‘Good Boy’ Review
Horror is not exactly wanting for new gimmicks, but the frequency with which the genre sees unique approaches might explain its continued success. The tropes are persistent, but it’s a genre that consistently examines the familiar with fresh eyes. However, one trope that is very rarely interrogated is the death of animals—and specifically, dogs. Ben Leonberg’s impressive feature directorial debut is not without its own galivanting through well-trodden territory. The difference is that Good Boy’s distinct protagonist and unwavering commitment to its concept don’t just feel like a rehash of familiar plotlines through the eyes of a canine character. An oppressively atmospheric film that wrestles with dependency and surviving painful circumstances, Good Boy rises above being merely a gimmick to shine a light on one of humanity’s greatest support systems.
The conversation circling Good Boy will always be firmly centred on its star, Indy—a Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever played by the director’s real-life pet dog of the same name. While there are plenty of films that feature dogs, they often require an ensemble around them or focus more on the emotions of their owners than on the dog itself. The number of times that dogs die in media (for far less reasons than character development, mind you) has become so prevalent that websites and social media accounts will help steer you clear of emotional harm. A seemingly predetermined fate for all canines in horror films, there’s an impossible task placed on Alex Cannon and Leonberg’s screenplay: subverting expectations while also leaning into the darkness of its premise. Fortunately, it finds its way through the myriad of potential problems with little struggle.
Indy’s owner, Todd (Shane Jensen), is not in the best of shape. After a chronic illness reappears and causes Todd to cough up blood and other symptoms rear their head, he makes the sudden decision to leave with Indy and rest away from everyone at his late grandfather’s rural home. Where Todd sees isolation as a potentially therapeutic retreat from the constant attention to his health, his sister, Vera (Arielle Friedman), worries that the solitude will only exacerbate the pain. Most of what can be gleaned from the characters is pieced together through fragments of conversations, frequently muffled by distance as Indy guards his owner from a supernatural presence that seems to be lurking in the shadows. The circumstances that led to Todd’s grandfather’s (played by Larry Fessenden) death feel eerily similar to Todd’s current situation. With Todd’s arrival at a cluttered, messy home, Leonberg emphasizes how severe Todd’s grandfather’s illness may have been to leave the place in a state of decay and disarray. Outside of the occasional walk, Todd relegates himself to his bedroom where he watches old videotapes of his grandfather and the occasional spooky horror movie—all with Indy at his side.
Indy, therefore, becomes one of the only active forces in Good Boy, as he explores the cluttered mess of the house and some of its darker recesses, only to discover that it may be just as cursed as Vera has warned Todd. He’s protective of Todd, but he must also leave his side and confront what evil may reside in the home. Gorgeously lit at almost every turn, Indy is almost always at the center of the frame, and much of the tension is found in what keeps Indy’s attention. Usually, it’s a menagerie of slow-burning horror staples, such as shadows hiding something that requires bravery for further investigation, and nothing but eyes glowing within the darkness. The tropes are all there, and as it unfurls some of the house’s history, it also can’t help but fall into more familiar scares where the chaos designs quickly-cut jump scares that hit harder because it’s a dog and not a person being threatened.
There’s a thick, dangerous atmosphere engulfing Good Boy and its protagonist that helps make the more generic or rough beats remain effective. Vast woods almost always surround Indy with foxtraps lurking in unknown areas, or the darkness of the house shrouds him as his owner wallows in his pain. Indy never feels safe, but neither does Todd. The difference is that the internal pain Indy’s owner faces is manifested in a supernatural presence that Indy feels compelled to confront to protect both of them. Once the film delves into more surreal horror imagery, Good Boy becomes emotionally charged and challenges the audience to understand how support systems sometimes must navigate a similar darkness to that of those they are trying to help, to be there for them. Akin to an addiction drama, the screenplay wrestles with some of the more difficult elements of the struggle while still maintaining a subtle intensity that escalates as the pain grows.
Budgetary restraints and some stilted dialogue hold Good Boy back from being truly exceptional, but the concept is executed with far more care than expected. The pitch will always be “a horror film from the perspective of a dog,” but it should really be “a horror film from the perspective of a friend.” Ultimately, that’s what Leonberg seems attuned to throughout, and the emphasis on the pain encroaching upon Indy and his owner is a sign that it’s less about a canine companion and more about companionship as a form of support. There’s an onslaught of movies just trying to come up with unique hooks that will garner immediate attention, but Good Boy follows in the footsteps of contemporaries like Chris Nash’s In a Violent Nature. By exploring not just how the perspective would shift, but how the tone of the film would also be transformed, Good Boy’s canine companion’s journey resonates strongly through the attempt to save a lost soul from unimaginable suffering.
