The Prodigy

The synchronization of a dying breath and a newborn’s first cry is a trope as old as the hills, but in the opening minutes of The Prodigy, it’s executed with a cold, clinical efficiency that told me I was in for something nastier than the average January horror dump. We see a grimy serial killer cornered by police, and in the very same heartbeat, Sarah Blume (Taylor Schilling) gives birth to her son, Miles. It’s a classic "soul-swap" setup that trades the mystery of why this kid is weird for the sheer, agonizing dread of what he’s going to do next.

I watched this on my laptop while eating a slightly stale bagel, and the crunching sound actually syncopated perfectly with the jump scares, which probably saved my heart rate from spiking too high.

A Mean-Spirited Throwback

While the late 2010s were dominated by the "elevated horror" of A24—all grief metaphors and slow-burn folk rituals—The Prodigy feels like a deliberate pivot back to the mean-spirited psychological thrillers of the 70s and 80s. Think The Bad Seed or The Omen, but with a modern, slicker coat of paint. Director Nicholas McCarthy (who gave us the underrated The Pact) doesn't shy away from the inherent ick-factor of the premise.

The story follows Miles (Jackson Robert Scott) as he grows from a precocious toddler into an eight-year-old who speaks Hungarian in his sleep and attacks his classmates with a heavy wrench. Taylor Schilling brings a lot of grounded, frantic energy to the role of Sarah. She’s best known for Orange Is the New Black, but here she sheds the prison blues for a performance that captures the specific, heartbreaking denial of a parent who realizes her child is a "bad seed." She makes us believe in the impossible choices she’s forced to make, even when the script by Jeff Buhler (Pet Sematary 2019) starts to lean into some fairly ridiculous territory involving a hypnotherapist played by Colm Feore.

The Tiny Terror

The real heavy lifting, however, is done by young Jackson Robert Scott. If you recognize him, it’s because he was the poor kid in the yellow raincoat who got his arm chewed off in the 2017 version of IT. Transitioning from the victim to the predator, Scott is genuinely unsettling. He has this way of shifting his facial expression by just a few degrees—moving from an innocent child to a calculating adult killer—that bypasses the "creepy kid" cliches and lands somewhere truly disturbing. Jackson Robert Scott is arguably better at playing a thirty-something serial killer than most adult actors in the genre.

The film’s centerpiece is a hallway sequence involving a "hug" that went viral in the trailers. It’s a masterclass in using darkness and height perspective to mess with the audience. Bridger Nielson’s cinematography leans heavily into deep shadows and cold blues, making the Blume household feel less like a sanctuary and more like a cage. It’s complemented by a screechy, dissonant score from Joseph Bishara, the guy who defined the sound of the Insidious and The Conjuring franchises.

Why It Vanished Into the Void

Despite a decent showing at the box office, The Prodigy has largely been swallowed by the sheer volume of horror content that hit streaming platforms in 2019. It’s a "lost-in-the-shuffle" movie that deserved a little more staying power. Part of the reason it might have faded is its refusal to play nice. The film is surprisingly bleak, and the ending—which I won’t spoil—is a massive "middle finger" to the audience that I personally found refreshing, even if it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

Interestingly, the film had to be re-edited after a test screening because a specific scare was so loud and effective that the audience was still screaming through the next three minutes of dialogue. That’s the kind of practical, nuts-and-bolts horror craftsmanship that I miss in an era where everything is a metaphor for trauma. The dog scene is a cheap shot that horror movies need to retire, but outside of that unnecessary bit of cruelty, the film plays its hand with a steady, confident grip.

It’s not a revolutionary piece of cinema, and it certainly won't be taught in film schools alongside Hereditary, but for a Friday night when you want a well-made, genuinely creepy thriller that doesn't mind getting its hands dirty, it’s a hidden gem worth digging up.

In an era of franchise fatigue, The Prodigy stands as a solid, standalone entry that doesn't try to build a universe or set up a dozen sequels. It knows exactly what it is: a nasty little thriller about the limits of maternal love. It’s the kind of movie that makes you look at your own kids—or your neighbors' kids—with just a tiny bit of extra suspicion. If you missed it during its initial run, give it a shot; just maybe skip the bagel while you're watching.