The arrival of Evil Influencer: The Jodi Hildebrandt Story on Netflix today marks a grim milestone in the evolution of the true-crime documentary. It is not merely a recounting of a sensational case; it is a claustrophobic, forensic examination of a tragedy that was broadcast, in real-time, to a global audience of millions. Directed by Skye Borgman, a filmmaker who has established herself as the preeminent chronicler of American domestic gothic through works like Abducted in Plain Sight and Girl in the Picture, this new film strips away the saturated filters of the influencer economy to reveal the rotting infrastructure beneath.1
As the documentary begins streaming, it demands a confrontation not just with the specific depravities of Jodi Hildebrandt and Ruby Franke, but with the digital ecosystem that incentivized their rise. The film arrives in a cultural moment saturated with “sharenting” discourse, yet it cuts through the theoretical debates to present the visceral, horrifying endgame of treating children as content.3 There is no celebratory premiere for this film, no red carpet that can obscure the stark reality of the footage Borgman has assembled. It is a document of failure—parental failure, systemic failure, and the failure of a viewing public that watched the slow-motion disintegration of a family and clicked “subscribe.”
The documentary operates on multiple frequencies. On one level, it is a procedural thriller, detailing the rescue of two emaciated children from a fortress in Ivins, Utah.5 On another, it is a psychological horror story about the weaponization of therapy and religious language.6 But its most unsettling frequency is its banality. The horror in Evil Influencer does not take place in a dungeon hidden from the world; it takes place in a custom-built desert mansion, funded by YouTube ad revenue, organized by Google Calendar invites, and justified by a warped self-help curriculum sold online for hundreds of dollars.7
The Architect: Skye Borgman’s Forensic Lens
Skye Borgman’s direction is characterized by a clinical detachment that serves to amplify the horror of her subjects. In Evil Influencer, she eschews the dramatic recreations and moody soundscapes common to the genre, opting instead for a cold, sterile aesthetic that mirrors the emotional vacuum at the heart of Jodi Hildebrandt’s “Connexions” empire.2 The camera glides through the empty spaces of the Ivins residence—the “safe house” that became a prison—with a ghost-like persistence, forcing the viewer to inhabit the geography of the abuse.
Borgman’s oeuvre has consistently explored the dark underbelly of seemingly respectable communities, often focusing on how charismatic manipulators exploit social norms to conceal their crimes. In Abducted in Plain Sight, she examined how a neighbor infiltrated a family through trust and religious affinity. Here, she applies that same lens to the relationship between Franke and Hildebrandt, dissecting how a professional relationship metastasized into a shared delusion.8 The director’s choice to utilize extensive archival footage from the 8 Passengers YouTube channel is particularly effective. By juxtaposing the bright, chaotic energy of the vlogs with the sterile, quiet terror of the police bodycam footage, Borgman creates a dissonance that leaves the viewer disoriented.1
The documentary does not rely on a narrator to guide the audience. Instead, it weaves together interviews with investigators, former clients of Hildebrandt, and neighbors who witnessed the final, desperate escape of Franke’s son.5 This polyphonic approach allows the story to emerge from the evidence itself, rather than through editorializing. The result is a film that feels less like a piece of entertainment and more like a deposition—a comprehensive record of how a mother was reprogrammed to torture her own children under the guise of “Truth”.11
The Cinematic Grammar of Coercion
Borgman utilizes a specific cinematic language to reinforce the film’s themes. The visual style relies on sterile, high-contrast, “medical” lighting during interviews, which emphasizes the cold, clinical nature of Hildebrandt’s abuse.2 Archival footage is employed to destabilizing effect; the direct juxtaposition of “happy” family vlogs with the grisly details of the abuse challenges the viewer’s perception of reality versus performance.1 The sound design further heightens the unease through the absence of a melodramatic score, using heavy ambient silence to create a claustrophobic atmosphere that reflects the isolation of the victims.5 Structurally, the film is non-linear, oscillating between the 2023 arrest and the family’s rise from 2015 to 2022, a technique that illustrates the slow, insidious progression of the radicalization.5
The Subject: Ruby Franke and the Commodification of Sanctity
To understand the horror of the Ivins house, Evil Influencer insists we must first understand the success of 8 Passengers. The documentary devotes its first act to a meticulous reconstruction of the Franke family’s digital ascent. Launching in 2015, the channel rapidly grew to amass millions of subscribers, turning the Frankes into the quintessential “LDS influencer family”.1 Ruby Franke is presented in these early years not as a monster, but as a hyper-competent matriarch, a woman who monetized the chaos of raising six children with a smile and a Canon camera.
