Apollo’s Creed — The Friend
It’s been just over two years since my mother passed away, and the world hasn’t been the same since. I know that’s patently obvious, as any major loss will alter one’s perspective and worldview, but it’s hard to put into words until you experience it for yourself. I jumped to the “Acceptance” phase of my grief pretty quickly after she died, because the rest of my family and I had already spent the previous three years going through the pains of watching her deteriorate from her dementia. Compare this to the recent and very sudden passing of my brother-in-law a month ago. That one still doesn’t feel entirely real. One day he was there, and the next he wasn’t, and because I had to spend the immediate aftermath helping my sister adjust and find some sense of normalcy, my mourning was put on hold. The biggest comfort I have is that, unlike mom, I know Tim at least had happy thoughts before the end, as he was lovingly joking with my sister and nephew before going to bed for the last time. With mom’s condition, I don’t know if she was able to have any final thoughts at all, but I had already come to terms with her fate.
Those who read my ramblings on a regular basis already know that I decided a year ago to begin a new tradition as a means to honor mom. Because so many of our greatest memories were tied to film, especially in her autumn years, I thought it would be a good idea to use April 7, the day of her passing, as a reason to go watch a movie that I know she would have loved. Given that Tim’s birthday was the next day, it seemed only appropriate to go forward with this as a joint tribute from here on out. Last year, the first entry in this annual homage was Wicked Little Letters, a cheeky, foul-mouthed delight that both would have adored, even though they were averse to an overuse of profanity. Tim especially didn’t care for it when it came from me, and it became even more pronounced after Teddy was born. He and my sister were convinced that the boy would be corrupted if he heard swears too early, so they would — mostly in jest — scold me whenever I used the four-letter words. Eventually I gave in and started bleeping vulgarities in my YouTube videos, at least as far as a PG or PG-13 level. “Everything but the big three,” to quote Marge Simpson.
This year’s entry is The Friend, which I’ve been looking forward to seeing for six months. As I mentioned when I named it the “Redemption Reel” for March, the picture was discussed in an episode of No Rest for the Weekend that I was on back in November, when host Jason Godbey and I went over some of the features from the Mill Valley and New York Film Festivals. I mean, just mentioning Bill Murray and a dog was enough to sell me on the concept. I’m an easy mark in that regard. I knew the plot would deal with death and grief, along with the emotional support that animals — especially dogs — can bring. But what struck me was how much of a human story this was, and that’s what sustains things and makes it connect beyond the presence of the semi-titular canine. That’s also why I’m sure mom would have enjoyed it, and hopefully Tim, too, though he had something of a distaste for mawkishness.
The crucial focus is demonstrated from the very first scene, where Walter (Murray) tells his friends about how he “met” and adopted his dog, Apollo (the animal actor is named Bing, which is adorable, because he’s so massive and yet the name almost sounds dainty). Pointedly, we don’t see Apollo for the first 20 minutes or so of the film, because while the big bear of a snuggle buddy will play a big part, co-writers and co-directors Scott McGehee and David Siegel ( Bee Season, What Maisie Knew) understand that we have to care about the people involved if this is going to be anything but a cutesy and forgettable puppy picture.
Even further to their credit, they accomplish this goal despite the almost monumental task of finding engagement points with characters often dismissed as elites. Walter is a writer and professor who’s made a life of high-minded academia and philandering, with three wives (Noma Dumezweni’s Barbara is the current, while Carla Gugino as Elaine, and Constance Wu as Tuesday are exes), and an estranged daughter (Sarah Pidgeon as Val). His best (human) friend Iris (Naomi Watts) is working with Val on editing a book of Walter’s correspondences over the course of his life. Iris herself is an author and teacher (as well as being a former student and lover of Walter’s), and is going through the worst writer’s block of her career.
