Babygirl is less an erotic drama and more an HR nightmare.
Once thought to be all but theatrically extinct, clinging on to the half-life of the straight-to-streaming potboiler or naughty nineties nostalgia, Babygirl very mindfully, very demurely emerges to revive the erotic thriller and engorge its box office prospects. Directed by Halina Reijn, Babygirl explores the sexual politics of power, desire, and identity against the backdrop of corporate mechanisation and the dehumanisation of the American workforce. The level of its eroticism will depend very much on personal taste, but while there’s plenty of drama, it falls far short of the mark of thriller.
Dissatisfied with her fifty shades of grey-bearded husband (Antonio Banderas), Romy Mathis (Nicole Kidman), girlboss CEO of Tensile (a warehouse robotics company), is willingly seduced when new intern Samuel (Harris Dickinson) joins the firm after a chance encounter on the street. And who can blame her? Set in the run-up to the Christmas holidays (a curious time to be onboarding interns), Samuel is appropriately festively draped in red flags aplenty, none of which serve to discourage Romy from using him to explore the darkest reaches of her suppressed desires.
Kidman’s portrayal of Romy is, unsurprisingly, a masterclass in complexity, embodying a woman at the zenith of her professional life yet grappling with personal voids that success cannot fill. Both vulnerable and commanding, it’s everything we’ve come to expect from Kidman when she chooses these kinds of roles. Harris Dickinson delivers a compelling performance too, of course, but in a different way, as if he’s auditioning for a role in the remake of American Psycho. There’s a dark edge to his character that chills the passion and makes their trysts and tussles feel more like a serial killer toying with his victim than a sexual catalyst for Romy’s journey of self-discovery and destruction. There’s chemistry for sure between Kidman and Dickinson, but it’s less explosive, more corrosive, and together they have the raw sexual magnetism of two gristly chicken bones being bashed together—except when they’re inadvertently reminding UK viewers of George Galloway and Rula Lenska. All in all, it felt like involuntary voyeurism. I didn’t want to watch, but in the cinema, you can’t really look away.
Partly a glimpse into the withered, black heart of American corporate culture, there’s a smugness to Babygirl that’s unappealing—its tawdry titillations operating in a solipsistic moral vacuum that frequently talks consent but often trades in coercion, whether in the bedroom or boardroom. Perhaps it’s attempting to explore American sexuality through the same twisted lens that Saltburn used for British peccadillos? Reijn’s direction is both bold and nuanced, infusing the on-screen amatory with a contemporary sensibility that challenges traditional gender roles, ageism, and the complexities of desire, and probably gives a more authentic—if still contrived—look at an S&M relationship than E L James’ puerile Twilight fanfiction. The cinematography by Jasper Wolf complements the narrative’s intensity, utilizing a palette that mirrors Romy’s internal tumult and maximising the picturesque, bokeh-suffused celebratory surroundings. Cristobal Tapia de Veer’s score further amplifies the film’s atmospheric tension, peppered with needle drops of the subtlety and élan of Homes Under the Hammer.
Babygirl remains a daring cinematic endeavour, challenging audiences to confront their preconceptions about desire, power, and the complexities of human relationships—even if it fails to penetrate its subjects in any meaningful way. Too concerned with the minutiae of the sexual entanglements, Babygirl binds the audience from exploring the wider repercussions that could have made for a decent thriller, leaving viewers to ponder the ethics of the power plays and only belatedly wonder whether they might, in fact, be part of a premeditated plot. In any event, I don’t want to kink shame anyone, so if this film is your thing, fill your boots. My boots? They were made for walking, and they couldn’t wait to leave the moment the credits rolled.
