The Little Things

I'm not surprised that John Lee Hancock's picture has provoked praise and scorn and ambivalence from critics. The thriller teams a gristly older detective with a spit-and-polish younger officer to track and capture a serial killer in Los Angeles.

It is fueled by fine performances from Denzel Washington, who is nearly 70, and Rami Malek, 40. They take Hancock's script, which is too often oddly elliptical when it should be more straightforward, and lend it vitality, needed focus and some emotional weight. Without their substantial talents, questions would pester and distract more than they do.

When Jared Leto as the jokey prime suspect is introduced, the tone of the film, which is fairly humorless, becomes, ironically, more menacing. This is welcome because prior to Leto's Albert Sparma's entry, the movie lacked essential tension. Then, the character and the story take a turn (literally) and set up the last act, which will either delight or enrage the viewer.

I found it strange that a film about a series of murders has no on-screen attack and only one crime scene procedural. The story is mostly trailing and fretting and a bit of unproductive navel gazing, which I think is a bigger deal. While I welcomed Joe Deacon's (Washington) weary cynicism at first, in the end it seemed to be more of a device to introduce the crisis for Malek's Jim Baxter than a legitimate exploration of a spiritual conflict among law enforcement agents.

Yes, the ending is jarring but when viewed through a lens of moral relativism -- and when considering the uneasy ground we find ourselves standing on these days -- it might not keep one up at night -- or at least as long.