Netflix has gotten really savvy with some of its feature film choices, and Little Evil might be one of the most exemplary of both its brilliance and shortcomings in choosing to pump out these pictures. Movies made-for-streaming is still a pretty new phenomenon, but there seem to be a few key points to hit if they are going to be watched and appreciated. They can't be too lengthy. They have to be either blatantly funny or deadly serious. They should have a recognizable cast.
Frankly, I think Netflix has produced some really beautiful movies; even ones I wouldn't call favorites I still think of fondly and would be willing to watch again. Little Evil is one of these. Sharp and witty, briefly frightening but ultimately charming, it's a thoroughly pleasant thing to watch even on a small screen, and it only lasts 90-something minutes. Its tight editing and relentlessly fast pace keeps it moving at the speed of a self-aware television sitcom.
Adam Scott, who really should be the reigning scream king of today, serves up major daddy vibes while carrying this fun little flick. He plays Gary, a man recently married to Sam (Evangeline Lilly) and attempting to bond with her five-year-old son Lucas. Lucas is quiet and generally ignores Gary, preferring to talk with his hand puppet in the shape of a goat. It's weird, but nothing out of the ordinary, until Lucas's voice starts to change as he speaks the voice of the goat and can be heard whispering a strange, threatening language by night. Then his teacher kills herself. A clown at his birthday party lights himself on fire. Gary finds out all Sam's ex-boyfriends are dead.
But The Omen this is not, exactly. You might be tempted to read this movie as a parody of that 1976 classic, and you might be right to do so. It definitely references little Damien, along with several other supernatural horror films that involve wicked, victimized children, notably Poltergeist and The Amityville Horror. But I found that the movie's meta commentary on the genre that celebrates even as it pokes fun was more endearing than gimmicky. Moreover, the heart of the movie really is quite warm and concerns the delicate relationship between a step-parent and a young child who may not fully understand who they are or who their family is.
As Gary and Lucas embark on their father-son trials, we do not expect it to end well. Gary becomes convinced that Lucas is the spawn of Satan, the Antichrist determined to bring about the apocalypse. How do you bond with a kid like that? His temper is murderous, his mannerisms creepy, and his obsession with channeling demonic voices disturbing at best. Things reach an ugly peak when Gary tries to put the kid to bed and ends up being buried alive in his backyard. In order to save himself and the world -- and for some healthy revenge -- he plots to kill Lucas at the water park. But after a dubiously divine sign convicts him, he saves Lucas and the two apologize to each other. Their bond was surprisingly emotional for me, and the rest of the movie rejoices in the budding father-son dynamic of this unlikely duo.
Sweet, funny, and clever, the movie doesn't demand much from you and won't be remembered for any unique brilliance. But it gets a lot of things right, from its diverse cast and characterizations -- when was the last time you saw a skinny, straight white man on a demon-hunting mission with a butch lesbian and a midget? -- to its affecting emotional intelligence. Its bit parts are cast well too, including Clancy Brown, Sally Field, and Chip Zien. And, really, if this is the basic output from Netflix, we're all in for a good time during this quarantine season.
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