Shithouse

Alex is a lonely college freshman who watches his peers from the outside, convinced everyone else has already figured out how to be "college." When he takes a hesitant leap and shows up at Shithouse, a notorious house party on campus, the night shifts unexpectedly. There he meets Maggie, and an awkward, electric connection begins to form between two people who are equally uncertain about who they are supposed to be.

What follows is a night of candid conversations, clumsy humor, and surprising tenderness as Alex and Maggie trade stories, insecurities, and fleeting moments of honesty. The film lingers on small details—late-night drives, greasy diner food, and the offhand ways young adults test each other—turning ordinary scenes into a study of yearning and vulnerability. Their bond feels improvised and fragile, a fragile attempt at bridge-building in a new world.

More than a simple romantic encounter, the movie explores the ache of wanting to be seen and the courage it takes to open up. It balances sharp, uncomfortable laughs with true emotional beats, capturing the awkward rites of passage that define the first year away from home. The characters’ missteps and revelations feel authentic, less polished than perfected but more real for it.

Ultimately the film is a quiet, intimate look at the beginning of adulthood, where connection can be both messy and transformative. It refuses easy answers, instead offering a portrait of two people who find, for a night, a surprising degree of understanding—and who leave changed by the experience.