Grief has a funny way of arriving in unexpected packages. In the case of David Siegel and Scott McGehee‘s The Friend, that package comes in the form of a 150-pound Great Dane named Apollo, a creature so massive he seems more mythological than canine. This tender, thoughtful film transforms what could have been a formulaic tale of reluctant pet ownership into something more substantial—a meditation on the various shapes loss and healing can take.

There’s a certain kind of New York movie that wraps itself around you like a well-worn sweater—quiet, literary, and a little mournful, but undeniably comforting. The Friend is one of those films. Adapted from Sigrid Nunez‘s acclaimed 2018 novel “The Friend,” it captures sorrow not as a storm but a slow tide, lapping against memory, identity, and a very large dog.

Naomi Watts (Penguin Bloom) plays Iris, a writer and professor who’s recently lost her closest friend and mentor, Walter (played in flashbacks by a surprisingly soulful Bill Murray, On the Rocks). He’s left her two things: unresolved emotional baggage and Apollo, his massive Great Dane who’s more like a brooding roommate than a pet. Iris is not a dog person. But in a city that already feels like it’s closing in, the arrival of Apollo opens something up—heartache, sure, but also unexpected companionship.

This isn’t a wacky woman-meets-dog, dog-changes-her-life story. It’s softer, more layered. Iris doesn’t suddenly bloom or run through Central Park in slow motion. She lumbers through her days, teaching a writing workshop for survivors of trafficking and dodging eviction. She emotionally squints through conversations with Walter’s various ex-wives: Carla Gugino (Gerald’s Game), Constance Wu (Crazy Rich Asians), and Noma Dumezweni (The Little Mermaid), each terrific in limited screen time. The film is more interested in her interior than her exterior, and Watts plays it with a rawness we haven’t seen from her in a while.

Which is refreshing—because let’s face it, Watts’s filmography in recent years has felt a little wayward. The Friend reminds us what she can do when given material that matches her talent. Her chemistry with Bing, the Great Dane playing Apollo, is the movie’s emotional anchor. He absolutely should be in the conversation for Best Canine Performance. There’s something extraordinary about how she acts opposite this dog—not talking to him, but with him. It’s unshowy, but it hits deep.

McGehee and Siegel—whose previous films include the underseen Montana Story and the moody The Deep End—shoot New York with care but never fussiness. Giles Nuttgens‘s cinematography captures an authentic city, not the tourist version you see in ads for The Today Show. The apartments feel like real spaces, not gentrified sitcom sets. And the costume design by Stacey Battat is pitch-perfect: layers of knits, sensible shoes, and scarves that say more about Iris than any voiceover could.

Speaking of voiceover, the film leans heavily on narration—a tricky device that works here because it’s baked into the story’s DNA. Iris addresses Walter directly throughout, their relationship unfolding like an unfinished novel. It’s literary in the best sense: introspective but never smug, observant without reaching for profundity.

Trevor Gureckis and Jay Wadley‘s score stays out of the way for the most part, which feels right. The film doesn’t want to manipulate your emotions—it wants to sit beside them. It trusts that if you’ve ever lost someone—friend, partner, or beloved pet—you’ll recognize the devastation in the corners of every room.

The plot drifts, intentionally so. There’s an eviction threat. A therapist. An offer from Walter’s second wife to take the dog back. And later, the looming presence of Apollo’s own decline. But it’s not the events that matter—it’s the textures. The books on Iris’s shelf. The warmth of a writing classroom. The ache of unspoken goodbyes. And of course, the sound of a massive dog sighing as he shifts positions on a too-small couch.

Then there are the pacing issues. There’s a stretch in the middle that feels a bit like literary circling, and the film waffles on whether it wants to be a full-on heartbreaking drama or a low-key character study. But when it lands, it lands with determined force.

The Friend doesn’t try to reinvent anything. Watching this in a theater reminded me that we don’t get enough adult dramas like this anymore. Stories that are small in scope but huge in emotional resonance. Stories that treat the interior lives of women—especially single, older women—as worthy of full narrative arcs. Sometimes that’s exactly what we need.

Also, it left me thinking about emotional support animals in a different light. Not as therapy props or social media content, but as co-pilots in our messiest moments. Because as much as Iris supports Apollo, it’s clear he’s doing just as much heavy lifting. Maybe more.