On the night baby Miles was born, a serial killer was killed by police, several states away. Miles quickly grew to exhibit surprising intellect. Now, at the age of 8, he begins to show some alarming traits: does not play well with others, he’s not a pet lover and he has a fascination with people lending a helping hand.
Like any good parents, his folks quickly notice the obvious warning signs that the soul of the dead serial killer moved into their child on that night, eight long years ago, and is making him do sinister things. So, like any good parents in this common situation, they do everything within their power to inadvertently make it as easy as possible for him to take over.
Can they figure out how to stop the spreading evil inside their son before it’s too late, or will their actions only make things worse?
Following the exact same formula, complete with every cliché, from classics like ‘‘Orphan,’’ ‘‘The Bad Seed,’’ ‘‘The Good Son’’ and ‘‘The Omen,’’ this film is the exact same thing we’ve seen countless times before ... only with a much stupider premise.
There are lots of details thrown in, I assume to try to bring some depth to the story? They just don’t work to further the plot in any way, though. Miles is a boy genius, which has no bearing on the story whatsoever. For some reason, the killer soul waits until he’s 8 to try to take over his body. Why announce yourself at all? Why not just quietly take over and then start acting like a psycho?
He has some unexplained penchant for women’s severed hands, a fact that could have been explored further, to amp up the creepiness factor. There were so many unanswered questions that could have made for a much richer, more believable story ... but I just couldn’t make myself care, anyway.
The movie was adequately cast for your run-of-the-mill B movie. The acting was horrendous.
Taylor Schilling did her usual job of poor acting. Her husband, played by Peter Mooney, was actually pretty convincing as the dumbstruck dad who doesn’t know how to deal with what’s going on around him, the only part of the movie that was in any way believable.
Colm Feore played the inexplicably knowledgeable yet completely useless therapist; his performance is extremely forgettable as well.
The most impressive acting came from young Jackson Robert Scott, whose performance wasn’t great, but was impressive for such a young child. The emotional weight of an entire movie should not have been on his shoulders alone, though.
The movie is violent and bloody. There are beatings, killings, shooting and stabbing, animals and people dismembered, and blood is spilled. There is some rough language as well. Almost every word in the book is used, including some upsetting innuendo about child rape.
The serial killer is shown partially naked every time he’s on the screen, for some reason, but thankfully the most sensitive parts of him are purposefully left out. There is some medication use, but nothing major — as though that saves this film in any way.
The studio made a lackluster effort at an almost creepy movie about a pint-sized psychopath. Although there were times where the film was almost creepy, the toddler terrorist just couldn’t make us squirm in our seats. Laughably predictable, this mini-murderer just doesn’t have what it takes to become a franchise, which was the obvious goal of the studio, given the open ending.
It’s just as well — it’s probably almost time for his nap, anyway.
I give it a yawn-inducing 3/10.
Only suitable for older teens and adults, and only if they like cheesy, scary movies.
Rated R for violence, disturbing and bloody images, sexual reference and brief nudity
Runtime: a long, snore-inducing 100 minutes