmoil and the emotional landscape that comes with it.

It’s also a film about friendship, specifically male friendship. Roman (Dylan O’Brien) grows close to Dennis (James Sweeney) after they meet at a support group for grieving twins. Their bond forms from a shared need to fill the space left by their lost siblings, trading one form of co-dependency for another. It might look like an unhealthy coping mechanism, but both men take real comfort in having someone to walk beside them through the most ordinary parts of life, like food shopping. Having someone who understands the particular pain of this loss gives them a kind of relief they can’t find anywhere else, easing the isolation that threatens to swallow them.

Roman is a reserved and tormented man who struggles to form meaningful connections. The flashbacks to his brother Rocky show a stark contrast: Rocky’s outgoing, charismatic, and effortlessly at ease in the world. Dylan O’Brien is excellent in both roles, creating two distinct people without ever being limited by their identical appearance. The flashbacks make it clear that Roman depended on Rocky as an emotional anchor, even though we never see them interact. Because the story is filtered through Roman’s perspective, the memories reflect what he needed from his brother, which only heightens the scale of the loss. When he mentions wanting to be a “stay at home twin,” it reveals how comfortable he was living in Rocky’s shadow. The film doesn’t dwell on whether that outlook was healthy, but Roman’s dependence on the relationship speaks for itself.

His friendship with Dennis carries that emotional weight throughout. They’re drawn to each other because both feel like one half of a whole that’s been shattered, and each finds a rough substitute for what’s missing in the other. Dennis being gay and Roman being straight echoes the dynamic between Roman and Rocky, and the film benefits from showing a male friendship that crosses those lines without strain or awkwardness. Their bond is platonically intimate and genuinely sustaining, even if it’s an unlikely connection. Roman’s direct question about whether they’d be friends under ordinary circumstances exposes how fragile and grief‑bound their connection is. James Sweeney plays Dennis as peculiar but socially aware, with a dry wit that comes from his skewed observations about the world. Roman has his own peculiarities, so it’s believable that a friendship would grow from their shared turmoil. Dennis becomes a consistently engaging presence, and the dynamic between them gives the film much of its emotional force.

One of the more intriguing elements of Twinless is its tone. The film is steeped in melancholy, yet moments of dark comedy surface throughout, most notably in the depiction of Rocky’s death. There are also flashes of levity that can feel endearing, inappropriate, or both, and the film never forces those shifts. They feel natural because grief itself is unpredictable, where brief sparks of humour break through the heaviness as a new normal begins to take shape. The film’s focus on both supporting and being supported through grief reinforces this, as Roman and Dennis find comfort in working together to figure out how to move forward.

There’s also a persistent sense of dread that hangs over the story and defines their friendship. Going into detail would spoil the impact, but a secret sits between them, threatening to tear their connection apart. The film uses that secret to push the audience toward a difficult moral question: if keeping something hidden allows two people to heal, should it be revealed at all. The discomfort that comes with wrestling with that question is often overwhelming, and the film uses it with real purpose rather than letting it distract from what it’s trying to say.

That complexity extends to the characters, who are allowed to be flawed in ways that feel honest. Roman has a violent streak he struggles to control, and Dennis often treats people poorly or deceives them to avoid consequences. Other characters add texture to that landscape, such as Marcie (Aisling Franciosi), the receptionist at Dennis’ workplace who naturally becomes a third wheel in their friendship once she starts dating Roman. She initially seems warm and obliging, but a sharper edge emerges as the story progresses, and her presence subtly shifts the balance between Roman and Dennis without her ever intending to. Lauren Graham’s performance as Roman and Rocky’s mother captures the mix of warmth and irritation that often defines mother/son relationships, grounding the film’s emotional world even further.

The film uses some striking visual flourishes to capture both the emptiness of loss and the comfort that comes with companionship. A lot of emphasis is placed on absence, shown through images like an empty chair across a table or a solitary figure swallowed by a wide, open space. These moments draw the eye to who isn’t there as much as who is, letting the audience feel the weight of that missing presence. Companionship is expressed through clever split‑screen work that closes the distance between people by letting them share the frame even when they’re in different locations. It’s a simple technique used with real emotional precision. The variation in these flourishes gives the film a distinct visual identity, one that deepens the storytelling by making the characters’ inner lives visible.

It’s unfortunate that Twinless doesn’t stick the landing. The film unravels a great deal in its third act, and that shift threatens to undermine the strong work leading up to it. It doesn’t erase what came before, since the film’s strengths stand firmly on their own, but the ending doesn’t sit comfortably with the rest of the story and leaves the overall experience uneven. Even so, the film remains impactful, and James Sweeney’s directorial voice comes through with real clarity. It’s a meaningful exploration of a specific kind of grief that still manages to feel relatable through both its universal truths and its unique distinctions.

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Verdict

An affecting film that transforms a distinct kind of grief into a relatable, human story through the friendship at its core.

Twinless is in UK & Irish cinemas 6 February. For cinemas visit: https://bit.ly/m/twinlessfilm

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