In a streaming landscape dominated by high-octane blockbusters, explosive franchises, and superhero spectacles, Netflix has delivered one of the most surprising chart-toppers of late 2025: the understated 2022 road-trip drama Dog. Co-directed by and starring Channing Tatum, this modest gem has surged to the top of the platform’s movie rankings, catching everyone off guard and leaving a trail of emotional devastation in its wake. No explosions, no capes, no over-the-top villains—just a man, a traumatized military dog, and a journey down the Pacific Coast that explores grief, healing, and the profound connections that can save us when everything else fails. Years after its theatrical release, Dog is resonating anew, with viewers calling it “the most heartbreaking film they’ve seen in ages,” “raw and tender,” and utterly “impossible to forget.”
The story follows Jackson Briggs (Tatum), a battle-worn former Army Ranger grappling with traumatic brain injury and PTSD, desperate to return to active duty despite medical warnings. His chance comes in the form of an unusual assignment: drive Lulu, a feisty Belgian Malinois military working dog, from the Pacific Northwest to Arizona for the funeral of her late handler—a fellow soldier and Briggs’ close comrade who died in a car accident. Lulu, portrayed brilliantly by three talented Malinoises (Britta, Lana, and Zuza), is no ordinary pet; she’s a highly trained but deeply scarred veteran herself, prone to aggression, anxiety attacks, and unpredictable outbursts from her own combat trauma. What starts as a reluctant partnership—two damaged souls forced into a cramped 1984 Ford Bronco—evolves into a chaotic, heartfelt odyssey filled with mishaps, quiet revelations, and unexpected tenderness.
Tatum, making his directorial debut alongside longtime collaborator Reid Carolin, draws from profoundly personal roots. The film is inspired by his own real-life road trip with his beloved pit bull-Catahoula mix, also named Lulu, after she was diagnosed with terminal cancer in 2018. Tatum has shared how that journey forced him to confront acceptance and gratitude amid inevitable loss—a theme that permeates every frame. The movie is dedicated to his Lulu, who passed shortly after, adding layers of authenticity that elevate it beyond typical “man and dog” tales. “There’s nothing I can do except be there,” Tatum reflected in interviews, echoing Briggs’ internal struggle.
As Briggs and Lulu barrel down the coast, the film balances humor and heartache with remarkable finesse. Comic highlights include Lulu’s escapades—stealing food, causing hotel chaos, and even a bizarre run-in with spiritual healers in Portland—providing levity amid the heavier moments. Tatum shines in these lighter scenes, channeling his natural charm into awkward, endearing interactions. But the true power lies in the dramatic depths: flashbacks to combat horrors, Briggs’ seizures and isolation, Lulu’s panic episodes triggered by loud noises. Supporting players like Q’orianka Kilcher as Briggs’ estranged wife, Ethan Suplee in a memorable cameo, and Jane Adams as a compassionate vet add emotional grounding without stealing focus.
Critics upon release praised the film’s restraint and sincerity, awarding it a solid 77% on Rotten Tomatoes, with audiences pushing it higher at 90%. Many noted how it avoids manipulative sentimentality, opting instead for honest exploration of veterans’ struggles—PTSD, reintegration challenges, and the overlooked trauma of military dogs. The stunning Pacific Northwest and coastal cinematography by Newton Thomas Sigel captures vast, lonely landscapes that mirror the characters’ inner turmoil, while Thomas Newman’s score swells with understated poignancy.
What makes Dog so unexpectedly wrecking is its refusal to tie everything in a neat bow. The bond between Briggs and Lulu forms gradually, through shared vulnerability rather than instant magic. Lulu’s ferocity isn’t cute-ified; it’s a realistic portrayal of a working dog’s instincts clashing with civilian life. Viewers report being blindsided by the emotional weight—tears flowing freely during quiet car rides or tender grooming scenes. “It’s not a weepy dog movie like Marley & Me,” one recent watcher shared online, “but it hits deeper because it’s so real.” Others highlight the film’s timely commentary on military service, noting how it honors both human and canine veterans without glorifying war.
The resurgence on Netflix comes at a poignant moment, amid growing awareness of mental health and animal welfare. Animal lovers are particularly smitten, praising the authentic dog performances and Tatum’s gentle handling (no animals were harmed, with trainers ensuring comfort). Pet owners relate to the unconditional loyalty theme, while veterans’ advocates appreciate the nuanced depiction of invisible wounds. Social media is awash with reactions: families watching together and sobbing, individuals rewatching for comfort, and debates over favorite scenes—like Briggs reading Lulu a bedtime story or their improvised “therapy” sessions.
Box office-wise, Dog was a sleeper hit in 2022, grossing over $85 million worldwide on a modest budget, proving Tatum’s star power after a five-year hiatus. Now, streaming has introduced it to a new generation, many discovering his directorial side for the first time. The film’s brevity—101 minutes—makes it perfect for a single sitting, yet its impact lingers, prompting reflections on loss, redemption, and the healing power of companionship.
In a year of flashy spectacles, Dog reminds us that sometimes the quietest stories pack the biggest punch. Raw, tender, and profoundly human, it’s the emotional gut-punch Netflix viewers didn’t know they needed—one that’s storming the charts and stealing hearts along the way. If you’re in the mood for something that will wreck you in the best possible way, buckle up for this unforgettable ride.
