Brian Dennehy died earlier this month at the age of 81, and he remained a working actor to the last, with a career on stage and screen that spanned more than 55 years and 180 films. So it feels fitting that one of his final films, 2019’s “Driveways,” should get a second life in theaters such as the Rose, even after Dennehy himself has passed on.

With his barrel torso, bulldog neck and strong jawline, Dennehy rarely needed to raise his voice to convey the power of his characters, but when he did anyway, as in 1985’s “Cocoon,” it was terrifying to behold.

Instead, Dennehy often held back, arching his furrowed eyebrows and flashing a wry grin to convey a sense of looming menace rather than relying on the low roar his voice was more than capable of.

And when he was cast as gruff but kind souls rather than larger-than-life bad guys, that same restraint underscored the depth of his characters’ gentleness.

“Driveways” showcases Dennehy’s soft touch by casting him as Del, a Korean War veteran and suburban widower whose days consist of sitting out on his porch during the day, modest suppers-for-one in his large, empty dining room at night, and bingo with his friends at the VFW hall in between.

Del’s tranquil routine is interrupted by the arrival of nursing student and single mother Kathy (Hong Chau) and her sensitive, introspective grade school-aged son Cody (Lucas Jaye) to the house next door to Del, which used to be the home of Kathy’s sister April, whom we never see onscreen.

Kathy lost touch with April after childhood, and after April’s death, Kathy and Cody head to April’s home to settle her affairs only to learn that April had been a massive hoarder.

Cody never met his aunt before she died, but as Kathy cleans out the clutter that chokes nearly every corner of April’s house, she comes to realize how little she knew her once-promising older sister, whose living conditions were so squalid that Kathy and Cody soon discover the morbid source of the house’s stench.

While mother and son spend their days hauling Dumpsters full of junk and some salvageable goods out of April’s home, and sleeping on the house’s enclosed front porch at night because they can’t afford to keep staying at a motel, Cody struggles to make friends his own age with the neighborhood kids.

Speaking from experience, few terms are as loaded as describing a pre-teen boy as “sensitive,” and watching Lucas Jaye as Cody was like looking through a window in time to my own childhood.

Kathy’s affectionate nickname for her son is “Professor,” because of how much he reads and how quietly he studies the world around him. When a couple of slightly older boys on the block try to cajole Cody into play-wrestling, he vomits from stress, which we learn has been a recurring problem for him for a while, since he so often feels overwhelmed by social situations.

Like a lot of sensitive little boys, Cody gets along far better with older adults, and while Del is initially hesitant to spend time with Cody, we see the older man bringing the shy kid out of his shell. He teaches him to drive a riding lawn mower and celebrates his 9th birthday during a round of bingo at the VFW hall.

Because just as Kathy is mourning the sister she never really knew as an adult, so too is Del still missing the wife with whom he wishes he’d shared his feelings more while she was alive.

Del has an adult daughter whose legal career he’s clearly proud of, but he expresses regret over missing so much of her childhood. Spending time with Cody, even when it’s simply in the form of shared, companionable silences, gives him the grandson experience he knows he’ll never have otherwise.

The emotional heart of this film comes from an understated speech that Dennehy delivers to his young costar, in which Del is reminiscing about the cross-country hitchhiking trip with his old military buddy that led to him meeting his future wife, as he wonders how the half-century between then and now could have passed like the blink of an eye.

“You’re a good kid,” Del tells Cody, imparting his final words of wisdom and encouragement in the film. “F*** ‘em.”

It says so much about Brian Dennehy that this is the most Brian Dennehy expression of tender paternal affection I can imagine.

On that note, while I’m sad to mark Dennehy’s passing, I’m glad to be watching movies through the Rose Theatre again, and you can too, by visiting rosetheatre.com.

Brian Dennehy: July 9, 1938 — April 15, 2020.