I just watched The Electric Indian on PBS, and I’ve got to say—it’s the kind of story that stays with you. As someone who’s always been drawn to Native athletes and the legacies they leave behind, this film hit home. It’s not just a hockey documentary. It’s a personal, emotional, and deeply important story about NDN All-Star #20 Henry Boucha—Ojibwe warrior, Olympic Silver medalist, former NHL star, and community leader.
Henry Boucha’s name has a place in the conversation when we talk about Native athletes who opened doors. I knew the basics going in—he was a high school phenom in Warroad, Minnesota, went on to win a silver medal with Team USA in the 1972 Winter Olympics, and played in the NHL for the Detroit Red Wings and Minnesota North Stars. I also knew that his career ended far too early after a brutal on-ice injury. But what The Electric Indian does so well is bring all of that into focus—and it does it through Henry’s own voice.
Directed by Leya Hale (Dakota and Diné), the documentary doesn’t sugarcoat anything. It’s raw, honest, and respectful. Hale lets Boucha lead the narrative, and that makes all the difference. This isn’t a story told about Henry—it’s told with him. You can feel that trust in every frame. His voice is clear, direct, and full of meaning. He doesn’t hold back about the pain he experienced—on and off the ice—but he also doesn’t dwell on it. That balance is what makes the film so powerful.
The first part of the film takes us through Henry’s early life in Warroad. He grew up in a hockey town, but being a Native kid meant constantly dealing with a system that didn’t expect much from you—or worse, didn’t want you to succeed. But he stood out anyway. He wasn’t just good—he was something special. People called him “The Electric Indian,” and that name followed him through high school, the Olympics, and into the NHL.
The nickname itself is complicated, and the film doesn’t shy away from that either. It’s catchy, sure—but it also reflects a time when Native athletes were often treated as mascots or novelties. Henry carried that name, but in this documentary, he gets to define it on his own terms. That’s something I appreciated deeply. Native athletes deserve to be seen as whole people, not headlines or slogans. This film gives Henry Boucha that space.
The middle of the film dives into his NHL career. After returning from the Olympics, he joined the Red Wings and made an immediate impact. He had speed, power, and a playing style that made him hard to ignore. He later played for the North Stars in his home state of Minnesota. But then came the injury. It was a stick to the eye during a game—a dirty play that left permanent damage. That moment didn’t just take away his vision—it took away the game he loved. And it came at a time when Native players had few advocates and almost no support.
After that, his life went off track for a while. The film doesn’t skip over that chapter, either. He talks about falling into substance abuse, about losing his sense of direction. It’s tough to watch at times, but it never feels like trauma for the sake of drama. It’s just the truth. And that honesty gives weight to what comes next.
The final part of the film is what stayed with me the most. It’s about how Henry found his way back—not to the NHL, but to himself. He returned to his Ojibwe roots. He started working in his community. He became a mentor, a voice, and a builder of programs for Native youth. He helped other Native players believe they had a place in the game. His story didn’t end with the injury. In some ways, that’s where the most important part began.
The storytelling is backed by strong visuals and a haunting, beautiful soundtrack by Keith Secola. Old footage, newspaper headlines, family photos, and interview clips are all woven together with care. Nothing feels rushed or overproduced. It’s simple and direct, just like Henry.
And while the film is centered on hockey, it’s not really about the sport. It’s about identity, purpose, and legacy. If you’re Native, this film is going to feel familiar in a lot of ways. The way Henry talks about trying to live between two worlds—one on the ice, one in the community—is something I think a lot of us understand. If you’re not Native, the film is still worth watching. It offers a look into the journey of someone who carried far more than just a hockey stick. He carried expectations, stereotypes, pride, and pain—all while trying to make a mark in a sport that wasn’t built for people like him.
I also think it’s important to say—this film isn’t just a tribute to the past. It’s a reminder of what’s still possible. Native athletes today owe something to NDN All-Star #20 Henry Boucha, whether they realize it or not. He helped carve out space for the rest of us, and he did it without asking for much in return. Just a chance to be seen. A chance to matter.
The Electric Indian is streaming now on PBS.org and through the PBS app. If you care about Native athletes, or even just powerful stories told the right way, go watch it. You’ll learn something. You’ll feel something. And maybe you’ll walk away with a deeper respect for one of hockey’s most important voices.
Bill Black is the creator and “General Manager of NDN All-Stars, celebrating great Native American athletes past and present. He is a first generation descendant of the Okanogan Band of the Confederated Tribes of the Colville Reservation, and resides in Omak, WA.
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