Babygirl

Taking no prisoners, Babygirl opens with Nicole Kidman’s moans accompanying the production logos. They are breathy, feminine – and fake. As one learns mere moments later, when Romy (Kidman) dismounts her husband (Antonio Banderas) and finishes on her own, now stifling unprettified animalistic grunts while watching porn. As the self-made “girl boss” of a robotics company, Romy is treated with nothing but respect and adulation from everyone in her life, yet nobody but her new intern Samuel (Harris Dickinson) understands that this may not be what she truly desires.

Halina Reijn’s latest film is one of the sort cynics have already claimed extinct, when in fact the Dutch director proves that open conversations around power imbalance need not restrict the candid portrayal thereof in cinema. The script balances psychoanalysis with humorous quips, which sometimes results in confusion from the audience, who seem to be asking themselves: “is it okay to be laughing in this situation?”

But with the mic drops in this feature unapologetically on the nose, Babygirl positions itself as a playful and fun take on the complex nature of human sexuality.

The fact that a prominent montage in the film is set to the same INXS song that has seen a resurgence for a similar use in Euphoria, and the casting of fellow Australians Kidman and Sophie Wilde, begs the question: might the role of Samuel may have initially been written for Jacob Elordi? Nevertheless, the final actor choices prove superb. While the dimensions of a dreamy love interest are a given, Dickinson’s mature decisions immensely expand upon the character beyond the physical appearance. Even at his most dominant, a boyish smirk teases at Samuel’s lips, elucidating the contradictory nature of the much younger man calling his superior “babygirl.” Kidman’s willingness for vulnerability in the feature is equally remarkable as Romy spares neither trouble nor expense in order to catch Samuel’s eye (botox injections, tanning beds, cryotherapy) and is still told she “looks like a mother.” The c-word for this coupling proves to be curiosity, more so than chemistry, but this doesn’t lessen the credibility of their affair.

Reijn’s third feature is an electrifying depiction of order and obedience, of not having it all until that very “all” is in jeopardy. Simultaneously a kinkier version of Kim Raver’s storyline in Lipstick Jungle and a somewhat demurer take on the plot of Secretary (with a more astute regard on power dynamics at the work place), Babygirl could easily end up becoming the phenomenon à la Saltburn for the generations with nostalgic memories of sleazy 90s erotic thrillers.

Selina Sondermann

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