The film explores the economics of this era with a critical eye. It posits that the “momfluencer” industry is built on a fundamental contradiction: the performance of authentic intimacy for a mass audience.3 Franke’s success was predicated on her ability to package her family’s life as a consumable product. Every milestone, every tantrum, and every disciplinary moment was content. The documentary argues that this commodification of childhood created a dissociation in Franke herself—a separation between her children as human beings and her children as assets.14
Crucially, the film highlights the warning signs that were broadcast to the world long before the arrests. The infamous “beanbag incident,” where Franke revealed that her teenage son had been sleeping on a beanbag chair for months as a punishment, is re-examined.13 At the time, it was controversial; in retrospect, Borgman frames it as a clear escalation of coercive control. Similarly, the footage of Franke refusing to bring her six-year-old daughter a packed lunch because the child “needed to learn responsibility” is presented as a precursor to the starvation tactics employed later.13
The documentary suggests that the feedback loop of the internet played a role in Franke’s radicalization. As the channel grew, so did the scrutiny. The “haters” and critics who questioned her parenting were dismissed as agents of chaos, reinforcing Franke’s siege mentality. This defensive posture made her the perfect target for someone like Jodi Hildebrandt—a figure who promised absolute certainty in a world of ambiguity.5
The Catalyst: Jodi Hildebrandt and the Pathology of “Truth”
If Ruby Franke was the vessel, Jodi Hildebrandt was the poison. Evil Influencer introduces Hildebrandt as a shadowy figure who gradually moves from the periphery of the Franke family’s life to its absolute center. A licensed clinical mental health counselor in Utah, Hildebrandt had built a reputation and a business, “Connexions,” based on a rigid, authoritarian approach to relationships and self-improvement.5
The documentary performs a deep dive into the curriculum of “Connexions,” revealing it to be a masterclass in psychological manipulation. Hildebrandt’s philosophy was binary: the world was divided into “Truth” and “Distortion”.12 According to internal documents and training videos showcased in the film, “Truth” was defined solely by Hildebrandt. Anyone who disagreed with her methods, questioned her authority, or failed to meet her impossible standards was living in “Distortion”.12
This terminology is key to understanding the abuse. The film illustrates how Hildebrandt weaponized these abstract concepts to justify physical torture. Pain was not abuse; it was a mechanism to drive out “Distortion.” Starvation was not neglect; it was a tool to help the body “humble” itself before the “Truth”.12 By reframing abuse as a therapeutic and spiritual intervention, Hildebrandt dismantled the moral compass of her followers.
Borgman interviews former clients who describe Hildebrandt’s methodology as systematically stripping away a person’s agency. She demanded total transparency, accessing clients’ emails, bank accounts, and private communications, all under the guise of “accountability”.6 The documentary posits that Hildebrandt operated a “high-demand group” of two—a cult in microcosm—where Franke was recruited first as a client, then as a partner, and finally as an enforcer.6
The “Connexions” Vocabulary of Control
The documentary breaks down the specific vocabulary Hildebrandt used to exert control, illustrating how it aligns with established models of psychological abuse. The concept of “Truth” was defined as absolute compliance with Hildebrandt’s rules, fostering a form of thought control characterized by black-and-white thinking where only the leader possessed the truth.16 Conversely, “Distortion” was defined as any resistance, questioning, or autonomous desire, a tactic of information control that labeled critical thought or outside perspectives as dangerous.16 Followers were told to be “Humble”—meaning submissive, broken, and willing to accept pain—which served as a method of emotional control by inducing guilt and unworthiness.12 Finally, “Intervention” was the euphemism used for physical punishment or isolation, serving as a mechanism for behavior control by strictly regulating the victims’ physical reality, including their diet and movement.5
The Descent: Anatomy of Coercive Control
The transition from 8 Passengers to “Moms of Truth”—the joint Instagram account launched by Franke and Hildebrandt—marks the final descent into darkness. Evil Influencer uses the footage from this period to show the hardening of Franke’s demeanor. The smiles become tighter; the rhetoric becomes apocalyptic. They rail against the “entitlement” of children and the “victimhood” of modern society, preaching a gospel of extreme personal responsibility that borders on solipsism.11
The documentary reveals that during this time, Franke separated from her husband, Kevin, at Hildebrandt’s instruction. Kevin Franke’s role is portrayed as one of passive complicity; he moved out to “save his marriage” according to the Connexions program, leaving his children vulnerable to the escalating regime of the two women.5 The isolation was total. The two youngest children were pulled from school and moved into Hildebrandt’s home in Ivins, effectively vanishing from the public eye.5
Borgman treats the abuse itself with a necessary restraint. We do not see the acts, but we see the evidence. The film details how the children were forced to perform manual labor in the brutal desert heat for hours without water. They were bound with duct tape and handcuffs. Their wounds were treated with cayenne pepper and honey—not to heal, but to cause pain, a sadistic twist on home remedies.5 The documentary emphasizes that this was not a loss of control by an overwhelmed parent; it was a systematic, calculated program of torture designed to break the children’s will.
