Anyone who has spent time around dogs (or cats, for that matter) has undoubtedly observed the way they will sometimes stare riveted at apparently empty spaces with great concentration, following the invisible ghosts with twitching ears, as though they can also hear that unknown spirit realm so dim and dead to us. There is an unfathomable mystery behind the eyes of our beloved pets that contributes greatly to the love we feel for them, an unknowable intelligence that keeps them informed of our moods and wellbeing, whether good or ill.
Ben Leonberg’s wonderfully atmospheric and original Good Boy taps into this idea via a novel conceit: a haunted house story from the perspective of the dog, which is often imperiled or harmed in horror films in order to tweak audience sympathies and provoke emotional connection. Human faces are rarely seen in Good Boy, with hands being the more common focal point, in keeping with the canine perspective. Rather ingenious, considering how audiences feel about dogs in movies, as opposed to the disposable human counterparts whose deaths we are more inclined to gleefully cheer on.
Indy, a Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever belonging to Leonberg in real life, plays himself, and he is a very good boy indeed, fiercely loyal to his human, Todd (Shane Jensen). Todd is afflicted with a chronic lung disease, retreating from NYC to the rural, woodsy home of his deceased grandfather (Larry Fessenden) much as a dog will find a spot to be alone when it feels its time to die coming. Todd’s sister, Vera (Arielle Friedman), is uneasy about the decision, as well as Todd’s declining health, believing the house to be haunted. It is an ongoing question for the viewer whether this is truly the case, or whether the haunting Todd and, especially, Indy experience is a manifestation of death coming for Todd due to the disease.
As the protagonist, Indy is a terrifically unreliable narrator, mesmerized by darkened corners of the house, which gradually morph into terrifying humanoid shapes. From Indy’s unique perspective, even a friendly stranger can appear monstrous, such as the elaborately camouflaged neighbor (Stuart Rudin) he and Todd encounter early on. As a hunter, the man is merely dressed to be undetectable to his prey, but to Indy he appears sinister and all too similar to the apparitions inside the isolated house.
As Todd succumbs to these dark forces despite Indy’s best efforts to save him, Good Boy achieves the rare but extremely potent symbiosis of the terrifying and the heartbreakingly poignant. Leonberg and co-writer Alex Cannon have crafted the most extensive use of the Kuleshov effect ever put onscreen, juxtaposing shots of Indy reacting to who knows what on the set that day, with nightmarish images seen from his point of view. At a grim but brisk 72 minutes, this movie is relentlessly gripping and transcends what could have been a mere gimmick in lesser hands.
Leave a Reply