The Perfect Neighbor — Review
Source: Netflix
The Perfect Neighbor almost feels like the antithesis of Errol Morris’ The Thin Blue Line, but it’s equally groundbreaking. Where The Thin Blue Line pushed the boundaries of documentary filmmaking through its stylized re-enactments and interview structure, adding dramatization to the documentary format, Geeta Gandbhir strips that away and experiments with the genre by constructing her film almost entirely out of police body cam footage. This decision is both bold and effective, grounding the viewer directly in the moment. It destabilizes the comfortable distance that audiences are often afforded in true crime narratives, forcing us to feel as if we’re witnessing the events in real time.
Unlike so many modern true crime documentaries, Gandbhir’s film doesn’t skew toward sensationalism. There are no re-enactments, talking heads, or a narrator telling us how to feel. Instead, The Perfect Neighbor lets us observe the raw footage and draw our own conclusions. It’s a brilliant example of the power of editing. Gandbhir’s direction, paired with Viridiana Lieberman’s meticulous editing, transforms this material into something riveting. The film unfolds almost like a narrative feature, with tension and emotion escalating naturally as events play out.
It’s upsetting, infuriating, and harrowing to watch, but it should be deemed essential viewing. This is an urgent, tragic, and heartbreaking look at racism and injustice in America. The body cam footage has a voyeuristic quality that forces us to confront uncomfortable realities. We don’t need a fabricated story to understand how harmful “Stand Your Ground” laws or lax gun control can be; the footage speaks for itself.
Watching the film made me think of the neighbors I’ve had throughout my life. A few years ago, a former neighbor of mine called the police, describing “a small Black woman wearing a hood” who was “walking around and spraying stuff on sidewalks and trees.” He added, “I don’t know what the hell she’s doing. Scares me though.” What he failed to realize was that this “small Black woman” was actually a 9-year-old girl—his neighbor—spraying spotted lanternflies.
Source: Netflix
Fortunately, that story had a happy ending: the Yale School of Public Health honored her, and her collection of lanternflies was added to the Peabody Museum’s database. But it broke my heart. She thought she was doing something good. She’d learned in school that those insects were invasive and wanted to help. But a man who saw a “small Black woman wearing a hood” jumped to awful assumptions.
Although that anecdote is nothing compared to the crime depicted in The Perfect Neighbor, it demonstrates how these incidents are part of a broader, deeply ingrained pattern. Gandbhir’s film makes that pattern impossible to ignore. One line in the film that stood out to me is when a police officer observes, “You’re acting like a bunch of kids,” and one of the children replies, “Yeah, ‘cause we ARE kids!” I grew up in a town with neighbors just like Susan Lorincz. I was able to play and get into trouble, and my mother wouldn’t hesitate to storm out the door to defend me if she believed someone was disrespecting her child. But the difference is that I’m white. And that simply is not fair. Black kids deserve to have the same carefree childhoods. They should be able to feel safe playing in their neighborhoods, and mothers should be able to stand up for and protect their children without fear.
The Perfect Neighbor doesn’t soften the truth or offer comfort. It lays bare the ways bias, racial profiling, and institutional failures intersect to destroy lives. The film refuses to let the audience look away and leaves viewers heartbroken, perturbed, and painfully aware of how much work still needs to be done, both in law enforcement and in society at large.
The Perfect Neighbor is now streaming on Netflix.