The psychological dimension of the abuse is perhaps the most disturbing element explored. The children were told they were “evil,” “possessed,” and that the abuse was an act of love to save their eternal souls.12 The film consults with trauma experts who explain the profound dissonance this creates in a child’s mind—the person who is supposed to protect you is the one hurting you, and they are telling you it is your fault.16
The Intervention: The Ivins House of Horrors
The climax of the documentary is the events of August 30, 2023. Evil Influencer reconstructs the timeline minute by minute. The 12-year-old son, malnourished and desperate, managed to escape through a window while Hildebrandt was distracted. He ran to a neighbor’s house, not asking for safety, but for food and water.5 The neighbor’s 911 call, played in the film, captures the immediate realization of the horror: the child was emaciated, covered in open wounds, and had duct tape around his ankles.5
The police raid on Hildebrandt’s home is shown through bodycam footage. The discovery of the 10-year-old daughter, hiding in a closet, terrified and in a similar state of starvation, serves as the undeniable proof of the depravity that had been hidden in plain sight.5 The juxtaposition of the pristine, high-end interior of the Hildebrandt home with the physical condition of the children is a stark visual metaphor for the entire case: a polished, wealthy façade hiding a rotten core.
The documentary highlights the fragility of this rescue. Had the boy not summoned the courage to run—a feat the film frames as a miracle of resilience given his physical state—the abuse might have continued until it became a homicide.5 The system had failed these children at every previous turn. CPS reports had been filed and closed. Neighbors had whispered but not intervened. It took the child saving himself to break the cycle.5
The Reckoning: Justice in an Indeterminate System
The legal aftermath of the arrests occupies the final act of Evil Influencer. The documentary follows the court proceedings through to the sentencing in February 2024.18 The plea deals are dissected: both Franke and Hildebrandt pleaded guilty to four counts of aggravated child abuse.19 The film presents Franke’s courtroom statement in full. She weeps, apologizing to her “babies,” claiming she was led astray by a “dark delusion”.17 The documentary presents this apology without commentary, allowing the viewer to decide whether it is a moment of genuine contrition or a final performance by a master manipulator.
Hildebrandt, by contrast, remains a cipher. She offers brief statements but largely maintains the inscrutable mask of the “expert”.21 The film notes that her counseling license was revoked, and her business dismantled, yet she shows little of the emotional collapse visible in Franke.22
The sentencing itself—four consecutive terms of one to fifteen years—is explained in the context of Utah’s unique legal system. Due to a state cap on consecutive sentences, they will serve a maximum of 30 years.18 However, because Utah utilizes an indeterminate sentencing scheme, their actual release dates are up to the Board of Pardons and Parole.18 Legal experts in the film warn that they could serve significantly less time, a possibility that hangs over the end of the documentary like a storm cloud.
The Legal Outcome Overview
The legal conclusion of the case resulted in significant prison time for both women. Ruby Franke pleaded guilty to four counts of aggravated child abuse. She was sentenced to four to sixty years in prison, with a state-mandated maximum of 30 years served. In her statement to the court, she admitted, “I took from you all that was soft and safe.”17 Jodi Hildebrandt also pleaded guilty to four counts of aggravated child abuse and received the same sentence of four to sixty years (capped at 30). Following her conviction, her mental health counseling license was permanently revoked, and the Connexions business was dismantled.18
The Societal Indictment: Sharenting, Surveillance, and Silence
Evil Influencer ultimately transcends the specifics of the Franke case to indict the culture that produced it. The film is a searing critique of the “sharenting” phenomenon—the practice of parents sharing detailed content about their children online.3 It argues that the Franke children were victims of a digital ecosystem that has no ethical framework for the labor of minors. Unlike child actors in Hollywood, who are protected by the Coogan Act and strict regulations on working hours, “kidfluencers” exist in a legal Wild West.3
The documentary questions the role of the platforms. YouTube profited from 8 Passengers for years. Algorithms pushed their content to millions. The film suggests that the very metrics of success on social media—engagement, views, retention—incentivize the kind of dramatic, boundary-pushing behavior that Franke exhibited.3 The “commodification of childhood” is not a side effect; it is the business model.14
Furthermore, the film shines a harsh light on Utah’s “troubled teen industry.” It draws parallels between Hildebrandt’s methods and the “wilderness therapy” programs that have long operated in the state with minimal oversight.23 The culture of harsh discipline, the belief that children must be “broken” to be fixed, and the deferral to authoritarian “experts” created the soil in which Hildebrandt’s toxicity could flourish.23
The Aftermath: A Silence That Screams
As the credits roll on Evil Influencer, the viewer is left with a profound sense of unease. The children are safe, yes, but they are scarred. The perpetrators are in prison, but for how long? The digital footprint of 8 Passengers has been scrubbed, but the internet remembers everything. Archives, reaction videos, and the documentary itself ensure that the Franke children will never truly own their own narrative; it has been stolen from them twice—first by their mother, and now by the tragedy of their rescue.
Skye Borgman has delivered a film that refuses to offer the catharsis of a happy ending. Instead, it offers a warning. The “evil influencer” is not an anomaly; she is the logical endpoint of a society that values visibility over vulnerability, and “truth” over love. The documentary is essential viewing not because it solves a mystery, but because it exposes the crime in which we were all, in some small way, accomplices.
Evil Influencer: The Jodi Hildebrandt Story is streaming on Netflix now.
