Introduction
Throuple, the latest film from director Greyson Horst and writer-star Michael Doshier, debuted in 2024 and dives headfirst into the messy, tender, and celebratory sides of polyamory. Set in the pulse of Brooklyn’s queer scene, the indie romantic dramedy tracks the life of a queer singer-songwriter whose world tilts when he becomes the third in a committed, already-wed couple. Instead of grand gestures, the film offers a patient, wry examination of how love, doubt, and creative yearning jostle for space in a life that refuses neat labels. You could call it a love story about love stories.
Horst and Doshier steer clear of Hallmark tropes and treatise-style lectures. Instead, the script leans into everyday absurdity and heartfelt banter, letting moments breathe until they reveal the quiet ache behind a joke. While the plot refuses conventional arcs, it draws you into a series of intimate scenes that illuminate the particular choreography of a polyamorous queer life: shared playlists, mutual awkwardness at dinner parties, and the unspoken question of who gets to claim the center of the heart.
Plot Summary
Michael, the film’s centerpiece, is stuck. His guitar sits dusty in the corner of his cramped Brooklyn flat, and the lyrics in his phone feel more like Tinder bios than songs. He leans on his best friend, Tristan, a public school teacher whose laugh lights up the dimmest bars, and Tristan’s wife, Abby, a barista with ink-stained fingers and a weakness for 90s R&B. The three are inseparable; they swap Thai takeout, playlists, and those late-night couch conversations that slide from gossip into confession.
Yet beneath the laughter, the trio drags a small, heavy suitcase: Michael is afraid of letting anyone really see him. His cheeks flush at the word “boyfriend,” and the songs he finally writes are about ghosts, never the living. The emotional glue between the three begins to chip, exposing a faint but persistent question: is their bond a chosen family, a romantic limbo, or something messier that has no name? The film leans into that uncertainty, using small, everyday moments to sketch the unsteady dance of new love overlapping with something that already feels like home.
Everything shifts when Michael meets Connor and Georgie, a tender, open-hearted married couple who are thinking about swinging the door of their relationship wider. What begins as teasing chemistry tightens into a three-way bond that nudges everyone to re-examine their limits, their wants, and the faces they show the world.
As Michael inches deeper into their world, he faces the distance he’s carved around his own heart. At the same time, the fraying threads of his relationship with Tristan and Abby become harder to ignore, as old tensions and hidden rules finally spill into the air.
The film unfolds in a collage of shared laughter, awkward silences, and the sharp bite of misunderstandings. Gradually, the characters peel away the protective layers they’ve worn. Michael is left with a single, heavy question: What kind of love is he willing to choose, and is he finally brave enough to meet the fear that has kept him a step back?
Characters and Performances
Michael Doshier, who wrote the script and plays the lead, gives us a performance that is at once tender, funny, and messy. Michael is not a glossy dreamboat; he is the guy whose hands shake a little at the wrong moment, whose jokes are a half beat late, and whose heart still flinches when intimacy gets too close. Doshier trades polish for a kind of raw honesty that makes Michael feel like the friend you’ve always had and least wanted to lose.
Tommy Heleringer and Stanton Plummer-Cambridge deliver riveting performances as Connor and Georgie, capturing a couple whose bond feels both lived and breathing. Heleringer moves with quiet, aching honesty, while Plummer-Cambridge radiates a confident, magnetic warmth. Together they create a partnership that lives and shifts rather than remaining a fixed image; each actor retains vivid, individual wants and fears as the triangular relationship deepens.
Jess Gabor plays Abby, whose friendship with Michael frays the moment he becomes drawn into the new romance. Gabor brings a keen emotional edge, peaking in the film’s second half when she turns away Michael’s plea for comfort; the gesture crystallizes how the friendship has already begun to fracture. Tristan Carter-Jones, as Tristan, grounds Michael’s unraveling with a steady, quiet presence; her strength offers the audience a clear-eyed view when Michael himself cannot find one.
Direction and Visual Style
Greyson Horst’s direction favors a naturalistic, intimate world. Soft, diffused light, gentle camera movement, and stretches of stillness give the film a heartbeat. Horst respects the tempo of lived emotion, allowing the frame to linger, the cut to wait, and the moment to breathe. Characters make mistakes, change their minds, and reveal contradictions, and the film embraces the mess rather than condemning it.
One of the most striking parts of the movie is the way it uses split screens and old-school montage cuts. These images show people feeling the same thing at the same time or highlight the gap between what someone shows the world and what they feel inside. The split screens sit next to live music gigs and candid shots of Brooklyn streets, weaving together a sense of intimacy and grit.
Cinematographer Martin Blanco gives us the warmth of living rooms and the cold sheen of city streets in the same breath. The editing takes its time, holding on to shots long enough to let the feeling sink in. Some viewers may wish for a faster, more typical love story, but the deliberate pace suits the film’s reflective spirit.
Themes and Interpretation
Throuple dives into a few big, tangled ideas.
Polyamory and Emotional Ownership
At its heart, the film digs into what it really means to share love and space with more than one partner. The notion of a throuple may sound easy or even fun, yet the movie shows that it asks for just as much—if not more—talking, trusting, and laying yourself bare as a one-on-one relationship. Jealousy, the need to be in control, and the occasional fear all show up, even when everyone shows up ready and willing.
Queer Intimacy and Identity
Michael’s journey isn’t only about falling in love; it’s about stitching together his self-worth and emotional calm. His feelings for Connor and Georgie come with a deep craving to belong. But that craving gets rattled when he faces the truth: he’s the “extra” in a marriage that’s already full. The film opens the door for us to watch how queer folks keep re-drawing the maps of chosen family, showing us that closeness isn’t static; it can slide from friendship to romance to sex and back again without warning.
Creative Block and Personal Growth
Michael’s blank page becomes a symbol for his frozen heart. When he can’t write new songs or step on stage, he’s really scared of letting anyone in. The bond he forms with Connor and Georgie kicks off a deep look in the mirror, pushing him to ask not just what he wants to share in music, but what he yearns for in life.
Friendship and Boundaries
Meanwhile, Tristan and Abby’s storyline serves up a different slice of queer friendship. Their bond with Michael starts to change when they decide to draw lines. We see that love can be fierce and still require a pause; sometimes giving a friendship room to breathe is what keeps it alive in the long run.
Reception
Throuple won over many indie film critics and LGBTQ+ festival-goers, earning praise for its emotional truth and its fresh, respectful look at polyamory. Reviewers highlighted Michael Doshier’s standout performance and the film’s willingness to portray intimate, vulnerable moments. Some did feel the storytelling meandered at times and that the broad ensemble kept us from digging deeper into each character’s inner life. Still, the film’s warmth and serious treatment of non-traditional relationships more than balanced any minor flaws.
People who live the nuances of polyamory and queer identity said Throuple rang particularly true. They liked that the film stayed away from tired tropes and instead gave us a genuine tale of finding oneself alongside others.
Conclusion
Throuple is a gentle, character-driven film that sits with the mess and grace of non-traditional love. It skips melodrama to land in emotional honesty, reminding us that polyamory isn’t a carefree fantasy but a demanding, human journey. The story isn’t about fixing love; it’s about learning to live in it with visibility and integrity.
If you’re on the lookout for queer films that feel real, intimate, and emotionally rich, Throuple is a deeply rewarding dive into romance that doesn’t fit a neat category. Here, connection and confusion walk side by side, and the movie gently shows that the hardest gift we can give someone isn’t flashy attraction—it’s the courage to be completely open. Real closeness, the film suggests, begins the moment we embrace ourselves just the way we are.
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