If you’re into true-crime documentaries that peel back the layers of seemingly perfect lives to reveal something profoundly disturbing underneath, then the Netflix one-hour-forty-minute feature “Evil Influencer: The Jodi Hildebrandt Story” which dropped on December 30, 2025, is the chilling watch that’s been climbing the charts and sparking intense conversations because it dives deep into the twisted psychology of manipulation, religious extremism, and the dark side of influencer culture in a way that feels both timely and terrifyingly real. Directed by Skye Borgman who has a knack for handling these extreme stories with measured precision, the film centers on Jodi Hildebrandt, a Utah-based therapist and life coach who built a devoted following through her ConneXions counseling practice promising spiritual guidance and personal transformation only to end up at the center of one of the most horrifying child abuse cases to hit the headlines in recent years when she was arrested alongside popular parenting YouTuber Ruby Franke in August 2023.
The documentary traces Hildebrandt’s rise from a respected figure in her Mormon community to a powerful influencer whose teachings blended faith-based advice with increasingly controlling and punitive ideas about discipline and repentance, attracting clients desperate for answers in a world of perceived moral decay. Much of the narrative focuses on her fateful partnership with Ruby Franke, whose “8 Passengers” YouTube channel once showcased an idealized family life to millions of subscribers until cracks appeared and Franke began turning to Hildebrandt for counsel, which quickly evolved into a business collaboration and a deeper entanglement that many describe as cult-like in its intensity. Through interviews with law enforcement like detective Jessica Bate who handled the initial response and county attorney Eric Clarke who built the case, as well as archival footage, court records, and reflections from those who knew the women, the film pieces together how Hildebrandt’s influence led to the extreme abuse and torture of two of Franke’s children culminating in the shocking moment when Franke’s twelve-year-old son escaped Hildebrandt’s home emaciated and bound seeking help from a neighbor which finally brought authorities crashing in.
What elevates this beyond standard true-crime fare is how Borgman examines the psychological mechanisms at play, the way Hildebrandt wielded authority and spiritual language to justify cruelty, framing abuse as necessary “consequences” for sin or growth, and how vulnerable people drawn to her charisma and promises of certainty ended up trapped in a cycle of escalating control. The film doesn’t shy away from the religious context, grounding much of the story in Utah’s Mormon culture, where themes of obedience, repentance, and family perfection can create fertile ground for manipulation when taken to extremes, and it thoughtfully explores how social media amplified these dynamic,s allowing Hildebrandt and Franke to present polished facades while darker realities unfolded behind closed doors. There’s a sobering look at the power of belief systems that promise transformation yet enable harm when unchecked, and the documentary subtly questions how we as viewers consume these stories, too drawn in by the scandal, while grappling with the real human cost, especially for the children whose suffering was prolonged by the very systems meant to protect them.
The pacing keeps you gripped with a mix of timeline-jumping revelations, survivor accounts, and haunting visuals from body-cam footage to family videos that contrast sharply with the abuse allegations, making the descent feel both gradual and inevitable. While some might wish for more direct input from Hildebrandt herself, who has maintained a low profile since her conviction or a deeper exploration of Franke’s full role, the film stays focused on Hildebrandt as the title suggests and uses restraint to let the facts speak with devastating clarity, avoiding sensationalism in favor of a sober examination that leaves you unsettled and reflective. Interviews with experts on coercive control and religious abuse add context without overwhelming the personal tragedy at the center, and the overall tone feels respectful toward the victims while unflinching about the perpetrators’ actions.
In my opinion, this is one of the stronger true-crime entries on Netflix lately because it balances emotional weight with journalistic clarity, offering insight into how charisma and conviction can mask evil and how communities sometimes overlook red flags when the messenger seems trustworthy. It’s not easy viewing, especially with graphic descriptions of the abuse, but it’s handled thoughtfully, and the runtime flies by once you start. If you’re following the Ruby Franke case or interested in the intersection of influencer culture, faith, and harm, this one’s essential, though it will probably leave you questioning the wellness gurus in your own feed and the fine line between guidance and control. Stream it if you can handle the darkness because it shines a necessary light on a story that still feels far from fully told and serves as a stark reminder that the most dangerous influencers aren’t always the loudest ones… sometimes they’re the ones whispering certainty in your ear when you’re at your most vulnerable.
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