With over two hundred films programmed at TIFF, you notice recurring thematic and narrative patterns. For this dispatch of films, Leo Tolstoy’s famed quote from Anna Karenina kept coming to mind: “All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its way.” Whether it’s Greek royalty, an ex-criminal family, or two writer friends and a great dane, these films explore the unique unhappiness plaguing three family units.

“The Return,” an utterly riveting and somber slow-burn epic from Italian filmmaker Uberto Pasolini, adapts one of the oldest families in literary history for the screen yet again: Odysseus, Penelope, and their son Telemachus from Homer’s Odyssey. “The Return” visualizes the end of the book, where Odysseus (Ralph Fiennes), after twenty years of fighting abroad in the Trojan War, returns to his homeland of Ithaca. Bruised, beaten, and physically, mentally, and spiritually scarred, there’s no warm homecoming for the king; Ithaca’s inhabitants don’t recognize him and mistake him for a beggar.

The rest of Odyssesus’ family don’t have the bandwidth to entertain the unlikely thought that he’s returned; the men of the island pressure the queen, Penelope (Juliette Binoche), to choose one of them as a suitor so they may take the throne, while also scheming ways to get rid of Telemachus (Charlie Plummer), who they see as a threat. Odysseus has to pick the pieces of his broken psyche back together and begrudgingly embrace the violence he thought he’d left behind to save his family.

There’s an inherent and sweeping tragedy to “The Return” that makes Pasolini’s film feel truly epic, namely in the ways the visual language of the film mourns the bloodshed that would otherwise thrill in a picture like this. Fiennes has transformed himself into a hulking husk of a man, cleverly playing Odysseus more as a veteran with PTSD than a conquering king. Even as you want the suitors to get their comeuppance, Fiennes and Binoche’s tortured expressions rebuke the easy glee and rapturous spectacle that usually comes with such violence. When the killing starts, in theory, the “thrilling” part of the film, one can’t help but feel saddened, a testament to Pasolini’s command of his craft and control.

The production design is also top-notch, filmed in locations like the Greek island of Corfu or the peninsula at the southern tip of the Greek mainland (among others). The desolation we see of Ithaca is palpably felt, contributing to the ambiance of dread that permeates throughout.

A film that doesn’t quite as masterfully mix violence and family dynamics is Dito Montiel’s “Riff Raff,” which is saved thanks to the strength of its cast, even if most of them are stuck in one-note roles. Vincent (Ed Harris) is an ex-criminal who is eager to put his violent ways behind him and be a dutiful husband to Sandy (Gabrielle Union) and her son DJ (Miles J. Harvey). They visit Vincent’s secluded holiday home to celebrate the new year. Still, their peace is quickly cut short when Vincent’s estranged son Rocco (Lewis Pullman), his girlfriend Marina (Emanuela Postacchini), and Vincent’s ex-wife Ruth (Jennifer Coolidge) show up at the house.

The reunion is far from sweet, though, as it’s evident Rocco is only there because he needs something from his father. Meanwhile, two men, Leftie (Bill Murray) and his partner Lonnie (Pete Davidson), violently carve their way throughout the small town in search of someone amongst the family, though the exact reasons aren’t revealed till later.

The film’s action rarely leaves the secluded holiday home, and seeing these personalities collide has its thrills. At the start, the film excels in the chemistry between its characters, finding entertainment in the way it pairs opposites together. Coolidge, in particular, is showstopping as Ruth, a woman perpetually in a daze and with no filter. While everyone around her walks on eggshells, bringing years of trauma into every conversation, Coolidge has no such shame, displaying a brazenness that can only be attributed to a liberated and secure sense of self. 

It often feels like Montiel and co. are playing musical chairs with their cast, finding awkward ways for random pairings to interact as a way to spin the wheels before Leftie and Lonnie arrive. The characters are often defined by a key quirk (such as DJ’s proclivity for sharing science facts), which becomes their whole personality; such idiosyncrasies feel like the end point of who they are instead of the start of something.

It might be easy to initially write off “The Friend,” by directors Scott McGehee and David Siege, as a shallow Hallmark movie (we do hear Christmas music within the first couple of scenes). Still, it’s a deceptively disarming exploration of how to mourn the loss of friends who we were never granted closure. As heavy as its themes are, they go down easy thanks to one of the best dog performances this side of Messi from “Anatomy of a Fall.” Adapted from the novel of the same name from Sigrid Nunez, the film follows Iris (Naomi Watts) as she cares for the 180-pound Great Dane, Apollo (played by the dog, Bing), who was left behind after his owner, Walter (Bill Murray returns here) killed himself. Iris is not a dog person but faithfully steps into the role of caretaker for Apollo. She had a complicated relationship with Walter, having been a mentee, lover, and creative writing partner. There’s a gaping hole, and her conversations with Apollo become a way to process through her sadness and questions.

As someone who, like Iris at the start of the film, is not quite a dog person, “The Friend” is one of the first films that effectively underscores the important role pets play in our lives, how they become vessels for the stories of those who have passed, how their silence and affections are invitations for us to practice presence and to confront the storm of emotions within. This is career-best work from Watts, who plays Iris as a woman who, by trying to hold sadness and strength, has never allowed herself the grace of breaking; Apollo’s needs pull her out of her spiral and force her to grapple with the questions that plague her.

Watts and Bing’s dynamic is cute but never sappy, thanks in large part to McGehee and Siege’s framing; in shots where the two are together, especially given Apollo’s size, Watts is almost always nearly leaning or lying down on Apollo, his fur tenderly soaking her tears. Early in the film, a character asks, “How do you explain death to a dog?” but by the time we reach the end of “The Friend,” we know we humans are still looking for an answer. Yet in life’s symphony of sorrows, the film reminds us that pets, in their loyalty and presence, can be a sort of grace note.