Does the average person really care about this, the sordid affairs of New York City writers? Not really. These are socially detached people with highfalutin philosophies and lifestyles that aren’t relevant to the common man. But there are ways to make them accessible, and that’s to show where they share common ground with the rest of us. Iris, for example, can only survive her lack of inspiration because she lives in a rent-controlled apartment. If she had to pay the normal rents in NYC, she’d be out on the street with the salary that her teaching job pays. That’s relatable, and it has stakes.
It’s sort of like what I do here with the blog. From the very beginning, the guiding mantra was to keep in mind that I’m not some hoity-toity artistic critic. The vast majority of what I enjoy is on a basic level, with some additional elevation just based on the fact that I watch so many movies that I end up recognizing and pointing out tired tropes and clichés. I do this because, a) I work in the entertainment industry, and thus I know it can always be better if proper effort and passion is put in, and b) I am not a rich man, nor likely will I ever be, so I do my best to be judicious and relay to you all reading this what you should endorse with your funds, which are just as limited as mine, if not more so. When I started this, the slogan of “Consumer Protection” wasn’t a delusion that I was some kind of gatekeeper or guardian against poor quality, just more a mission statement where I could act like a Consumer Reports for the movie house. I test the shit out, and based on what knowledge I have, I tell you if I think it’s worth spending money on it. Occasionally I can dive deeper into the minutiae and art of filmmaking — that’s normally what the Oscar Blitz is for — but I’m never trying to place myself above anyone else as being better or somehow more wise with my tastes. That and my penchant for coming up with creative ways to describe poo-poo are why I’ve sustained this for as long as I have, and it’s what (hopefully) makes me seem like a real person you can talk to, rather than just some sweater vest lecturing you.
Anyway, shortly after the film begins, Walter commits suicide. We don’t see it, because we don’t need to. Just the knowledge that the first person we saw and heard from is dead is enough to jolt us to attention. Then, once the relationships within Walter’s circle are firmly established, we get the introduction of Apollo, who has been in a kennel since Walter’s death. Barbara convinces Iris to take him, lying about him being well-behaved and docile, but truthfully admitting that she just doesn’t like dogs, and that Walter was aware of this when they married. She adds that Walter had said that this would always be the arrangement should Apollo outlive him, which is enough for Barbara to be satisfied, regardless of whatever burden it places upon Iris.
Iris is not an animal person, however. She doesn’t hate them by any means, she just hasn’t really had reason to include them in her life. It also doesn’t help that her building has a strict “No Pets” policy, and the arrival of this huge Great Dane is an instant conflict. Building superintendent Hektor (Felix Solis) is tolerant but obligated to report this to the landlords, while neighbor Marjorie (Ann Dowd) absolutely adores the “miniature horse” that’s moved in next door.
Now, in less serious hands, the film would proceed as a Beethoven or Turner and Hooch type of comedy where the dog destroys everything and slobbers all over Iris, with her slowly going insane until she learns to love the big galoot. Thankfully, that’s not what this story is. From the moment Iris picks Apollo up from the kennel, you can tell that he’s in mourning over Walter, just as she is. When she brings him inside her apartment, he basically doesn’t move, just lowers his head in a way that allows the viewer to project their own sadness through him. When Iris pulls out an old sweatshirt of Walter’s from within the bag of Apollo’s “toys,” the dog snatches it right out of her hand and trots straight to her bed, where he plops himself right down in the middle and buries his face in said shirt. Apart from one later scene where Iris returns home to find the place mildly trashed from an apparently restless Apollo while she was out, this is as unruly as he gets. He rarely barks, he doesn’t fidget. He just lies on the bed, missing his person, only reacting when Iris starts reading some of Walter’s letters and emails to him. He’s clearly a loving and empathetic creature, evidenced by Val’s visits, where she cuddles him and calls him “big brother.” When he finally trusts Iris enough to eat the food she puts out for him, there’s a look in his eyes of acceptance that makes you just want to hug him.
