In The Friend, Scott McGehee and David Siegel deliver a tender, bittersweet meditation on grief, creativity, and unexpected companionship. Adapted from Sigrid Nunez’s award-winning novel, this quietly powerful film captures the complexities of loss and the strange, sometimes redemptive places where solace can be found. Led by a soulful performance from Naomi Watts and the remarkable on-screen presence of a Great Dane named Bing, The Friend is a deeply felt character study wrapped in the gentle absurdity of real life.
Watts stars as Iris, a seasoned New York writer whose seemingly stable life is disrupted by the suicide of her longtime mentor and closest confidant, Walter (Bill Murray). As a final, bewildering gesture of their bond, Walter bequeaths his enormous and emotionally wounded dog, Apollo, to Iris—a self-described cat person living in a tiny apartment with a strict no-pets lease.
What begins as an inconvenience quickly becomes something far more profound. Apollo, the grief-stricken Great Dane, becomes both burden and balm for Iris as she confronts unresolved feelings about Walter and the creative void his absence leaves behind. The dog, often silent and solemn, becomes a kind of emotional mirror, offering comfort not through action, but through shared mourning. It's a dynamic that is both simple and deeply moving, and it lies at the heart of the film's quiet power.
Watts brings a deft emotional range to Iris, portraying a woman caught between frustration and tenderness, isolation and reluctant connection. There’s a physical comedy to her scenes with the colossal Apollo—her efforts to walk him through Manhattan streets or coax him out of existential sulks are at once ridiculous and touching. Yet Watts never lets the humor undercut the sincerity of Iris’s grief. Her performance is measured, full of warmth and hesitation, showing a woman slowly reassembling herself in the aftermath of loss.
Bing, the Harlequin Great Dane playing Apollo, is a revelation. This isn’t a sentimentalized portrayal of a “movie dog”; instead, Apollo exudes a kind of gravitas that matches the film’s tone. As a character, Apollo is almost mystical in his ability to reflect Iris’s emotional state, yet he never ceases to feel like a real dog—grieving, confused, and seeking comfort in his own quiet way.
Bill Murray, appearing in flashbacks and memories, brings a layered melancholy to Walter. He’s charismatic and enigmatic, a man whose brilliance was often undercut by his flaws. His chemistry with Watts—evident even in their brief scenes together—offers glimpses into a complex relationship that never quite fit into traditional categories.
Adapting The Friend posed unique challenges: the original novel features an unnamed narrator and much of the story unfolds internally, through musings and imagined conversations with the deceased. McGehee and Siegel smartly externalize this internal world without sacrificing the meditative spirit of the source material. They ground the story in real-world detail—New York apartments, walks through Central Park, literary parties—while maintaining a poetic undercurrent.
Visually, the film is intimate and warm, thanks to Giles Nuttgens' cinematography. Shots are often framed from Apollo’s perspective, lending a subtle sense of emotional parity between dog and human. The camera lingers on faces, books, weathered apartments, and quiet corners of the city, allowing viewers to sink into Iris’s headspace.
The production design and costumes likewise reinforce the film’s restrained, contemplative mood. There’s a timeless quality to Iris’s world—a New York that feels both familiar and slightly dreamlike. The score by Jay Wadley and Trevor Gureckis avoids sentimentality, opting instead for sparse, elegant compositions that underscore the story’s emotional cadence.
At its core, The Friend is a film about the relationships we don’t quite know how to define—the friendships that are deeper than platonic, more enduring than romantic, yet often overlooked. Iris and Walter’s bond is one of deep mutual respect and creative intimacy, but it’s also marked by frustration, mystery, and ultimately, absence.
The film also explores the particular kind of loneliness that artists and intellectuals often experience: the solitary work of writing, the sting of being misunderstood, the fear of irrelevance. Through Iris’s struggle to write and to move forward, we see how creativity and grief often intertwine.
Perhaps most touchingly, The Friend reminds us of the simple, transformative power of animals. Apollo is not a magical dog who saves the day; rather, his presence is healing because it is so real, so present. He demands that Iris engage with the world again—feed him, walk him, speak to him. In doing so, she begins to live again.
In a world that often prizes spectacle and cynicism, The Friend offers a gentler, more grounded alternative. It’s a quiet film, but never slight—its emotional resonance builds subtly, moment by moment. As producer Mike Spreter notes, the film ends in a hopeful place, encouraging viewers to “embrace disorder” and find meaning in unexpected bonds.
That message feels especially relevant in today’s world. At a time when grief is a shared global experience and connection often feels elusive, The Friend offers a cinematic space to pause, reflect, and heal.
The Friend is an exquisite example of mature, character-driven storytelling. McGehee and Siegel have crafted a film that is at once literate, humane, and visually graceful. Anchored by Naomi Watts’s luminous performance and the unforgettable presence of Bing the Great Dane, the film earns its emotional beats with quiet assurance. It’s a story about the messiness of love, the persistence of memory, and the unexpected ways we find our way back to ourselves.
This isn’t just a film for dog lovers—though they will certainly be moved—it’s a film for anyone who has ever had to let go, hold on, and learn to live again. The Friend doesn’t just tug at the heart; it offers it something meaningful to hold.
The Friend is currently available on Blu-ray and DVD.