A business woman risks her career and the safety of her family for an affair with a young intern at her company…

There’s a primal relatability to Babygirl, a journey of sexual repression and shame that manifests into a self-immolation of foundational morals and ethics. The carnal quality of Babygirl becomes secondary to the chaotic consequences of its plot as its protagonist veers deeper and deeper into a desirous hell of her own making and we find ourselves hard pressed to look away. 

Babygirl’s plot can be chalked up to a series of bad decisions, yet at its core it offers fundamental lessons about shame that cut to the core of sexuality as it is often expressed—or perhaps not expressed—in the modern age. It doesn’t matter if Romy (played with indelible sensitivity by Nicole Kidman) has sexual desires that the audience deems uncontroversial.

The key component that the film hinges upon is that Romy feels shame for her desires. Shame is intrinsically tied to sex for many of us whether through past traumas, vulnerabilities, over exposure to pornography, a smattering of all of the above—simply take your pick. It speaks poignantly to the heart of the film that Romy’s husband is played by the hyper-masculine Antonio Banderas.

It is not through lack of ability that Romy cannot achieve her sexual desires with her husband—there is simply not a soul in the theater who would believe Banderas incapable of dominating in a positive sexual way—but it speaks to the power of Romy’s shame that she won’t allow herself the opportunity for vulnerability leading her to the arms of a virtual stranger in Samuel.

Dickinson’s performance is a subtle one, a character presented as a virtual blank slate on which circumstances can breed toxicity. Samuel is as inept at providing Romy her fantasies as she is in advocating for them, but the earnest effort to try, and her ability to find comfort in his absence of character as if to avail herself of moralistic hesitation, offer the opening for the eroticism to seep through the discomfort. 

Babygirlnever shies away from the inherent awkwardness that accompanies sex, often finding more joy in watching these actors fumble through their insecurities in an effort to connect to a physical truth between them.

As a result, Babygirl is as uncomfortable to watch as it is thrilling or titillating, but this is to its strength. Babygirl is an authentic film about carnal desire finding its way through the oppression of self-inflicted wounds and shame-induced safeguards disguising themselves as moral scrutiny.

It’s a lesson, a cautionary tale, about being honest with oneself before being able to find honesty in another person. Babygirl’s pacing forces too much in its final third and rushes through crucial moments with such ferocity that the audience is almost waiting for a cheap reveal that it was all a bad dream.

But the character work is ingenious in Halina Reijn’s script as it always manages to illicit sympathy for Romy amidst her crisis. At the end of the day, we will always be the villains of our own story no matter how much other stories may villainize us.

Finding grace within these moments, learning the lessons to release ourselves from the shackles of our self-imposed imprisonment, is the only way forward for fear that we may repeat the cycle again. 9/10