The Nineties were bizarre. Everyone remembers Nirvana, extra-large flannels, and greasy hair, sure. But we often forget about the other part of the era that included the unfortunately named Cherry Poppin’ Daddies, fedoras, and a literal horn section. I’m talking, of course, about the Nineties swing revival. So while rock stars were wasting away on heroin, there was a subculture of Lindy Hoppers twirling to upright bassists and peppy trombones. So, what if you took this throwback aesthetic and combined it with Eraserhead, aliens, and the worst babysitting gig this side of the galaxy? And what if you added just a little bit of Bob Hope? You’d get That Little Monster.
Somewhere on a planet far away, Jamie is babysitting for the Willock family. She wears a pillbox hat, a string of pearls, and a lacy A-line dress. She could be heading out for Swing Night at The Derby but instead she’s taking care of Wolpor, a blood-hungry infant with a twisted face only a mother could love. Wolpor is a mutant with exaggerated features and too many teeth. What could possibly go wrong? Cue deadly toys, a fatal struggle, and pig-faced masks straight out of that episode of The Twilight Zone. You know the one.
The plot of That Little Monster is simple, but it’s the execution that makes it shine. Shot beautifully on black-and-white 35mm, the cinematography elevates what would otherwise be a straightforward film about a fussy baby. The camera movements and angles combine classic horror stylings (floating and spinning down long hallways), and the dramatic lighting is ripped straight from golden Hollywood noirs (spotlights accentuating high cheekbones). Writer/director Paul Bunnell’s influences are clear here: Ed Wood, David Lynch, Preston Sturges, Tim Burton, a bit of Fritz Lang. While the practical effects are budget-minded, they never feel cheap. The baby is basically a modified Cabbage Patch Kid, but the care that went into the creature is evident in the details; there are warts and wiry hair with tiny bows. There are expertly molded masks, surreal set decor, and a moderate amount of goop—not too much and not too little.
The aesthetic of grunge was not caring about how you looked (or at least pretending not to care), but the swing revival was about painstakingly sculpting appearances: two-tone shoes, pinned curls, matching jewelry, felt hats. Everything in That Little Monster feels thoughtfully controlled; this film is all about the details. We all love horror films produced on epic coke binges, but there’s still a place for quieter, surrealist films done on a dime. So while That Little Monster can’t eclipse the undisputed champion of beastie babies (The Suckling, obviously), it still holds its own.
