When I saw the movie trailer of Director Ben Leonberg’s “Good Boy,” I half expected a talking dog and predictable

jumpscares. But within the first 10 minutes, my eyes were so fixed to the screen I don’t remember blinking. 

This film unlocks a new level of fear and redefines what horror movies can do by tapping into one of audiences’ greatest cinematic weaknesses: seeing a dog suffer. “Good Boy” abandons gore and cheap scares and instead pulls viewers into the unnerving world experienced through a dog’s eyes. It’s a film as emotionally devastating as it is terrifying, lingering long after credits. 

“Good Boy” follows Todd, a young man who is struggling with a genetic terminal illness and a nagging sister. Viewers watch as he trades city life for his rural, and cursed, family home that hosts generations of tense family trauma, in hopes he may have better chances at recovery. Who better to be by his side than his best friend and faithful dog, Indy?

What makes the film so terrifying isn’t the actual haunting of Todd itself, but the undying loyalty of the dog. By witnessing the horror through Indy’s perspective — with low-angle shots, reflections and muffled sounds — the movie transforms your average ghost story into a viewing that feels claustrophobic, tugs at your heartstrings and leaves you feeling helpless.  

Traditionally, horror films invite the viewer to identify with the person who’s being haunted, but “Good Boy” forces the audience to see the supernatural through the eyes of a creature who can’t explain it. You’re no longer watching someone understand fear; you’re made to feel it. This shift makes the film both more captivating and more emotionally exhausting. 

Almost every shot of the film is framed at Indy’s eye level, creating a constant state of disorientation and dread. Instead of the camera lingering on the faces of humans in the film, it leaves them hidden or out of focus, forcing the audience to stare at hands, feet and corners of rooms. The result is shots that are deeply uncomfortable, ensnaring viewers in Indy’s perspective, searching desperately for the supernatural while knowing that something is terribly wrong and being completely powerless to it. 

Even the jumpscares are filtered through reflections — just a short flicker of movement in Indy’s eyes or a movement on the TV screen making every moment of terror feel predatory.

Horror movies often rely on sound to build tension, and “Good Boy” took it to a new decibel. With each hair-raising bark, whistle and breath, the anxious energy of the film intensified. At times the camera seems to breathe along with the dog, forcing you to not only watch Indy but become one with him.

What struck me the most in this film was the raw emotion in the relationship between Todd and Indy. As Todd’s physical wellbeing declines and the haunting worsens, he grows resentful and detached, refusing to believe anything supernatural is happening, while Indy senses the severity of things from the start. But being the good boy he is, Indy stays obedient, loyal even as the atmosphere in the house grows darker. That loyalty becomes the film’s great source of pain. 

Indy is Todd’s tether to humanity, his last foothold in reality. As the haunting takes over Todd, Indy becomes a stoic reflection of human endurance —  silently trembling and so desperate to help. 

What makes “Good Boy” terrifying is its restraint. The film doesn’t rely on consistent jump scares, but lets dread and suspense do the heavy lifting. Watching it in the theaters only intensifies the experience because you can’t pause or look away. The steady rhythm of footsteps, the flickering light of the TV and the occasional shout from the basement create a sickening anticipation. It’s not gore that freaked me out: it was empathy. Whenever Indy cowered or whined, my chest tightened.

Even the film’s cheesy moments, like the final whistle scene, feel earned because, by then, the story isn’t about ghosts at all — it’s about devotion pushed to the edge of cruelty. You realize the scariest part isn’t what’s haunting the house; it’s watching an innocent creature be tormented by his need to love and protect.

I went into “Good Boy” ready to make fun of a sloppy plot. I instead left deeply unnerved, wanting nothing more than to go home and hug my own dogs. It is a unique kind of horror, one that hits a little too close to home since it’s rooted in a universal love for pets. Beneath all the scares is the devastating truth of loyalty, how it can protect, trap and ultimately break you. As you leave the theater, it’s not just the ghost haunting you, but the heartbreaking image of a dog waiting for an owner who’s never coming back.