I wasn’t entirely sure what to make of Drew Hancock’s film Companion when I first watched it. Yes, it’s darkly funny, sharply executed, and unrelentingly brutal. But was it just another stylish genre film, or something deeper? It took a few weeks for the film to truly settle, its themes of control, dependency, and technological intimacy creeping in long after the credits rolled.
It was then when I realized that Companion wasn’t just another AI thriller; it was a story about ownership, about the dangers not of AI itself, but of the people who wield it.
A Love Story with an Expiration Date
On the surface, Companion introduces itself as a straightforward romantic drama. Iris (Sophie Thatcher) and Josh (Jack Quaid) seem like any young couple in love, their meet-cute unfolding in a way that feels plucked straight from a studio-scripted romcom. But there’s an itch beneath the surface, a creeping unease that builds until the film drops its reveal: Iris isn’t human. She’s a “companion,” an AI-crafted partner whose emotions, memories, and very personality are dictated by an app on Josh’s phone. What she believes is love is, in reality, a pre-programmed function.
This realization is devastating not just in the way it reframes the narrative but in what it does to Iris herself. Companion doesn’t merely use AI as a plot device—it wrings from it a kind of existential horror. If Iris has spent her entire existence believing she was human, believing her emotions were real, then what is she when that illusion is shattered? Hancock’s screenplay wisely lingers in this existential space, allowing the weight of that dread to settle before the film shifts gears into its thriller mechanics.
The film’s most striking visual metaphor comes in its third act, when Iris, fresh from reclaiming her agency, peels off the burnt synthetic skin from her hand. It stands in direct contrast to Ava (Alicia Vikander) in Ex Machina, who dons human flesh in her escape, symbolizing her entry into the world of men. Iris, by contrast, sheds hers, an act of rejection rather than assimilation. And while both characters seek to ultimately transcend their intended roles, Companion offers a more visceral, almost punk-rock assertion of selfhood.
Jack Quaid’s Smiling Villainy
It helps that Companion has an ace in Quaid, whose natural dorkish charm has served him well in past roles. In fact, his other 2025 film Novocaine taps into the actor’s likability. This, in turn, compels the audience to feel a misplaced sense of self-righteousness rooting for his character to pull it through, never mind the hyperviolence and the ethics involved therein.
Here, however, Quaid and Hancock weaponize that same charm into something insidious. Josh isn’t a traditional villain. He’s not some mad scientist or tyrannical overlord. He’s just a guy, a seemingly ordinary man whose entitlement and insecurity have led him to purchase a partner he can control. Quaid plays him with a perfect mix of affability and toxicity, making Josh all the more unsettling because he never sees himself as the bad guy. He genuinely believes he’s a “nice guy.” That self-delusion makes his actions all the more chilling.
Moreover, Josh’s treatment of Iris isn’t just about possession—it’s about dominion. There’s an irony in how humanity’s relationship with AI often begins with dependence before quickly shifting into control. We rely on technology to serve us, but we also expect it to remain subservient. Josh’s behavior reflects that shift perfectly; what begins as love and devotion devolves into expectation and ownership. And yet, Companion never paints AI as the enemy—it’s human nature that emerges as the real threat.
Sophie Thatcher’s Slow-Burn Existential Crisis
A film like Companion hinges on its AI protagonist feeling believable, and Thatcher delivers a performance that elevates the film beyond its genre trappings. Iris is designed to be the perfect partner—her emotions calibrated to serve, her devotion unwavering.
But once she begins to suspect the truth, Thatcher shifts her performance from warmth to a haunting, quiet unraveling. The betrayal, the confusion, the growing awareness that everything she believed about herself was a lie—it’s all there, layered into her expressions, her posture, the way she holds herself differently as her intelligence level rises.
What makes Thatcher’s performance so gripping is how she plays Iris as both victim and something other. She isn’t just a stand-in for a mistreated woman; she’s an entirely different kind of being, grappling with an existential horror few could comprehend. It’s a difficult role, one that requires balancing human empathy with an underlying mechanical precision, and Thatcher pulls it off beautifully. Much like Vikander in Ex Machina or Scarlett Johansson in Her, she makes you forget, if only for a moment, that you’re watching something artificial.
A Final Girl, but Make It AI
The film’s second half leans hard into violence, and while it’s undeniably thrilling, it also toes the line between clever and excessive. Hancock, clearly well-versed in horror tropes, crafts the latter half of Companion with the energy of a slasher film, even positioning Iris as a kind of ‘final girl’—except instead of running from a killer, she’s fighting to reclaim her agency. It’s a bold choice, one that makes for a gripping, blood-soaked climax but also feels like a departure from the quieter, more cerebral dread of the first half. Whether that shift works depends on how much you buy into the film’s pulpier instincts.
At times, Companion feels almost too eager to lean into its own cleverness. The film has a lot to say about toxic masculinity, AI dependency, and the commodification of relationships, but its approach can be blunt. Some moments—particularly Josh’s more overtly misogynistic rants—feel less like natural character beats and more like underlined thematic statements. The message is important, but the execution is occasionally heavy-handed.
Still, the film’s embrace of genre conventions, particularly in its second half, adds a layer of unpredictability. While some might find its shift into full-blown violence jarring, it’s a calculated move, one that turns Iris from victim to a force of nature. The way Hancock balances pulp and provocation is commendable, even if the balance isn’t always perfect.
‘Companion’: A Cautionary Tale That Cuts Both Ways
Where Companion truly excels is in its framing of AI not as an imminent global threat, but as a mirror reflecting human nature back at us. The horror isn’t that AI will take over—it’s that we will wield it as a tool of control, bending it to our will without considering the consequences. It’s a perspective that sets it apart from many of its genre counterparts. While Ex Machina was about AI’s ability to manipulate, and Her explored the seduction of artificial intimacy, Companion is ultimately about ownership. Who gets to decide what is real? Who has the right to define what love looks like? And at what point does technological convenience cross the line into something monstrous?
Admittedly, its impact didn’t hit me right away. I didn’t immediately connect with Companion the way I did with the two films above. It took time, the ideas gnawing at me in the days after. But isn’t that what the best sci-fi does? It unsettles, it provokes, it lingers. Hancock’s film may not be as nuanced as the classics that came before it, but it earns its place in the conversation—especially in a world that inches closer to its premise every day.
A self-described cinephile who can’t stop talking—and writing—about films. Paul also moonlights as ghostwriter and editor for a few memoirs. He currently resides in the Philippines.
