Sit, stay, scare! An adorable dog stars in mild haunted house horror ‘Good Boy’

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The main character in the spooky and touching film “Good Boy” is a reddish-brown retriever named Indy. He explores a strange house in the New Jersey woods, checking out all the odd noises, dark shapes, and unfamiliar scents. Similar to the actors in “The Blair Witch Project” who used their real names, Indy is also known by his actual name in the movie. Indy is a normal dog, without any over-the-top Hollywood tricks. He doesn’t perform unbelievable feats like Lassie or Rin Tin Tin, and he only understands basic commands from his owner, Todd (Shane Jensen)-things like “sit,” “stay,” and, thankfully, the phrase “Good Boy.” However, we still become emotionally connected to this ordinary hero. Even a simple twitch of his nose feels as impactful as a dramatic reaction from a young actress.

Ben Leonberg, a first-time director, considered his dog, Indy, a companion before a movie star. He and his wife, Kari Fischer, who produced the film, shot Good Boy at their weekend home, creating situations for Indy to react to until they had enough footage for a feature-length (though somewhat lengthy) horror film. While it clocks in at 72 minutes, Good Boy feels a little drawn out in places and would work perfectly as a one-hour television special.

As a film lover, I was immediately hooked by how Leonberg – who not only directed but also edited and did the stunning cinematography – opens the movie. He uses personal footage to show Indy growing up, from a little pup to a devoted companion. Honestly, I felt more connected to this dog in just five minutes than I do to some horror movie heroines who’ve made it through countless sequels! Indy is, without a doubt, the most empathetic ‘scream queen’ we’ve seen all year – and I say that literally, because his breed, the Nova Scotia Duck Tolling retriever, is famous for its high-pitched wail. The American Kennel Club currently ranks Tollers as the 87th most popular dog in the U.S., but I have a feeling this movie is going to change that. (Steve Martin already owns one, so he was ahead of the curve!)

What’s troubling Indy’s new house? Two sad events are connected, like climbing plants, but the dog doesn’t always see the difference between them. This old, damaged two-story house-with creepy scratches on the basement door-has been in Todd’s family for six generations, as the graveyard in the backyard shows. It was given to the relatively young, city-dwelling Todd by his grandfather (Larry Fessenden, a well-known but reclusive filmmaker), who surprisingly left his collection of stuffed animals to a vegan-making it the perfect place to get away from it all.

I’m really drawn into this film because it starts with Todd, a guy who’s clearly struggling – both physically and emotionally. He’s really withdrawn and has gone off to this bleak, foggy forest, hoping to escape his sister, Vera (Arielle Friedman). What’s fascinating is there’s also this sense of a past tragedy, and the dog, Indy, seems to *feel* it. It’s a subtle detail, but it’s powerful – he gets so spooked by the smell of this old, decaying chair that he actually has an accident on the rug. It’s a small moment, but it tells you so much about the atmosphere and the emotional weight of the story.

“Scaredy pants,” Todd teases Indy. The dog can’t explain what only he knows.

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A lot of creepy things are going on all at once, like a shadowy figure watching, old bones that scare the dog, and Todd’s erratic behavior. I think there’s also a ghost – or at least, a heavy door that seems to open on its own. Indy is only about two feet tall, so the camera often stays low to the ground, moving close to the floor. From under the bed, things look huge – almost as big as an airplane hangar.

I have to say, starting the film with a really immersive, dog’s-eye view of that creepy cabin was a smart move – it instantly grabbed my attention. But, if you’re going in expecting a really solid, satisfying thriller, you might find yourself a little disappointed. It feels like director Leonberg and his co-writer, Alex Cannon, couldn’t quite decide how far they wanted to push the supernatural elements. They sidestep a complicated backstory – you can tell Indy the dog gets restless whenever the adults are talking about serious stuff – and instead play into this increasingly common idea that animals *do* have a kind of sixth sense. It reminded me of stories I’ve heard about hospice workers noticing how pets seem to know which patients are closest to passing, and will spend their nights with them. It’s a neat idea, but it doesn’t fully deliver on traditional thriller expectations.

Even so, “Good Boy” stays true to what makes the movie work well: a typical dog simply being a dog. Through small movements like a twitch, a head tilt, or a whine, Indy clearly shows what he’s feeling – whether it’s curiosity, loneliness, happiness, confusion, worry, desperation, or fear. The dog’s performance is completely natural; there’s no computer-generated imagery, overly dramatic shots, or use of other animals. However, Todd’s legs are sometimes replaced with those of a Leonberg, a subtle change that works because the camera rarely points upwards.

I enjoyed the story more the second time I watched it, knowing I wouldn’t see Jamie Lee Curtis crawling around. The ending is fantastic, and while the buildup is a little slow, it allows you to consider how connected different species are. Dogs are naturally inclined to protect us, but over time, they’ve learned to rely on us for their own safety too. The heartbreaking part of the film is that Todd isn’t acting in anyone’s best interest. His connection with Indy is genuine and powerful, but it’s unbalanced because Todd is too preoccupied to comfort the dog. Indy is deeply upset about being left alone for long periods in an unfamiliar house. However, he’s powerless to change it, or the flickering lights, the fox traps outside, and the suspicious neighbor (Stuart Rudin) who creeps around in hunting gear.

Todd’s lack of distinct personality makes him relatable – he can represent anyone you project onto him, like distant parents, a difficult partner, or a friend going through a hard time. There’s a moment where he clearly needs comfort, but he rejects his dog’s affection. Perhaps you’ve experienced this from both sides: being overwhelmed by your own suffering and being the person who doesn’t know how to help someone you care about. It’s frightening to care for someone so deeply, to offer them all your love and support, only to feel shut out and unable to connect.

Whether intentional or not, Leonberg’s film taps into a very basic feeling of powerlessness. While watching, I was strongly reminded of what it felt like to be a child. Just like the character Indy, children are often taken to places they don’t understand, without explanation, and are told to be quiet when they protest. And even as adults – when we’ve gained some perspective – the things that frighten us most are those that make us feel insignificant and disoriented.

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2025-10-01 23:31