The Little Things (2025)

The Little Things (2025) — The Past Returns in a Slow-Burning Sequel

The Little Things (2025) revisits the quiet dread and psychological complexity of the original 2021 neo-noir, taking a deeper dive into the moral consequences of guilt, obsession, and unresolved justice. While it doesn’t reinvent the genre, it doubles down on what made the first film resonate: the weight of secrets, and how small choices — the “little things” — echo through time.

Set three years after the events of the original, the sequel follows Detective Jim Baxter (Rami Malek), now a hardened, more withdrawn man. Still haunted by the unsolved case — and the cover-up involving Joe "Deke" Deacon (Denzel Washington) — Baxter has left the LAPD and now works cold cases in Sacramento. But when a string of eerily familiar murders begins targeting women in Northern California, Baxter is forced to confront the possibility that they got it wrong — and that the real killer may still be out there.

Directed this time by Karyn Kusama (Destroyer), the sequel is more psychological thriller than procedural. The pace is slow, deliberate, and unnerving, trading action for atmosphere. As Baxter spirals deeper into the new case, he begins questioning not only his past decisions but his grip on reality. Is this a copycat? A conspiracy? Or a manifestation of his own guilt?

Rami Malek gives a chilling, understated performance, portraying a man crushed under the weight of moral compromise. Denzel Washington’s character appears only briefly — in flashbacks and one powerful final scene — but his presence lingers, like a ghost both warning and judging.

The killer in The Little Things (2025) is less a traditional villain and more a reflection of systemic failure and the fragility of justice. The film raises the same haunting question as its predecessor: Does the truth matter if the lie gives peace?

The Little Things (2025) isn’t a film for everyone. It’s slow, somber, and emotionally heavy. But for fans of moody crime dramas like Zodiac, Prisoners, or Seven, it delivers a compelling meditation on consequence, memory, and the thin line between justice and self-deception.

It may not offer closure — but that’s exactly the point.