Name: The Bubble
Genre: Comedy
Released: 2022-03-25T00:00:00+00:00
Cast: Karen Gillan, Iris Apatow, Fred Armisen, Maria Bakalova, Vir Das

The scene that sticks with you in Judd Apatow’s The Bubble isn’t one of the carefully constructed set pieces, but a moment of unscripted authenticity: Karen Gillan, mid-take, sneezing violently while trying to maintain her composure as an action star. It’s a tiny, human detail that encapsulates the film’s uneven charm—a comedy about the absurdity of making movies during a pandemic, often tripping over its own ambitions.

Apatow and co-writer Pam Brady cram their ensemble cast into a luxurious quarantine hotel, where they’re shooting a blockbuster franchise sequel. The premise is ripe for satire: actors melodramatically fretting over COVID protocols while delivering bombastic dialogue about saving the world. At its best, The Bubble leans into this contrast, like when David Duchovny’s washed-up action star Dustin Mulray monologues about his character’s heroic sacrifice while struggling to keep a surgical mask on.

The film works when it embraces the randomness of its scenario—moments where the cast riff off each other, like Maria Bakalova’s Anika playfully teasing Fred Armisen’s Darren or Gillan and Iris Apatow’s Krystal bonding over their shared frustration. These scenes hum with the loose energy of improv, a reminder of Apatow’s strengths as a director who can coax natural chemistry from his performers. The sound design amplifies this, with laughter and off-screen chatter bleeding into the take, grounding the absurdity in something tangible.

Yet The Bubble often feels like it’s trying too hard to be everything at once—a workplace comedy, a rom-com, a pandemic allegory—without fully committing to any of them. The script stumbles when it veers into heavy-handed metaphor, like Ronjon (Vir Das) repeatedly pointing out how the hotel bubble mirrors society’s divisions. These moments undercut the film’s humor with obviousness.

Structurally, the pacing lags in the second act, bogged down by subplots that don’t pay off, such as Samson Kayo’s Bola’s arc, which fizzles without resolution. The film’s attempt to balance multiple storylines—romantic entanglements, professional rivalries, existential crises—leaves several threads feeling underdeveloped. Keegan-Michael Key, for instance, is sidelined in a role that seems tailor-made for his brand of sharp, physical comedy.

The performances are a mixed bag. Gillan shines when she’s playing against type, delivering deadpan reactions to the madness around her. Her scenes with Apatow (the director’s daughter) have an easy, sisterly rapport that grounds some of the film’s more outlandish moments. Armisen and Bakalova have palpable chemistry, their flirtation scenes crackling with wit. Bakalova, in particular, brings a magnetic energy to her role as Anika, stealing every scene she’s in.

Duchovny, however, feels miscast as the film’s emotional anchor; his scenes often land with a thud rather than a laugh. His character, Dustin Mulray, is written as a self-serious has-been, but Duchovny’s performance leans too heavily into the stereotype without adding enough nuance. Vir Das fares better as Ronjon, the film’s moral compass, even if his character sometimes feels like a mouthpiece for the film’s themes.

Visually, Apatow and cinematographer Ben Smithard lean into the artificiality of the setting—widescreen shots of the hotel’s sterile corridors and pastel interiors mirroring the artifice of Hollywood. The production design is meticulous, with every frame screaming “quarantine glamour,” from the plush bedrooms to the carefully spaced-out dining areas. Yet these choices sometimes clash with the film’s tone, making it feel more like a glossy TV drama than a sharp satire.

The Bubble shares DNA with other Apatow films like Funny People and This Is 40, blending humor with moments of genuine pathos. But where those films had a clear emotional throughline, The Bubble feels scattered. It’s as if Apatow is trying to cram in every pandemic-related joke and metaphor he can think of, resulting in a film that often feels like a collection of sketches rather than a cohesive narrative.

That said, the film has its moments of genuine brilliance. A late-night scene where the cast gathers for an impromptu jam session is a standout, capturing the camaraderie and creativity that can emerge from isolation. The way the camera lingers on each performer’s face as they sing—some hesitant, others confident—highlights the film’s strength: its ability to capture the humanity behind the Hollywood facade.

The Bubble also stands out for its ensemble cast, which brings a wealth of comedic talent to the table. From Gillan’s deadpan delivery to Bakalova’s effervescent charm, the performances elevate even the film’s weaker moments. The chemistry between the actors is palpable, making their on-screen relationships feel authentic despite the absurdity of the scenario.

In terms of genre fit, The Bubble straddles the line between comedy and drama, often to its detriment. It’s not quite satirical enough to be a biting Hollywood takedown, nor is it heartfelt enough to resonate as a character-driven drama. The film’s tone shifts are jarring, leaving the audience unsure of what to expect from one scene to the next.

Comparing The Bubble to other pandemic-era films like Songbird or Malignant, it’s clear that Apatow is aiming for something different—a comedy that acknowledges the absurdity of the situation without descending into cynicism. Yet where those films leaned into the horror and thriller genres, The Bubble struggles to find its footing in the comedy space.

Ultimately, The Bubble is a film that feels like a product of its time—a messy, uneven snapshot of a moment we’re still processing. It has flashes of brilliance, moments where the humor and heart align perfectly. But it’s also a film that could have benefited from tighter editing and a clearer vision.

In the end, The Bubble is for viewers who enjoy ensemble comedies with a dash of satire and a lot of heart.