Introduction: It’s Alive—But Barely
There are bad remakes, and then there’s It’s Alive (2009) — a cinematic diaper explosion masquerading as horror. Directed by Josef Rusnak (of The Thirteenth Floor fame, proving lightning not only doesn’t strike twice, it sometimes misses the building entirely), this remake of Larry Cohen’s 1974 cult classic tries to update a story about a killer baby into the modern age. The result? A film that’s less “horrifying mutation of nature” and more “forgotten Lifetime movie that wandered into the wrong aisle at Blockbuster.”
The premise still sounds juicy on paper: a baby born with a taste for blood who grows up faster than the script’s logic deteriorates. But instead of tension, terror, or even campy charm, what we get is eighty minutes of tepid lighting, flat dialogue, and Bijou Phillips talking to a baby off-screen like she’s auditioning for a low-budget Pampers commercial.
It’s not scary, it’s not funny, and it’s not even bad in an interesting way. It’s just… alive. Barely.
Plot: Rosemary’s Baby, Rewritten by a Sleep-Deprived Intern
The story opens with Lenore Harker (Bijou Phillips), a college student who gives up her studies for a new life with her architect boyfriend, Frank (James Murray), in scenic Albuquerque. It’s never explained why they live in Albuquerque, but I suspect it’s because the New Mexico desert was the only place desolate enough to match the screenplay.
Lenore’s pregnancy proceeds with alarming speed — the baby doubles in size in a month. (If your fetus starts looking like a Costco rotisserie chicken, that’s usually a red flag.) During the C-section, something goes wrong — by which I mean, the newborn mutant baby slaughters the entire surgical team like it’s auditioning for Mortal Kombat: Maternity Ward.
Instead of screaming, running, or calling literally anyone, Lenore just sits there as her blood-drenched bundle of joy crawls onto her belly and falls asleep. This is the movie’s first of many moments that are supposed to be shocking but instead play like outtakes from a weird art-school student project titled Maternal Instincts and Poor Lighting.
Lenore claims not to remember anything, which is convenient for the writers, because neither do we.
Killer Baby on Board
Once home, Lenore quickly discovers her child, Daniel, has some quirks — like a penchant for biting and a body count that rivals Jason Voorhees. Small animals go missing, local residents vanish, and yet Lenore keeps insisting that her sweet little boy “just gets scared easily.”
Let’s pause to appreciate this logic: “Sure, my baby might have ripped the mailman in half, but he’s teething.”
Meanwhile, her boyfriend Frank goes through the standard horror movie motions — disbelief, fear, and finally, regret for signing on to this movie.
The baby, despite being the titular monster, rarely appears on screen. Most of the time we get shadows, quick cuts, and reaction shots of Bijou Phillips making faces like she just realized she left her oven on. This isn’t suspense; it’s budgetary constraint disguised as “mystery.”
The police eventually show up, led by Sgt. Perkins (Owen Teale, who looks like he wandered in from a BBC crime drama and never left). Naturally, the cops are useless, and soon everyone who isn’t a main character is either eaten or forgotten by the script.
Act Three: Trash Can Parenting and Flaming Houses
Things escalate — or rather, they attempt to. Frank traps Daniel in a trash can, proving that even by horror movie standards, these parents are wildly underqualified. There’s a lot of screaming, some running, and the occasional explosion that looks like it was animated on Windows 98.
The climax finds Lenore, having gone full “Mommy Dearest meets arson enthusiast,” cradling her mutant baby as the house burns down around them. It’s meant to be tragic, but it’s really just confusing — especially since the only thing on fire by that point is the audience’s patience.
Frank stands outside watching his girlfriend and killer child go up in flames, probably wondering if he can still get his deposit back on the house.
The Acting: Dead on Arrival
Bijou Phillips — a woman whose filmography already reads like a warning label — plays Lenore with all the emotional range of a concussed manatee. Her performance swings wildly between vacant stares and hysterical whispering, like someone trying to sell essential oils during an earthquake.
James Murray’s Frank, meanwhile, gives off major “I’m only here for the paycheck” energy. Every line sounds like it’s being read off the back of a tax form. When faced with his mutant son, he reacts with mild irritation — as though the baby has simply spilled juice on the carpet, not decapitated the family dog.
Even the baby itself seems bored. For a homicidal mutant, Daniel mostly hides off-screen, occasionally making noises like a malfunctioning blender. It’s hard to fear something you see less often than your Uber Eats driver.
The Horror: Rated PG for Poor Genre
This film doesn’t so much “build tension” as it does test endurance. There’s no atmosphere, no dread, no meaningful gore — just a lot of dimly lit hallways and people screaming into the void.
In the 1974 original, Larry Cohen used the baby as a metaphor for parental anxiety — the horror of raising something you love but can’t control. This remake, on the other hand, treats its premise like a punchline. It’s not psychological horror; it’s Postpartum Panic: The Movie.
Even the kills are lifeless. The blood looks like watered-down ketchup, the editing cuts away from every interesting moment, and the camerawork is shakier than the moral compass of the producers. You’d think a film about a baby committing homicide would have something memorable — but no, it’s all muffled cries and underexposed shots of walls.
The Direction: Josef Rusnak and the Case of the Missing Vision
Josef Rusnak’s direction is so uninspired it could qualify as sleep paralysis. He drains every ounce of potential from a premise that could’ve been fun, disturbing, or at least accidentally entertaining.
It’s as if Rusnak wanted to make a dark, moody psychological thriller but accidentally wandered onto the set of Days of Our Lives: Mutant Edition. The pacing is glacial, the scares predictable, and the score sounds like leftover music from a mid-2000s deodorant commercial.
Even the baby’s design — the one thing you’d expect a killer-baby movie to nail — looks like it was assembled out of rubber chicken parts and shame. The filmmakers wisely hide it in shadows most of the time, probably because the full creature looked like a rejected Gremlins 2 prototype.
The Message: Don’t Have Kids (or Remake Classics)
If there’s a moral to It’s Alive (and that’s a big “if”), it’s that some things are better left unborn. The film tries to explore motherhood, denial, and sacrifice, but it does so with the depth of a diaper commercial.
Lenore’s maternal devotion is supposed to be tragic — a woman so blinded by love that she embraces the monster she birthed. But thanks to the film’s lazy script and flatter-than-flat performances, it just feels like a PSA for better birth control.
By the end, we don’t feel sorrow or horror. We feel relief. The movie’s over. The house has burned down. And hopefully, so has the idea of another remake.
Final Thoughts: Stillborn Cinema
There’s something almost poetic about a movie called It’s Alive being this lifeless. It’s the cinematic equivalent of finding out your smoke alarm is screaming not because of fire, but because its batteries are dying.
Larry Cohen’s original was smart, subversive, and weirdly tender. This remake is none of those things. It’s 80 minutes of beige horror, starring people who seem to be reading cue cards written in invisible ink.
If you want a killer baby movie, rewatch The Brood or Basket Case. If you want to experience this film’s unique brand of disappointment, just stare at a blank wall while someone whispers, “It’s alive,” every 10 minutes.
Rating: 1 out of 5 Bloodstained Diapers
It’s Alive (2009): proof that remakes, like mutant infants, should sometimes be left in the womb.
