In the history of scary movies where darkness reveals hidden truths and the invisible threatens to drive you mad only a handful of films have dared to push the boundaries of perspective as hard as Good Boy. Released in 2025 after premiering at SXSW, this 72 minute Shudder and IFC gem from Ben Leonberg and Alex Cannon turns the haunted house genre on its head with a furry twist. Shot mostly from the point of view of Indy, a Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever whose big brown eyes are our steady gaze, the film takes a familiar ghost story and makes it intimate and terrifying. With Shane Jensen as the troubled Todd and horror legend Larry Fessenden as the ghostly father, Good Boy is more than just a movie about dogs – it’s a reminder that loyalty is universal and fear can take many forms – from shadowy spirits to the silent fear of being powerless.
It’s a simple setup, a ghost story stripped down to the bare bones and rebuilt with paws and whiskers. Todd’s just been diagnosed with cancer and is looking for some alone time so he moves into his grandfather’s old rundown woodland farmhouse – a place that reeks of taxidermy and unspoken secrets. VHS tapes flicker with Fessenden’s grizzled face dispensing embalming advice while the house itself seethes with resentment: a vengeful entity born of buried rage that preys on the weak. But it’s Indy’s world we’re in, a low ceiling of scuffed floorboards, dangling shadows and his master’s faltering heartbeat. From here the horrors unfold not in big scares but in the mundane made malevolent: a neighbor’s silhouette blurring into the trees, bile slicked tendrils oozing from the basement and phantom echoes of a long dead dog warning of the doom to come. As Todd wastes away – his body crumbling, his mind shattering under spectral attack – Indy becomes the unlikely hero, his barks and nudges a frantic Morse code against the void.
What makes Good Boy special isn’t just its originality; it’s the realness that Leonberg gets out of his untrained lead dog. Indy, Leonberg’s retriever, wasn’t trained for film appearances but was developed over 3 years through a relationship with director and producer Kari Fischer. The result is a performance that goes deeper than the Antarctic huskies in The Thing – those eyes convey fear, determination and loyalty without a single bark. The camera is low and shaky and we see the world through a dog’s eyes: blurry edges of vision, intensified smells through close ups and dreamlike sequences that go into the dog’s head where fears take shape as shadows in a mist. These aren’t tricks, but portals that force us to confront the core of the film: that love can’t overcome grief. Indy can’t call for help, can’t express the hold the being has on him; he can only jump, whine and endure and each of his failed attempts is a blow to our human centric beliefs.
Leonard’s ability to stay calm while he’s shooting helps to create that sense of closeness. He avoids sudden, jarring cuts in favour of a slow build of unease – the sound of creaking wood that could be footsteps, the TV screen flickering and casting eerie shadows on the walls. Tactile horror is achieved through practical effects; the supernatural takes on a physical form: the ghoul is mud and mire, it’s tangible, its slow movement a symbol of Todd’s decline. Jensen is restrained as the ordinary guy deteriorating, his fragility a nice contrast to Indy’s energy. Fessenden’s historical snippets add a touch of rustic danger, like The Witch, but without the Puritanical morals. At 72 minutes, it’s a quick hunter; the short length is a blessing that keeps the story intact. But within that is a sense of not enough – despite the emotional impact the story has, it revisits old ground – a life threatening illness and spectral visitations like The Babadook – without fully exploring the promised depths of the dog’s mind. We get glimpses of Indy’s inner psyche, but a deeper exploration of his sensory turmoil could have turned this from a good story into a classic of the genre.
It’s a simple film but full of emotion a tribute to the canine guardians that protect our fragile human lives. It’s a film that sticks with you like damp fur on a rainy afternoon. It’s both scary and comforting, showing us that real terror isn’t the monster under the bed but the fear of being alone in the dark. Pet owners will love Indy’s accomplishments, horror fans will enjoy the unease and casual viewers will be surprised by this little dog’s journey. In a year of big claims, Good Boy proves that sometimes the smallest bark has the biggest impact—a humble wonder that brings new ideas from the old and makes us all feel a little more grateful for our furry friends.