Then havoc ensues. That’s Little Man, a movie that’s almost all Wayans, all the time. An adult crook of small stature must ditch an ill-gotten gemstone. He follows it and then, as a “baby” found in a dog-basket at their front door by the diamond’s unsuspecting temporary possessors, insinuates himself into their household. His partner in crime is not much help, and the wife’s elderly father, though soon suspicious, is treated as though suffering from dementia. This is crude, juvenile (or perhaps “infantile”) humor of the simplest sort. Adults and creatures disguised as babies have been recurring entertainment staples since at least the days of vaudeville, burlesque, silent movies, and those pre-Code cartoons such as those from Fleischer Studios. The people are walking cartoons. There is a coherent plot. The direction is snappy. This is not for kids. Grown-ups laugh helplessly, although, from what I hear, there are those who laugh against their will and contrary to their principles. A running joke is made of the undignified wardrobe inflicted on infants, and the theme is headgear with ears.