It’s often said that everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about. In the world of the new HBO docuseries “Neighbors,” these battles are often waged against the person living right next door.
The twist? Sometimes, the so-called “loony neighbor” is a matter of perspective. Premiering Friday on HBO, “Neighbors” is a dark-comic series that perfectly captures the current American climate, where it often feels like everyone is at odds with one another.
Filmmakers Harrison Fishman and Dylan Redford traveled across the country, unearthing seemingly minor disputes that, for those involved, consume their entire lives. We see two women in Florida battling over a sliver of lawn, and Montanans yelling about a gate obstructing a shared road.
Their disagreements range from Halloween decorations and farm animals on suburban lots to property lines and physical barriers. They document each other with cameras, sometimes brandish weapons, and are quick to involve lawyers and law enforcement. These aren’t just petty squabbles; they are full-blown, relentless sieges over perceived territory.
Through these disputes, the series delves into the underlying worldviews, anxieties, and obsessions of its subjects. Fishman and Redford employ a dark-comic style, weaving narratives that are at once quirky, poignant, and unsettling. Interviewees open up about their colorful pasts, their belief in conspiracies, and even their unexpected online ventures.
While “Neighbors” occasionally seems to exploit its subjects, sometimes using disorienting 360-degree camera work to highlight their distress, it also demonstrates a genuine curiosity and a profound belief that every individual, regardless of their quirks, is inherently interesting and deserving of understanding. Perhaps raising goats in a residential area or dedicating oneself to feeding stray cats seems odd, but for these individuals, these are deeply held aspirations, and their loss is keenly felt.
Ultimately, a battle over a patch of grass is rarely *just* about grass. It reflects deeper struggles concerning personal autonomy, security, control, fairness, and fundamental fears. These micro-conflicts mirror the more significant, often unsettling, divisions currently dominating national conversations in America.
For the most part, the disputes in “Neighbors” steer clear of explicit politics. However, they are deeply rooted in principles that ignite political debates: the boundaries of free expression, property rights, the tension between private lives and public spaces, and the ever-present question of where one person’s rights conclude and another’s begin.
Yet, even within these extremely localized skirmishes, elements of national political discourse frequently emerge. A New Jersey resident, caught up in a Halloween decoration rivalry, also expresses grievances about his neighbor’s prominent display of political signs. Similarly, a Florida homeowner rages online about “hysterical liberals” advocating for public access to a beach adjacent to his property.
The internet plays a crucial, often destructive, role in these confrontations, acting as a battleground, a weapon, and an accelerant. At the first hint of trouble, protagonists grab their cameras. While direct violence is largely confined to threats, the omnipresence of firearms is a constant, unsettling undertone; one woman, for example, casually rummages through her ammunition while questioning the film crew about their proficiency with guns.
They set up spy cameras aimed at adjacent properties, launch dedicated YouTube and TikTok channels to chronicle their grievances (supplying the show with a wealth of material), and engage in heated exchanges both over fences and in online comment sections. The subjects of “Neighbors” effectively inhabit two realms: their physical residences, where they endure suffocating conflicts with those closest to them, and their digital platforms, where a chorus of voices readily encourages their disputes.
The series subtly paints a picture of a post-pandemic world, marked by isolation, online echo chambers, and deepening societal divides. Without any explicit narration, “Neighbors” shows how these individuals begin their conflicts at a fever pitch, only to escalate them further and further.
While the resolutions to these stories often lean towards dark comedy, the constant threat of tragedy or profound heartache is palpable. “Neighbors” recalls recent domestic thrillers about troublesome residents, like “The Burbs” or “The Beast in Me,” but also fits alongside films such as “Civil War” and “Eddington,” which portray an America seemingly losing its ability to coexist, or even its collective sanity.
This theme is chillingly echoed in last year’s Netflix documentary, “The Perfect Neighbor.” That film, utilizing police bodycam footage, chronicled a white Florida woman who, following months of aggressive behavior toward families and children on her street over perceived offenses, fatally shot a Black neighbor, citing self-defense under the state’s controversial “Stand Your Ground” law. She was subsequently convicted of manslaughter.
Across various media, a recurring narrative emerges: a populace teetering on the brink, armed with smartphones and firearms. This unsettling motif aligns with disturbing news footage from places like Minneapolis, hinting that the societal breakdown depicted in fiction may already be unfolding.
Naturally, conflicts between citizens and federal authorities are far grander in scale and power dynamics than disputes between suburban neighbors (and often see neighbors *uniting* in protest). However, the raw emotions and stark imagery remain unsettlingly similar, particularly the ubiquitous presence of smartphones live-streaming every angle of a standoff.
Ultimately, “Neighbors” serves as a powerful metaphor for a broader societal trend: the increasing tendency of self-segregating American groups to view fellow citizens, divided by political affiliation or geography rather than property lines, as adversaries to be defeated.
While “Neighbors” doesn’t offer grand solutions to these pervasive societal issues, it concludes with a glimmer of hope on a smaller scale. The standout final episode focuses on Danny, an elderly San Diegan whose outdoor workouts in yellow bikini briefs draw ire from his neighbors. His journey becomes a bittersweet quest for belonging, as he seeks a nudist colony where he can truly embrace his authentic self.
Danny’s quest isn’t without its challenges, and he doesn’t achieve reconciliation with his clothing-averse neighbors (his final sentiment being, “Eff ’em”). Nevertheless, he embarks on personal growth, making meaningful life changes and confronting profound truths about himself.
Through each episode, a familiar adage echoes: you can’t pick your neighbors. Yet, the series subtly suggests that perhaps the most challenging neighbor to confront, and ultimately reconcile with, is the “cantankerous devil” residing within our own minds.