This is where having this story take place within the lives of writers comes full circle in terms of relatability. As a veterinarian (Bruce Norris) points out, animals grieve just as humans do, only through much more simple means. Iris, as a writer struggling with her own creativity, is trying to find the words to process what she’s going through, while Apollo has no words at all. He’s incapable of the kind of expression that Iris needs and thrives on as an outlet. All he knows is how to be a dog, loyal and protective, and when you hear the litany of scattered thoughts from Iris, you almost yearn for the ease of the pupper’s existence. This is particularly pronounced as the pressure mounts on Iris to find some permanent housing solution for Apollo, as her Florida-based landlords are chomping at the bit to evict her just so they can raise the rent on her unit exponentially for a new tenant.
Honestly, one of the few ways in which I was left wanting was that I felt the flick would have been well served by exploring even more how tragedy seems to beget itself, with everything piling on at once with seemingly no regard for the grieving process itself. The film takes place over the course of a few months, but depending on the situation, it can take years (if ever) to get over losing someone so close to you, especially when there are so many unanswered questions. The fact that Iris’ building managers are so eager to oust her for profit when they have no connection to even the property much less its inhabitants is a strong contrast of the cruelty of the real world versus the innate compassion of Apollo, and it helps solidify the connection with the audience, because no matter what your occupation or social class, we can all relate to having shitty people cavalierly making our lives worse with no real gain for themselves.
I just think there could have been more of that rather than trying to parse out Walter’s suicidal motivations. As someone who’s been to that brink, I know that no explanation would be satisfactory to those left behind. I remember after I made my attempt, one of my friend’s mothers chastised me when she found out, because it meant that I would go to Hell. Way to comfort a kid who feels so down that he thinks death is his only escape. Tell him he’ll be tortured for eternity. Great bedside manner. As for Walter, he simply strikes me as a George Sanders type. For those who don’t know, Sanders was a great British actor, probably best known as the voice of Shere Khan in The Jungle Book and for his Oscar-winning turn in All About Eve. He killed himself in 1972, declaring in his suicide note that he had become bored with the world. David Niven even wrote that Sanders had predicted his own demise, including its method, as far back as 1937. Walter was just done with life, his only concern being the poignant refrain, “What’s going to happen to the dog?” That’s what the story is about, and while it’s important to show us the more complex ways that Iris comes to grips with this in contrast to Apollo’s more instinctual mourning, we didn’t have to keep revisiting the issue.
It’s a minor complaint in what is otherwise a brilliant, minimalist tale of the size and scale of personal grief, seen through the juxtaposed eyes of a waifish woman and a gentle giant. As I sat in the theatre, I pictured mom and Tim sitting there with me. Mom would have easily had tears in her eyes the entire time, pausing only for a brief smile and chuckle at how goddamn sweet Bing is. Tim might have been choked up as well, likely remembering his late dog Max, who he had when he and my sister first got together. Max was hopelessly devoted to Tim, and loved raw hot dogs more than anything. His loss was the first of many that hit Tim especially hard. You all know I’m not religious, but I want there to be some form of Heaven, some karmic reward for a life well lived by good people. I want that to be real, because I want to picture Tim playing with Max again, mom gently stroking our old dog Muffin and rubbing her belly, and do so with a smile on my face rather than a bitter reminder of the unfairness of the world. A film like The Friend helps foster that desire, if only for a brief time, because it reminds us of how love can be intricate, complicated, and highly detailed, but also as pure, innocent, and elementary as a pup licking your face.
Grade: A-
Join the conversation in the comments below! What film should I review next? How do you mourn those you’ve lost? Have you ever gotten a hug from a big ol’ Great Dane? Let me know! And remember, you can follow me on Twitter (fuck “X”) as well as Bluesky, and subscribe to my YouTube channel for even more content, and check out the entire BTRP Media Network at btrpmedia.com!
Originally published at http://actuallypaid.com on April 20, 2025.
