Babygirl is Sizzling and Rare - But Does it Bite Off More Than it Can Chew?
It’s sparked global discussion about female sexuality and aging, and criticism for its lack of nuance. So is Babygirl’s glass of milk half-full, or half-empty?
good.film
a month ago
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We’re huge fans of female empowerment stories. Could you guess? It’s been fascinating to watch the complexity and, frankly, the sheer give-no-fucks that have been coursing through mainstream stories driven by women since 2020. Think Michaela Cole’s I May Destroy You, Emerald Fennell’s Promising Young Woman or Zoë Kravitz’s Blink Twice. They all make you feel as if you’ve been hit with ice water–in a good way. You’d almost call them ballsy... ; )
Now, Dutch writer-director Halina Reijn adds to the mix with Babygirl: a frank and steamy look at a stealthy office fling with a LOT more subtext than your Mum’s Fatal Attraction. There’s an age-gap AND a gender flip, with an older female CEO feeling herself pulled into a no-go zone by her magnetic, far younger male intern. And to spice up the story, Reijn gives her lead character an untapped fetish; a sexual kink that’s like an itch just out of reach.
What does it all say about modern sexual dynamics? Is a woman in power just as ripe for a #MeToo takedown as her male counterparts have been? And if you’re turned on by danger, how do you give in to that AND keep yourself safe? Reijn’s screenplay takes a big bite out of all of these meaty topics. The question is whether Babygirl bites off more than it can chew.
How does Babygirl look at gender and power dynamics?
Romy (Nicole Kidman) is the high-powered CEO of a New York robotics firm. She’s steely. Confident. Impeccably put-together. She’s not quite Miranda Priestly, but you get it–the kind of boss who can make/break a career with the flick of a fingertip. In her down time, she’s booking botox and ice plunges to keep up her tight facade. We get the feeling she’s a woman in a shell. Her wealth and power protect her, but do they also contain her?
Halina Reijn fills in the picture with Romy’s private life: in the first scene, she makes love with her husband Jacob (Antonio Banderas), hitting a climax with him… before slipping away to her study to whip out her laptop and finish the job properly. It’s the first sign that Romy’s sexually unsatisfied. Her choice of porn, involving bondage, tells us she’s after more than the genuine but ‘vanilla’ love of her husband (and hey, when Antonio fricken’ Banderas isn’t doing it for you, something’s definitely up, right?). That inner dissatisfaction grinds against all the other ‘perfection’ in Romy’s life: her beautiful family, stunning homes and incredible career.
How does Reijn tip all that upside down? Enter Samuel (Harris Dickinson), the chiselled intern. He’s less than half Romy’s age, and there’s an aloof confidence to him; an odd, magnetic pull. He's not intimidated AT ALL by her position or power, even though Romy’s probably on seven figures, and Samuel is barely worth 10 minutes a week of her time. He’s totally brazen in his words and actions: he tells Romy her new botox injections look good on you, and he insists she mentor him, with an expression just barely suppressing a smile.
Reijn sets up an intriguing cat and mouse dynamic through Romy and Samuel’s mentoring. But who’s the cat and who’s the mouse? It’s an extremely interesting reversal of the usual business trope: older man wields power (and desire) over younger woman who’s ‘lucky’ to be in their company. Romy’s very resistant to Samuel’s more personal probes–when he asks how how she got her start, she snaps Google it. But it’s as though he’s pierced her usual defences. Samuel acts as if he truly has nothing to lose–so doesn’t that give him all the power? It’s as though he’s grabbed hold of all the positive strides made by #MeToo, and flipped them to suit his own agenda (more on that below).
It’s out of character when Romy turns up at the interns’ after-work drinks. She’d never said yes to a year of invites before then–funny that! Samuel’s at the other end of the bar, but despite their distance, they’re silently interacting. In the ultimate power move, Samuel sends a Romy a glass of plain milk–and she drinks it all, in one tilt, as the camera zooms in on him from over her shoulder (fun fact: according to Halina Reijn, this exact thing once happened to her in a Belgian bar; she described it as a little nauseating). The cherry on top? As he leaves the bar, Samuel leans over to Romy and whispers, Good girl.
It’s an outrageous breach of boundaries, but they’re past that now. And when they inevitably cross the line–with a tense, stop-start kiss during a mentoring session–Romy is shaken by what they’ve set in train, telling Samuel I'm so sorry–that shouldn't have happened. It’s a nod to the common instinct of women apologizing to men for sexual impropriety they haven’t initiated. As things intensify, she tells him firmly We need to have a conversation about this. What we’re doing is wrong. But Samuel knows in his bones that for Romy, the ‘wrongness’ of their covert banging in the office bathroom is also the very thing she’s been craving.
How does Babygirl flip the #MeToo conversation?
The stakes are sky high for a woman in Romy’s position. There’s a scandal in waiting, and Reijn uses the setup to look at the idea of workplace sexual harassment through a parallel lens. For example, Romy has a protective instinct to her employee that a male CEO would be unlikely to share, telling Samuel: You’re very young. I don’t want to hurt you. And Samuel feels confident enough to threaten Romy in a way that a female intern (particularly pre-#MeToo era) would likely never attempt: Hurt me? I have power over you. One phone call and you could lose everything.
What Reijn introduces here is the idea that for Romy, this danger is actually the turn-on. The very first time she notices Samuel is when he calms down a dangerous dog in the street–one that was galloping straight for her. In that sense, Samuel represents protection, but personally and professionally he’s TNT: he could blow up her entire life. Guess who’s giving her shuddering orgasms for the first time in years? Hint: it’s not the guy at home who played Puss in Boots. Really, is Romy’s desire really about Samuel, at all? Or just the danger he represents?
