The latest feature from Halina Reijn, director of internet favourite Bodies Bodies Bodies (2022), Babygirl (2024), has been the subject of significant online attention. The film follows successful CEO, wife and mother Romy (Nicole Kidman) who begins a passionate affair with a young intern, Samuel (Harris Dickinson). Judging from the surface and its very appealing trailer, it seems to have all the hallmarks of a transgressive modern entry into the erotic thriller canon: the film boasts a big age gap, workplace power plays, milk drinking, and, most importantly, Nicole Kidman in a new wig. However, for all its sensual marketing, the film feels neutered, and never manages to live up to the audacious thrill it keeps promising throughout its runtime.

“The film boasts a big age gap, workplace power plays, milk drinking, and, most importantly, Nicole Kidman in a new wig”

Babygirl certainly has its strengths. It is excellent at portraying the sometimes excruciatingly awkward navigation of S&M power dynamics. In an interview for the BFI, Reijn said she paid particular attention to taking “glamour away from the kink,” and this is evident in the film’s graphic and startlingly stilted sex scenes. Nicole Kidman is also scarily convincing: her performance is ‘vulnerable’, a word that is frequently thrown around by critics but that feels absolutely earned here. Kidman’s co-star Harris Dickinson, whose blossoming career has been delightful to follow, manages to more than hold his own, giving Samuel a brilliant sensuality despite being given dialogue that sometimes veers towards the comical. The dynamic between our two leads, despite feeling at times a little rushed, is quite solid. The larger issue with Babygirl, the one that two compelling performances cannot compensate for, is the narrative’s fundamental lack of substance.

Romy is a somewhat fleshed out character whose insecurities can be plausibly assumed as she struggles with the contradictory demands of the corporate world, her public position as a woman, and her familial duties. She is an adequate figure through which the topical question of the ‘pleasure gap’ can be explored. However, her motivations ultimately seem limp, with implications of childhood trauma and religion going unexplained and underdeveloped. This lack of depth is even more present in Samuel, as shallowness only works insofar as he represents a fantasy more than a person. If that was Reijn’s intention, it does not seem fully realized. Samuel mainly serves as the catalyst for some very explicit discussions about consent and female sexuality, and while this is refreshing, it can often feel heavy-handed.

Power is the keynote of Babygirl, and if you didn’t manage to understand that in the first ten minutes, the film thankfully repeats it, underlines it, and screams it at you for the rest of its runtime. Power is, of course, a timeless subject, and the particular dynamic shown in Babygirl is relatively unique. However, the film does not dare to delve into the intrigue and darkness of BDSM relationships, instead lingering on repetitive, rather shallow conversations about the ethics of the affair, the consequences of which go mostly overlooked. Even the film’s most glaring backdrops (namely wealth inequality, patriarchy, and corporate greed) seem to fizzle out completely within the scope of Romy and Samuel’s relationship, in favour of montages that would be better suited to a music video than a drama. There is an interesting extended visual metaphor featuring a dog, but that is about as close as we get to probing themes of primal urges and uncontrollable desires. The sex is, for the most part, rather timid, and since it takes centre stage for most of the film, that makes for a viewing experience that feels unfortunately flat.

“Even the film’s most glaring backdrops seem to fizzle out completely, in favour of montages that would be better suited to a music video than a drama”

Against perhaps the archetypal BDSM romance, 2002’s Secretary, the shock and lustfulness of Babygirl pales. Sure, there were titters and shufflings around the cinema during certain scenes, but it is not any more racy than, say, a movie like Saltburn (2023), which also relied on unearned shock value to supplement how little it had to say about sex and desire. It seems, with the mainstream rise of onscreen sex, ‘kinky’ films such as these are unsure of how to differentiate themselves without risking controversy. Essentially, the envelope is pushed just far enough to send some shockwaves through TikTok, but nothing brings these modern ‘erotic thrillers’ anywhere near the level of being innovative or unexpected.

Following in the footsteps of this wider trend, Babygirl is sexy but lacks the suspense to make its sexual abundance exciting. Much of the film appears to be built around a handful of aesthetically intriguing and vaguely titillating images, with little to ground us in its reality. A kaleidoscope of beautiful colours, stylish editing, hackneyed needledrops, mental health speak and sexual empowerment buzzwords make for an incoherent whirlwind of a watch. Fundamentally, Rejin’s latest feature is an enjoyable enough experience, but it flirts with more ideas than it is able to control.

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