A simmering neighborhood feud in central Florida culminated in a fatal gunshot through a closed door, claiming the life of a 35-year-old Black mother of four and landing her white neighbor behind bars for manslaughter. Now, a gripping new Netflix documentary, “The Perfect Neighbor,” released on October 20, 2025, pieces together the harrowing events using raw body-camera footage, frantic 911 calls and investigative files, shedding light on how petty disputes escalated to tragedy and raising tough questions about community failures, racial tensions and self-defense laws.

The film, directed by acclaimed filmmaker Geeta Gandbhir, first premiered at the 2025 Sundance Film Festival, where it snagged the U.S. Documentary Directing Award for its innovative use of surveillance and police video to reconstruct the story without traditional interviews or narration. Critics have hailed it as a “subversive” and “revolutionary” take on true crime, forcing viewers to confront uncomfortable realities about prejudice and the limits of “Stand Your Ground” statutes in Florida. Since hitting Netflix, it’s climbed the streamer’s top charts, drawing praise for its unflinching look at a case that ignited protests and debates nationwide.

At the center of the story is Ajike “AJ” Shantrell Owens, a vibrant engineer and devoted mom known for her community spirit in the quiet Marion Oaks subdivision of Ocala. On the evening of June 2, 2023, Owens marched across the street to confront her neighbor, 58-year-old Susan Louise Lorincz, after Lorincz allegedly hurled racial slurs and objects at Owens’ children while they played outside. What started as kids kicking a ball and skating turned deadly when Lorincz, from behind her locked door, fired a single .380-caliber round that struck Owens in the chest. Owens collapsed on the spot and was pronounced dead at a local hospital, leaving her four kids — ages 3 to 12 — without their mother.

Lorincz, a retired call-center worker with no prior criminal record, immediately called 911, claiming self-defense and insisting Owens was banging on her door aggressively. “I just shot her,” Lorincz told dispatchers in audio featured prominently in the doc. “She was trying to break in.” But investigators found no evidence of forced entry, and Owens was unarmed. Bodycam footage shows deputies arriving to a chaotic scene: Lorincz calm inside her home, Owens’ body on the porch, and horrified neighbors recounting months of escalating complaints from Lorincz about “noisy” kids in the shared green space.

The documentary meticulously chronicles the buildup. Lorincz had dialed authorities at least six times in the preceding months over minor gripes — kids playing too loudly, trespassing on her patch of grass, even leaving toys behind. Police logs reveal officers responding to these calls but deeming them non-criminal, often advising Lorincz to “work it out” with neighbors. One chilling clip shows a deputy warning Lorincz against escalating, but no formal intervention followed. “The Perfect Neighbor” argues this pattern highlights systemic lapses: How did repeated red flags go unheeded in a community where racial dynamics may have played a role?

Owens’ family, featured through archival clips and statements, paints her as a peacemaker who only confronted Lorincz after her son was allegedly struck by a thrown skate. “AJ was protecting her babies,” her mother, Pamela Dias, says in the film, her voice breaking. Dias, who now raises Owens’ children, hopes the doc spurs “real change” in how communities handle disputes. “I realized I had a responsibility to share my daughter’s story,” Dias told reporters at a recent screening.

Lorincz’s side gets airtime too, via her interrogation videos and court proceedings. She maintained fear for her life, invoking Florida’s “Stand Your Ground” law, which allows deadly force if one reasonably believes they’re in imminent danger — no duty to retreat. But prosecutors argued the door provided a barrier, negating any immediate threat. After a swift trial in November 2024, a jury convicted Lorincz of manslaughter, rejecting murder charges but affirming the shooting was unjustified. She was sentenced to 25 years, with credit for time served, and is currently appealing from prison.

Gandbhir’s film avoids talking heads, relying instead on a collage of real-time evidence: Doorbell cams capturing kids at play, Lorincz’s agitated calls (“Those brats are out there again!”), and post-shooting chaos with deputies cuffing her. This “CCTV cinema” style, as one critic called it, immerses viewers in the moment, prompting ethical debates about privacy and voyeurism in true crime. “It’s not just about the shooting,” Gandbhir explained in a Netflix interview. “It’s about how fear and bias can turn neighbors into enemies.”

The case drew parallels to high-profile shootings like Trayvon Martin and Ahmaud Arbery, fueling calls for “Stand Your Ground” reforms. Activists protested outside the Marion County courthouse, chanting “Justice for AJ,” while Owens’ family launched a foundation in her name to combat gun violence and support single moms. Yet, the doc notes key omissions: No deep dive into Lorincz’s mental health history or the full racial context, though witnesses alleged slurs like the N-word were used.

Festival buzz propelled “The Perfect Neighbor” from Sundance to accolades at Tribeca and Toronto, with reviewers praising its restraint. The New York Times called it a “meditation on bigger issues,” while The New Yorker lauded its lessons on societal fractures. On Netflix, it’s rated TV-MA for disturbing content, running 85 minutes of unfiltered reality.

For Owens’ loved ones, the film is bittersweet — a platform for healing amid ongoing trauma. “We’re turning pain into purpose,” Dias said. As gun violence claims over 40,000 lives annually in the U.S., “The Perfect Neighbor” serves as a stark reminder: In divided neighborhoods, unchecked tensions can prove fatal. Whether it sparks policy shifts remains to be seen, but it’s already got America talking — and watching.