“He's not only just an insanely talented young man, but he has a vulnerability, and a very unique masculinity that you don't see often with male actors."
~ Writer-director Halina Reijn, describing lead actor Harris Dickinson
It’s ironically amusing when Samuel asks Romy to have a frank conversation about consent. It’s almost a satirisation of his Gen-Z-ness: he’s way more comfortable, in his early twenties, clarifying their consensual boundaries than Romy is in her fifties. But this is about something more. Their fling has been flecked with hints of ‘dom’ & ‘sub’ (according to Cosmo, in a dom/sub dynamic, one partner–the Dominant–assumes control and authority over the other partner–the submissive–within agreed-upon boundaries). Samuel needs to define just how dominant Romy is prepared to let him be. The question is–does she even know herself?
What does Babygirl have to say about women’s sexual identity?
The sleek corner office and breathless, illicit sex are just glossy hooks to Babygirl. What Reijn is really interested in exploring is how women, no matter their ‘status’ or success, are often coming into a deeper understanding–and acceptance–of their own sexuality later in life. She folds these ideas through the film by including traditionally ‘taboo’ topics like BDSM and infidelity, including a deliberate age gap between the characters, and prodding at concepts like shame and guilt.
Romy feels guilty that she’s not able to orgasm with her husband (who she clearly loves), but she also feels a sense of shame over asking for what she needs in bed. Why? Because she’s Gen-X? Has she ever felt truly comfortable advocating for her own needs? She hides herself under a sheet when she asks Jacob to watch porn with her, then puts her head under a pillow during foreplay. They’re both clues to her repressed interest in bondage; later, she stuffs Samuel’s tie into her mouth, and twists her gown around her body while writhing on the floor. Keep an eye on the costume design, too: even in her corporate attire, Romy always has a tie, scarf or ruffles at her neck.
Experts generally agree that the appeal of BDSM comes from the psychological interplay of power dynamics: a loss of control by the submissive, or in other words, a giving up of their free will. Think of the bar: Romy doesn’t truly WANT to drink a full glass of milk; what she wants is to do something she doesn’t have to choose. In the privacy of their hotel room, free of any kind of judgement, Samuel pours Romy a saucer of milk and asks her to lap it up on all fours; later, Romy’s in the same position, picking up pieces of a china dish Samuel’s smashed to the floor.
They’re all parts of the act; a kink that they’re both willingly into. Does it feel like Romy’s being belittled? Don’t forget, she can still exercise control: they agree on a safe word to end anything she feels goes too far (hilariously, the safe word they choose is Jacob... Romy’s husband’s name). When Romy intensely climaxes with Samuel, it’s a culmination of all her unmet sexual desires flooding to the surface. Afterwards, Romy breaks down in Samuel’s arms, leading to a fascinating thought exercise. Is she crying over the guilt of meeting her needs outside of her marriage–or the frustration of waiting so long to achieve them?
What about the importance of the ‘roles’ women are forced to play?
One last element we picked up on is Halina Reijn’s commentary on the many roles Romy plays in her life. She’s the professional, as a female CEO and prominent business leader. She’s the mentor–an older woman who gives guidance to younger employees. And at home, she’s a caregiver, as a wife and mother to two girls herself. There are significant societal expectations in all of these. What Babygirl explores is how Romy’s own personal fulfilment and internal desire seems to be in direct conflict with these roles.
For example, Reijn adds a twist when Romy’s PA, Esme (Sophie Wilde) notices Samuel too. She’s much closer to his age, and there’s obvious chemistry. It’s ironic that Romy chooses this moment to ‘check in’ with her assistant, warning her that an office fling probably isn’t a smart idea for a younger woman climbing the ladder: You're in a position of power now. You need to be careful. I’m just trying to protect you. It’s interesting how similar that sounds to words she’s exchanged with Samuel… Power. Careful. Protect.
Naturally, the men in Romy’s life have ‘roles’ too. When Jacob eventually faces Samuel, his immediate instinct (as the cuckolded husband) is to physically threaten the younger man: the plunderer. The thief. But if we reframe the battle as being about not sex but desire, it’s Samuel who has the upper hand. His birthdate might be laughable to Jacob, but it actually means that Samuel’s more naturally attuned to modern, multi-faceted notions of sex. Jacob thinks he’s stating the obvious by telling Samuel, She's used you! But Samuel instantly rejects that thesis: No. That’s a dated idea of sexuality. I’m sorry, but you don't understand.
So - what’s the takeaway from Babygirl?
It probably goes without saying, but Babygirl isn’t a one-note film. It’s thought-provoking to say the least. It speaks to the complexity of power dynamics at work, gender roles at home, and the confusion that some older women may face in interpreting their own sexual desires. The decades-wide age gap between Romy and Samuel throws in layers of misconception about who’s really in charge. Add in some light BDSM and #MeToo themes, and you’ve got a recipe for a simmering stew with arguably one TOO many ingredients.
That’s not to say writer-director Halina Reijn doesn’t have command of her tools. She’s extracted two killer performances out of her leads–Kidman even won the Volpi Cup for Best Actress at 2024’s Venice Film Festival for this role. The music score is breathy and thumping, and it combines with the often floaty, almost dreamlike camerawork to give Babygirl an air of sexy confusion, like the rug’s always being pulled out from under us.
There’s just SO many ideas here. Whether they all land might depend on how closely you relate to Romy–two of our women team members had wildly different thoughts on the film, and one of them is our CEO! Ultimately, Babygirl doesn’t ask us to judge Romy or her actions; only to acknowledge the desires of a woman over 50 as complex and real. For that reason, Reijn deserves applause. Or as her character Samuel might have the balls to say: Good girl.
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