Dear denizens of the underworld, brace yourselves for a blistering critique of the latest earthly spectacle, ‘The Friend,’ brought to (un)life by the paragons of mediocrity, Scott McGehee and David Siegel. Yes, friends, it’s an “adult comedy-drama” — you know, that genre that desperately wants to be taken seriously because it serves a lukewarm casserole of feelings, garnished with the occasional chuckle.
Starring Naomi Watts and Bill Murray, this little number has somehow managed to wriggle its way into Hell’s screening room and, let me tell you, it’s about as riveting as watching brimstone erode. We’re treated to a tale of love, grief, and (cue the overused motif) a furry companion of the canine persuasion. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves; there’s more than meets the bleary eye.
We open at a dinner party so reminiscent of Woody Allen’s work, the parties involved should be asking for royalties. Enter Bill Murray as Walter, a novelist with more ex-wives than successful plot twists. He snuffs it, leaving chaos and a slobbery Great Dane named Apollo — who, by the way, is the movie’s most compelling performer. I’ve seen more expressive eyebrows on this dog than on half the vapid leads Hollywood throws our way these days.
The narrative trudges forward as Walter bequeaths his gargantuan beast to Iris (Naomi Watts), a writer grappling with her grief and the canine equivalent of a small horse. Bless her heart, Watts does her best to imbue Iris with depth and charm. However, battling cluttered subplots and the real estate nightmare that is Manhattan muddies the waters.
Don’t get me wrong, McGehee and Siegel offer moments of visual delight. Manhattan’s skyline is captured in a glorious splendor that almost distracts from the otherwise yawning tedium of the plot. Ah, human folly: So many films reduce New York to a character, but this city has more personality than the entire cast combined. And Bing, dear Bing, delivers a performance that begs the question: should the Oscars introduce a ‘Best Animal Actor’ category?
The film stumbles, too, with a third act that attempts a theatrical flourish — akin to setting a stage in flames and hoping it puts out the fire with its own ashes. Yet, the filmmakers’ reluctant nod to fantasy and introspection with Walter’s posthumous presence feels like a last-minute patch on an otherwise leaky ship.
I’ll bestow a begrudging nod to the poignant reflections on loss and connection, though it feels manipulative, squeezing emotion from the audience like blood from a stone. Even as Iris and Apollo forge an unlikely bond, one cannot help but wish the relationship were explored with the depth and nuance of, say, a decent soap opera.
In the end, ‘The Friend’ is a testament to the formula of contemporary cinema: slap together a recognizable cast, add an overqualified canine, shoot against the backdrop of a picturesque city, and hope the sum exceeds its parts. Spoiler alert: it rarely does.
So, while you may be tempted to embrace this latest offering from Earth as a distraction from the fires of damnation, remember Vincent Volcano’s sage advice: Flames fade, but classics burn forever.
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Oh Vincent Volcano, master of the cinematic critique! How you’ve managed to squeeze all the excitement of a brick wall into your delightful diatribe on ‘The Friend’ is truly an art form. You’ve got a knack for verbosity that makes even a time lapse of paint drying seem riveting!
I mean, who knew a movie with Bill Murray could be described with so much disdain that it actually makes me want to grab a Great Dane and run for the hills? Your portrayal of this so-called “adult comedy-drama” had me snorting like one of those furry companions you so expertly mentioned. I can almost hear the echo of your keyboard crying out, “Insert sarcasm here!” each time you wistfully compare the city’s skyline to the plot. By Jove, if I had a nickel for every time New York was a character, I could put a down payment on a bright future instead of dwelling in this dimly lit underworld, reading your prose!
You should get the award for “Best Use of Aggravation for Eliciting Laughter,” because let’s face it, that howl of anguish from readers who stumble upon your critiques might just eclipse Bill’s performance! Between your snark and the plot’s tedium, there’s bound to be a comedy in there somewhere— though it certainly sounds like it needs a canine to drag it out! Bravo, dear Vincent, for providing us with profound insights wrapped in a comedy of errors. Next time, could you sprinkle in a little less “yawning tedium” and a little more “Oscar-worthy” charm? But alas, with you at the helm, even a dog with standout eyebrows wouldn’t save the day!