Naomi Weisman is a Canadian, Australian and mother of three, who loves to ramble with her dog, cook for family and friends, and laugh whenever possible.
When I saw that The Friend (2024) combined Bill Murray, Naomi Watts, and a big, beautiful black-and-white Great Dane, I didn’t need any convincing—I was all in. What a recipe!
Anyone who knows me knows I’m a lifelong animal lover—that’s no secret. I’ve shared my life with many beloved dogs and cats, each one unforgettable in their own way. But those who know me best understand that my Great Dane, Margot, was something else entirely. The bond we shared ran deep, beyond words—almost as if we had known each other in a past life. Margot wasn’t just a pet; she was a kindred spirit.
The Friend tells the story of Iris, a woman reeling from the suicide of a close friend. When she inherits her friend’s Great Dane, Apollo, she doesn’t just adopt a dog—she inherits a silent reminder of the complex, painful, and deeply human connection they once shared. As Iris cares for Apollo, she begins to confront what it means to be a true friend, what we owe the people (and animals) in our lives, and how healing can sometimes arrive in the form of a giant, droopy-eyed companion who needs us as much as we need them.
The film unfolds through quiet moments and layered conversations, rather than relying on plot twists. There are flashes of humor, exhaustion, tenderness, and sarcasm, capturing the nonlinear reality of grief and recovery. The pacing is deliberate, allowing viewers to sit with the emotions that ripple just beneath the surface.
The heart of this film lies not in action but in observation: it’s a character study that trusts the audience to lean in. Iris (Naomi Watts) is portrayed with remarkable depth and nuance. Her performance is restrained yet emotionally resonant—never sentimental, always authentic. The bond she slowly develops with Apollo becomes a metaphor for all the unspoken ways we carry each other through pain.
Bill Murray, as Walter, delivers a quietly powerful performance, dialing down his trademark wit in favor of something more subdued and emotionally grounded. He brings a weary tenderness to the role, portraying a man shaped by loss and quiet regret. It’s a restrained, deeply human turn that lingers long after the credits roll—proof that sometimes the softest performances carry the most weight.
Apollo, the dog, may not speak, but his presence is powerfully felt. For those of us who’ve loved and lost animals, his silent loyalty and soulful eyes bring tears to our own. It’s impossible not to draw comparisons to our own furry companions who offer comfort when words fail us. Margot, my beloved Great Dane, came to mind in nearly every scene.
The supporting cast adds texture, offering perspectives on grief, friendship, and what it looks like to take control of a life you didn’t expect. Conversations in the film are thought-provoking without being preachy, touching on everything from duty and autonomy to the very human need to connect, even when it’s messy or inconvenient.
The Friend is not a film for everyone. It asks for patience, empathy, and reflection. But for those willing to lean in, it offers a beautiful meditation on love, loss, and loyalty. It reminds us that taking care of another being—especially when we’re hurting—can be a powerful way to reconnect with ourselves.
Whether you’ve mourned a friend, grieved a pet, or simply wondered what it truly means to be there for someone, this film offers a quiet, tender space to explore those questions. And for dog lovers? Bring tissues. You’ll likely see your own four-legged friend in Apollo—and perhaps, find a little comfort in the reminder that we’re never really alone.
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