Little (2019)

Little arrives as a body-swap comedy in the old Hollywood tradition, borrowing the architecture of Big and dressing it in the specific textures of 2019 studio product. Regina Hall plays Jordan Sanders, a tech mogul who terrorizes her employees until a child with a toy wand wishes her back to thirteen. Marsai Martin inherits the role, and at fourteen she also carries an executive producer credit, the youngest person to hold that title on a major production. The film is headlined by a predominantly Black cast, with Black talent in front of and behind the camera, and Universal gave it a wide release. That fact alone registers as a milestone, though the film itself rarely pauses to admire it.

The gender politics are present but mild. A woman directs, women wrote it, and the central relationship between Jordan and her assistant April, played by Issa Rae, resolves into an arc of mutual support and earned promotion. April's idea wins the client on its merits. The cultural texture is unmistakably Black cinema, from the pep rally to the weave-pulling gag at the restaurant, yet race never becomes the subject. The plot has other business. Nor does the screenplay aim its fire at the corporate order it depicts. The cruelty of the boss is a character flaw to be cured, not a system to be dismantled. Business success, client wins, and the celebratory office party all arrive intact.

There are lessons, delivered softly. Be kind to the people who work for you. Value the friends who tolerate your worst behavior. The bullying subplot gestures at appearance-based cruelty without building a thesis around it. The result is a gentle, uneven comedy that the ReFrame Stamp recognized for its gender-balanced production, and which critics found agreeable but slight. It wants to be liked. It mostly is. The classification here is one of modest social consciousness, warmly intended, lightly applied, and never willing to raise its voice.