"When a solitary writer adopts and bonds with a Great Dane that belonged to a late friend, she begins to come to terms with her past and her own creative inner life." 

OUR MOVIE REVIEW:

What happens to the dog when the owner dies? That’s the quietly devastating question at the center of The Friend, a soulful, slow-burning drama written and directed by Scott McGehee and David Siegel. Based on Sigrid Nunez’s acclaimed novel, this 2025 adaptation trades spectacle for sensitivity, and the result is one of the most thoughtful, emotionally resonant films of the year.

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Naomi Watts stars as Iris, a solitary writer and English professor whose life is gently upended by the death of her longtime friend and literary mentor, Walter (Bill Murray, at his most subdued and affecting). In his will, Walter bequeaths Iris his dog: Apollo, a towering Great Dane who’s half grieving statue, half reluctant roommate. Their relationship begins with suspicion and silence. Apollo won’t eat. Won’t move. Won’t even get off the bed. But like the grief they share, the bond between them grows quietly and meaningfully.

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Iris lives in a tiny, rent-controlled Manhattan apartment that explicitly forbids pets – a minor crisis that bubbles under the surface, adding stress to an already fragile time. She’s also in the middle of trying to organize Walter’s letters into a book, working closely (and sometimes tensely) with his daughter Val (a strong Sarah Pidgeon). Along the way, we meet Elaine (Carla Gugino), one of Walter’s ex-wives, who adds emotional texture and a reminder that grief radiates out in different directions.

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This is not a movie with grand revelations or sweeping drama. It doesn’t chase tears too often, nor does it aim for cathartic breakdowns. Instead, The Friend offers something rarer: the dignity of quiet perseverance. 

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Watts gives a finely shaded performance full of small, aching gestures of a woman caught between mourning and meaning. She carries the film with warmth and restraint, making Iris’s evolution feel both earned and lived-in. 

Murray, appearing mostly in memory and voiceover, gives one of his most restrained performances in years. Walter was a man who loved to talk – at readings, at parties, in letters – but in death, his absence speaks even louder. He’s the ghost at the edges of the story, felt in every glance, every letter, and every heavy sigh from Iris. Murray imbues Walter with weary charm and just the right amount of literary arrogance.

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Then there’s Apollo. As absurdly large as he is heartbreakingly loyal, the dog becomes the emotional heartbeat of the film. His presence, his silence, his simple refusal to be “okay” all speak volumes. And slowly, we see the companionship begin to work both ways. If you’ve ever grieved with a pet by your side, The Friend will feel like a quiet punch to the chest. If not, it just might show you why animals can often do what people can’t.

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McGehee and Siegel direct with patience and reverence for the source material. At just under two hours, the film may feel long to some, especially in its dialogue-heavy, contemplative structure. But that’s kind of the point. 

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The Friend takes its time the same way grief does: slowly, unevenly, with moments of pause and flashes of clarity. There’s a literary quality baked into the film’s DNA, and it feels intentional – it’s a film for readers, for thinkers, for anyone who has stayed up late missing someone and wondering what to do with all that leftover love.

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While it doesn’t reinvent the wheel, this is a rare film that treats mourning – and healing – with the attention and care it deserves. It’s a quiet triumph for animal lovers, book lovers, and anyone trying to live with great loss. We should be lucky enough to get more movies like this.

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And yes, Apollo is absolutely the goodest boy.