The Little Things

The air in 1990s Los Angeles always looks like it’s been filtered through a used coffee grounds, at least according to the movies. It’s a city of long shadows, flickering neon, and the kind of existential dread that only a rotary phone and a lack of DNA sequencing can provide. The Little Things (2021) leans so hard into this aesthetic that you can practically smell the stale cigarettes through the screen. It’s a film that arrived during the height of the pandemic’s "Day and Date" experiment—landing on HBO Max and in theaters simultaneously—and it felt like a transmission from a different era entirely. That’s because, in many ways, it was.

I watched this for the first time on a Tuesday afternoon while my neighbor was out front power-washing his driveway for three hours straight. Honestly, the monotonous, rhythmic hum of the water against the concrete ended up being the perfect soundtrack for a movie that trades in slow-burn obsession rather than high-octane thrills.

A Script Frozen in Carbonite

There is a reason The Little Things feels like a "lost" thriller from the mid-90s: Director John Lee Hancock (who also gave us The Blind Side) actually wrote the screenplay back in 1993. For nearly thirty years, this script sat in a drawer while legends like Steven Spielberg, Clint Eastwood, and even Danny DeVito circled it before passing. Spielberg famously turned it down because he thought the story was "too dark" for him at the time.

Because it was written before Se7en (1995) redefined the genre, it lacks the flamboyant macabre of John Doe’s "masterpieces." Instead, it feels like a spiritual cousin to the grittier, more grounded procedurals. In our current era of "true crime" saturation and hyper-polished streaming thrillers, there is something oddly refreshing about a movie that doesn't care about being "prestige TV." It’s a meat-and-potatoes crime drama that relies almost entirely on the heavy lifting of its three Oscar-winning leads.

The Weight of the Badge

Denzel Washington plays Joe "Deke" Deacon, a man who wears his past like a lead coat. Denzel has reached that stage of his career where he can communicate more with a heavy sigh and a slight squint than most actors can with a five-minute monologue. He’s the "disgraced" cop with a secret, a trope as old as the hills, but Denzel gives it a lived-in gravity that makes you forget you’ve seen this three dozen times before.

Then we have Rami Malek as Sgt. Jim Baxter, the hotshot young detective who thinks he can outrun the darkness of the job. I’ve always found Malek to be an interesting screen presence, but here, Rami Malek looks like he hasn't slept since the Bush administration. His wide-eyed, twitchy intensity is meant to contrast with Denzel’s weary stillness, but at times it feels like they are acting in two different movies.

The real lightning rod, however, is Jared Leto. Playing Albert Sparma, the primary suspect, Jared Leto is basically playing a human version of a wet paper bag found in a gutter. He’s greasy, he’s taunting, and he’s clearly having the time of his life being the creepiest guy in the room. Whether you find his performance brilliant or insufferably "method" is usually the deciding factor in whether you’ll enjoy the film's second half. Apparently, Leto stayed in character throughout the shoot, which I imagine made the craft services table a very awkward place to be.

The Slow Burn to Nowhere (And Why We Like It)

What makes The Little Things a burgeoning cult favorite isn't its "whodunit" mystery—because, frankly, the mystery is the least interesting part of the movie. It’s a character study about how the pursuit of "the bad guy" can turn you into someone you don't recognize. The film intentionally avoids the easy, cathartic payoffs we’ve been conditioned to expect from modern cinema.

The cinematography by John Schwartzman captures a version of LA that feels oppressive and lonely. There are long stretches where nothing "happens" in terms of plot, but the atmosphere is thick enough to choke on. This slow pacing was a point of contention for many when it first dropped on streaming. In an era where social media demands instant takes and "ending explained" videos within minutes of a release, The Little Things dares to be frustrating. It’s an "anti-thriller" that leaves you with more questions than answers.

The trivia behind the scenes is as fascinating as the film itself. Beyond the Spielberg connection, the car Sparma drives—a beat-up, brown primer-painted sedan—was specifically chosen to look like a "rolling tomb." There was also a massive effort to recreate the 1990 setting without making it look like a costume party; the production team sourced period-accurate trash and billboards to ensure the "grime" felt authentic.

Ultimately, The Little Things is a film that belongs to a different time, and that is precisely why it’s worth a look. It doesn't have the "perfect" structure of a modern franchise-starter, and it doesn't try to lecture the audience on current social politics. It’s just three great actors in a room, wrestling with the idea that some secrets are better left buried. If you’re in the mood for a movie that feels like a dusty paperback you found at a Greyhound station, this is your stop. Just don't expect a clean getaway.