Babygirl (2024) Proves to be a Good Time Even though She Wasn’t a Very Good Girl

If I had to describe Babygirl in one sentence, I’d say it’s a movie about people telling each other to sit down. – Venesya

I had no idea what to expect from Babygirl (2024). I went into the film knowing only that George Michael’s song Father Figure is featured in a supposedly life-changing scene. I didn’t even watch the trailer, so it is surprising to me that I enjoyed it as much as I did because I’m someone who needs both world-building and characters to be equally fleshed-out, or at least believable enough, to enjoy a film. Yet, in Babygirl, Director Halina Reijn refuses to provide any answers on the themes of morality and consequences. Oddly, I realised that I didn’t really want them from her anyway. 

I think it’s ill-fitting to label Babygirl an erotic thriller. Instead, what Reijn has created is more of a character study on Nicole Kidman’s Romy and her relationship with control and shame presenting unanswered questions, Reijn and Kidman give the audience something thrilling, yet uncomfortable—as looking inward can often be.  

Admittedly, I do feel somewhat silly for loving it, because the whole film does somewhat resemble fanfiction written by Romy, about herself. In following that line of thought however, is to realise that fanfiction can be regarded as an outlet for self-exploration and creativity. Humans need to be seen and they crave to be known, and what better way to express that than through stories? And this film—Romy’s story—is fanfiction in a unique way, it’s her attempt at self-exploration. A popular but harmful narrative that women are continuously fed is that our sexual desires and pleasure are secondary, that it cannot coexist with the roles we are expected to inhibit. Babygirl, despite its flaws, was refreshingly vulnerable and awkward in the best way because it spotlights the importance of accepting yourself, kinks and fetishes and all other intimacies and deviances. 

Romy is presented to the audience as the complete opposite of how she wants to be viewed.

In the back of our minds, the repressed idea that Women have to exist in a certain way unconsciously comes to the fore whether we can help it or not; Romy knows this all too well. She is “the kind of woman” her husband and employees want—an inspirational leader, a mother—and lives life according to that constructed ideal. But ultimately, it is impossible for her to maintain that facade because she is living life actively rejecting a part of herself, a part she and many others would consider to be “wrong”.

Really, what we like and enjoy should be left up to us, but most of the time when confronted with societal expectations and pressures, many of us aren’t given the space to figure that out for ourselves. And I think the film is able to present this gnawing feeling without forgiving or justifying Romy’s actions. Instead, it simply validates the many ways we can fool ourselves into thinking that if we do something well enough we’ll be able to pretend it’s “right” for us, when really it’s a kind of slow suffocation. 

I see a lot of people talking about how the film explores control but nobody really discusses how it looks upon shame—which is in fact, uncontrollable. When you’re ashamed, your cheeks flush, there is this incessant urge to rub the back of your neck, to stop the quickening of your breath, but it’s not a reaction most of us can stop. And that makes it a hateful feeling. For much of the film, Romy is unwilling to surrender to pleasure, even as she craves it and resents her husband for being unable to satisfy or understand her needs.

Romy is afraid of voicing her desires because she is ashamed of them, and the affair she begins with her intern Samuel—played by the captivating Harris Dickinson—as ill-advised as it is, can be seen as a conduit for all the repressed needs she was unable to express to her husband. It is why though there are times when Kidman and Dickinson’s chemistry falters for me, their dynamic is never unconvincing because there is a sort of authenticity that comes from the palpable fear, confusion and even excitement, evident in their interactions as they figure out what they want. And it is worth noting that the ending, which depicts the first time in the film–and possibly her whole life–wherein Romy finally has control over her desires, over her marital bed, is also after she reconciles with her wants.

And I think you would be surprised to find how funny the film is. The whole theatre was laughing aloud and along with Reijn’s characters as they fumble around the trap that they’ve weaved clumsily for themselves–I will be quoting “what’s your star sign” and “good girl” religiously now and you can only blame Babygirl for it. The film also had very memorable costume choices despite their simplicity.

There were certainly some wardrobe choices that were…questionable to say the least. But whoever put Harris Dickinson in that gold chain and those oversized hoodies deserve a raise—I get why people expected that he would be the babygirl instead. And there is something so cathartic about Nicole Kidman fully committing to clubbing her heart out in business casual, not to mention the gorgeous black coat she wears to the hotel. 

To be very frank, Babygirl can be a contentious film, and one easy to hate or judge—some might think the ending too optimistic and rushed, that Romy received a lighter punishment than she should have or that she deserved better—but it is one that needs to be experienced in a theatre, and then dwelled upon because there are just so many layers to it. 

Not everyone is going to enjoy Babygirl, but if you’ve made it to the end of this ramble disguised as a review, thank you—you’ve been a good girl–now go grab a bottle of milk and give Babygirl a try.