Suburban Heists and Hidden Scandals: The Irresistible Draw of "Your Friends & Neighbors" (2025)

Andrew "Coop" Cooper is coming to terms with his divorce. He's also a hedge fund manager who's recently been fired in disgrace from his job. So to maintain his lifestyle, Coop resorts to stealing from the homes of his neighbors in the exceedingly affluent Westmont Village; only to discover that the secrets and affairs hidden behind those wealthy facades, might be more dangerous than he ever imagined.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iVRFMd6dEOE

Picture it: Westmont Village, that manicured enclave where the lawns are greener than your cousin’s cryptocurrency portfolio and privacy is measured in acres. Enter Andrew “Coop” Cooper (Jon Hamm), hedge fund wunderkind turned headline-grabbing grifter. Fresh off a divorce that still smells like stale takeout and humiliation, Coop’s resume now reads: “Disgraced financier, amateur cat burglar, part-time philosopher of the absurd.” You know you’re in for a ride when the hero of the hour decides the fastest way to keep his yacht fund afloat is to pick locks in his neighbors’ penthouses—and you’ve never been more tempted to peek through those drapes yourself.

Jon Hamm slipping into Coop’s loafers is half the fun. He’s still that same laid-back cigarette-smile charmer who can vaporize a room’s tension with a single raised eyebrow. Watching him rifle through diamond cufflinks and gold bars, you find yourself rooting for the guy, even though on paper he’s just a super-rich Wolf of Wall Street wannabe swapping insider tips for insulin pumps. It’s Hamm being Hamm: self-aware, a touch world-weary, and with enough dry wit to make you feel like you’ve been served a martini with a side of existential dread.

The plot barrels along like a speeding Escalade. Coop’s grand plan—maintain his high-flying lifestyle by liberating Tumi suitcases of loot from the folks next door—quickly devolves into something resembling an impromptu therapy group. Each heist reveals twisted domestic tapestries: affairs that make daytime soaps look like Sunday-school picnics, secret ledgers that could topple empires, and a private detective force whose absence borders on criminal negligence. It’s a delicious parody of the 1%-set, only the punchline is that these are characters you almost envy until you realize envy is just regret in gym shorts.

What I liked:

Faces you know and can’t unsee. Amanda Peet (Mel), Olivia Munn (Sam), Hoon Lee (Barney Choi)—it’s like the casting director raided your old yearbook and then handed you the cheat sheet. You don’t just recognize them; you wonder what they’re up to when they’re not solving moral dilemmas with ski masks on.

Jon Hamm on autopilot. Seriously, if they bottled that smirking gravitas, it’d be the world’s next billion-dollar supplement. When Hamm dips into Coop’s midlife crisis, you laugh because you remember that feeling—only he looks better stealing a Rolex than I look paying taxes.

Dry humor you almost miss. Miss a line, rewind, and laugh twice as hard. It’s the kind of sharp, off-kilter comedy that rewards the vigilant viewer with those “Did he really just say that?” moments.

Interactive daydreaming. How often do you watch a show and pause, asking, “What would I nick from my millionaire neighbor?” Admittedly, I’m not endorsing burglary, but that mental exercise is the guilty pleasure this series offers and who has millionaire neighbors?

Character hooks. You don’t just want to see Coop’s next score—you want to know if Mel will finally get that redemption arc she desperately needs, or if Sam will ever clue in that her husband’s secret Samsonite is an actual Samsonite full of scandal.

But let’s not sugarcoat it like a boutique macaron. There are a few potholes on this camouflaged runway.

What I Disliked:

Sex for ludeness, not storytelling. Sordid encounters pop up like weeds in a rose garden—jarring, gratuitous, and almost apologetic in their irrelevance. I get it: money and power often come with…creative hobbies. But if you’re going to go there, give us a reason beyond “look at how edgy we can get.”

Subtitles as punishment. A few key scenes detour into foreign languages, plastering the bottom of the screen with text that feels like studying for a pop quiz. I don’t mind cultural texture, but when I have to choose between reading lines and reading my phone, the phone usually wins.

Soap-opera slip-and-slide. My one hope: this doesn’t morph into “As the Private Jet Turns.” Keep that narrative on point, or I’ll be setting my DVR for, oh, anything else.

Amanda Peet’s Mel needs saving. She’s dripping with potential—charismatic, cunning, and underutilized and a cheater. If she doesn’t get a redemption arc ASAP, she’ll transition from fascinating enigma to the character you actively hate.

Security so lax it’s insulting. You’re telling me these zillionaires don’t have biometric safes, private security squads, or at least a decent alarm system? I’m no real-estate magnate, but if my neighbor’s Alexa can order me groceries, surely Westmont’s wealthiest can spring for a fingerprint scanner.

Despite these quibbles, Your Friends & Neighbors has the right blend of high-stakes caper and interpersonal crackle to keep you tuning in. It’s a show that invites you to question your own moral compass—a funhouse mirror where the reflection might make you wince or grin, depending on last year’s tax bracket. And if nothing else, it’s nice to watch Jon Hamm do something wildly irresponsible that doesn’t involve bourbon or hosting gigs.

All in all, Your Friends & Neighbors lands somewhere around a 7.4/10