In the opening scene of Halina Reijn’s delightfully lascivious “Babygirl,” the high-powered shipping industry CEO Romy Mathis (Nicole Kidman) is having an orgasm. Or, at least that’s what we think is happening. All the indicators are there: Romy’s face, gasping in pleasure; her head tossed back in ecstasy; the crescendo of her groans as her husband, Jacob (Antonio Banderas), brings himself to climax just below her. But despite this convincing show, Romy is merely faking it, a detail we learn moments later when she scurries off to the privacy of her office. There, she throws herself and her laptop on the floor, touching herself with a flushed haste to the porn playing onscreen.
Reijn states her thesis at the very top of “Babygirl,” showing us the conventional, patriarchal image of a woman’s pleasure when the reality of Romy’s sexual gratification remains somewhere else entirely. For some, this sight will feel revolutionary. To others, it may be achingly on the nose. The diminishment of female sexuality is still a begrudgingly taboo subject, spoken about in hushed tones behind closed doors, but it’s hardly a novel one. And Reijn, who most recently directed the 2022 satirical horror-comedy “Bodies Bodies Bodies,” understands that she’s not breaking new ground by simply reminding us of the dissonance between image and reality. Her film begins at a point that other writer-directors would work up to slowly, and it’s because Reijn establishes this familiar base of social analysis from the jump that she’s able to build a teetering Jenga tower of psychosexual tension throughout the remainder of her character study.
Keeping the structure stable until its inevitable fall requires a performer who is equally game for, well, games. In Kidman, Reijn finds a wholly committed muse, one willing to submerge herself so fully in Romy’s neuroses that the line between a revered actor simulating sex onscreen and a character consumed by her own pleasure blurs entirely. The role is Kidman’s most ferocious in years and once again cements her as one of the greatest — if not the greatest — performers of her time. Escaping Kidman’s gaze is only possible when she herself allows it to turn to the cherubic beauty of Harris Dickinson, who plays Samuel, an intern at Romy’s company. Samuel arrives during a pivotal moment, catching Romy in flux as she gears up for the next stage of her business at the same time she reaches peak sexual tedium with her husband. Though Romy and Samuel’s illicit affair is inevitable, where “Babygirl” goes after is not. Reijn’s film is completely unpredictable, switching lanes just when one least expects it. The volatility feels like its own lewd tease, and the ensuing excitement results in something extraordinarily intimate between the viewer, the filmmaker and “Babygirl” itself.
The vulnerability spread throughout “Babygirl” is evident from that very first scene when we watch Kidman splay herself on the floor. In this moment, Romy is controlled by insatiable need, and the way she flings herself onto the ground feels almost childlike in its carelessness, a juvenile desire to ride the feeling to its natural conclusion. It’s Freudian in a way that will make some people queasy. But Kidman isn’t debasing herself or regressing just for the sick sight of it all. Rather, Reijn is establishing a generalized discomfort that will cover “Babygirl” like the oily film that sits atop a fresh cup of coffee: It’s safe to consume, but if you stare at it too long, it becomes a strange symbol for all the things we stop noticing when life moves too fast.
For Romy, fast is the default setting. Every minute of the day has a decision attached to it. Romy is so caught up in her business that she’s nearly attacked by a dog on the street until a handsome stranger gives a whistle and stops the mauling moments before disaster. Finally looking up and away from her phone for the first time in God knows how long, Romy locks eyes with Samuel, calming the dog halfway down the sidewalk. “Good girl,” he repeats while stroking its fur. Suddenly, an erotic force has jammed its way into Romy’s vigorous inertia, throwing her velocity entirely out of whack. When she finds out shortly after that that Samuel was near her office because he’s an intern selected for the company’s new mentorship program, Romy is once again forced to repress her sexual desire as it bubbles to the surface. But this time the restraint isn’t derived from the fear of judgment; it’s borne out of the knowledge that any dalliance with Samuel could have dire consequences.
Romy’s too smart to make any rash decisions, but as it turns out, Samuel’s wits rival the big boss’. As part of the internship program, each candidate can select a mentor from a pool of higher-ups within the company. Naturally, Samuel selects Romy, who can’t seem to figure out how her name got on the list. Nevertheless, she’ll play the part of the diplomatic CEO whose door is always open. When Romy and Samuel are alone, however, their dynamic quickly turns into another story. Most everyone lives in fear of Romy’s glare, while Samuel not only meets it but holds it. Instead of merely nodding his head, Samuel asks questions and converses with Romy. His queries challenge her until Samuel oversteps a boundary when he tells Romy that he thinks she likes being told what to do, and from there, it’s game over — or, more fittingly, game on. What follows is a tête-à-tête for the ages that skillfully keeps the viewer on their toes as often as Romy is on her knees.
Capriciousness is where Reijn’s movie sets itself apart from any other flick that touches on similar subject matter — particularly the “Fifty Shades” series, which may be the most obvious comparison. But you can’t compare where you don’t compete, and the decidedly unsexy thrills between Anastasia Steele and Christian Grey can’t even begin to measure up to what Reijn has in store in here, particularly because “Babygirl” isn’t really an erotic thriller, it’s an erotic cinematic profile of a woman learning to live without humiliation. Instead of focusing solely on the convert nature of Romy’s desires just to pose established sociological questions about why they’re so clandestine, Reijn homes in on the shame that Romy feels when she expresses herself. There’s immense power in finding the person who can remove the thick, nasty film of ignominy, but that’s also where the risk comes in too. “Babygirl” slyly navigates the hazards dotting the road to liberation, and when things begin to come undone, there’s even room for Banderas to jump in and keep his character from being mere window dressing in Romy’s narrative.
Reijn is careful to remind us that prioritizing our id can have repercussions. Though the fallout is never quite as engrossing as the film’s middle section, it maintains an undeniable tension and allows Kidman to once again illustrate the complexities of her character and ensure that Romy is a believably three-dimensional being. Her version of “having it all” looks much different from the conventional ideals of a woman’s idyllic life suggested by fourth-wave feminism. It’s messy and filled with both love and desire, picture-perfect while openly flawed.
That quote struck me long before I ever even got eyes on “Babygirl,” particularly Kidman’s words about “home videos,” which seem almost like an antiquated concept. But upon seeing the movie, it made clear sense. Nowadays, everything we take videos of is immediately buried in our camera roll, beneath screenshots of recipes and photos of suspicious moles. Rarely will someone take those videos and stitch them into a proper vignette anymore. And when we do, we’d certainly hide whatever darkness was occurring within our family or ourselves. What Reijn and Kidman pull off in “Babygirl” touches a kind of intimacy that barely exists now, further hidden beneath new technology that succeeds by depersonalizing our wants and turning us into cogs in a machine. When Romy finds herself outside of that stasis, finally thinking about something that isn’t her family or her job, it’s an eye-opening miracle. While “Babygirl” might be a highly stylized, intricate depiction of personal awakening, it’s a necessary reminder that getting what you want is as easy as being honest with yourself.
"Babygirl" is in theaters nationwide on Christmas Day.
