‘Babygirl’ Doesn’t Get What’s So Powerful About Sex

Achieving erotic vision on the silver screen is not an easy task for a film director. It can quickly fall into an abyss of total embarrassment or pornography. A new film, “Babygirl” (2024), doesn’t fall completely into either abyss, but it never truly realizes its potential.

Directed by Dutch filmmaker Halina Reijn, “Babygirl” focuses on Romy Mathis (Nicole Kidman), a CEO of a powerful tech company on the cutting edge of automation. She is, by all the cliched means, a woman in power. She has a husband, Jacob (played superbly by Antonio Banderas), and two daughters, and the family is seemingly living a happy life — except Jacob does not satisfy her sexually. Romy has a weakness, “dark thoughts,” in her own words, that lead her into dangerous sexual fantasies of the sadomasochistic nature.

Enter Samuel (Harris Dickinson), a new intern at Romy’s company. He is a young man with questionable intentions, and Romy is certainly intrigued by them. It’s clear from the beginning that both are interested in enacting some kind of psycho-sexual game. Romy is interested in being dominated, and Samuel somehow senses this. On one hand, she is playing hard to get; on another, she’s trying to resist what appears to be the inevitability of their continued relationship. Romy accepts the challenge when, at a bar, Samuel orders a glass of milk for her, which she promptly and submissively drinks. “Good girl,” says Samuel, as he walks past her indifferently.

Samuel seems kind at times but is also arrogant. He doesn’t care that Romy is his boss or the proprieties that go with it. Even the way he walks, repeatedly touches his tie, and holds a cigarette and puffs on the smoke indicate masculinity, albeit masculinity of youth and immaturity. He’s still not sure of himself or his actions. Romy and Samuel are an odd pair in this game — both lack experience, and compared to Romy’s New York elegance of power, he looks more like a 20-something Slav in a tracksuit with a gold chain around his neck.

The performances of both Kidman and Dickinson are excellent, but Dickinson stands out more. He brings intensity and immaturity to the role at the same time, and this creates tension and conflict throughout the film. This is especially seen in the film’s photography, which plays with light and shadow.

Likewise, the music score by Cristobal Tapia de Veer is superb. The blend of classical and electronica oscillates between the realms of ethereal and gritty, evocative of Nine Inch Nails, Tori Amos’ 1999 album “To Venus and Back,” and the minimalism of Philip Glass. Still, Cristobal Tapia de Veer brings his unique touch to the creation of the score, and the result is intense and moving.

One of the biggest and most unfortunate flaws of “Babygirl” is the story itself. It feels as if Reijn did not make precise decisions about her characters, especially Romy. The film moves around too many spheres. If the intention was to make a specifically erotic thriller in the tradition of Adrian Lyne’s “9 ½ Weeks” (1986) or Paul Verhoeven’s “Basic Instinct” (1992), then it failed. The film comments on itself too much, and one is not sure whether Romy and Samuel’s embarrassment and not knowing how to play a sadomasochistic game is theirs or Kidman and Dickinson’s. 

Although not explicitly ideological, “Babygirl” engages more in “telling” than “showing.” When Jacob confronts Samuel, what follows after his anger is an intellectual explication of what sadomasochism is. He simply calls it a “male fantasy,” whereas Samuel assures him this is an “outdated” concept. It is also a female fantasy. Exploring female desire and how men and women view sex is most certainly an interesting subject, but any visceral emotions that include this experience are nullified by a brief intellectual interlude that ultimately leads nowhere. 

One of the most powerful moments in the film is when Romy confesses her transgression to Jacob. He is rightfully angry, and this is the only semblance of normalcy in the film. He yells at Romy that she has sacrificed the most precious thing they have: their children. On some level, Romy knows this and violently cries. She reveals that she sees her actions as terrible transgressions and pleads (as if to some higher power) to be cleansed of these “dark thoughts.” She was born this way, so she thinks, and there is nothing she can do to change that. 

It is precisely in this moment that Kidman could have taken her character to higher metaphysical planes. In this moment alone, Romy could have been humanized, her soul seeking to become whole. But for us to become whole, we must admit and understand that we are relational beings, always in a face-to-face encounter with another person. The mind and the body then must be viewed through the lens of dignity, not self-imposed violence and unnecessary pain. For one moment in the film, there is a possibility of existential change, but it is not entertained. Instead, viewers are left with yet another unrealized potential, and the characters are too flat, two-dimensional cutouts that may or may not represent certain aspects of male and female sexuality. 

One of the questions never explored in “Babygirl” is the very meaning of the erotic. We live in a culture that is highly unerotic, partly because of technological alienation, denial of the body and the sexes, and general apathy. What is eros connected to? What does desire look like? There is a difference between eros and pleasure. More importantly, eros cannot be fully realized without fecundity.

Yet Romy sees sex through masculine eyes of conquest. It is impossible to domesticate a BDSM relationship she seeks because domesticity and marriage are not transgressive. Her hunger for yet another climax will become another downfall because it is empty and ultimately just another case of self-gazing. 

The film ends the same way it begins, with Romy and Jacob having sex. This time, it seems Jacob has accepted his wife’s perversion and willingly engages in her demanding game. Except Romy still resorts to fantasy and will obviously remain metaphysically separated from her husband. There is no power here, superficial or otherwise, and “Babygirl” leaves the viewer dissatisfied.

Emina Melonic writes about culture, film, and books. Her work has been published in Claremont Review of Books, Los Angeles Review of Books, Modern Age, and The New Criterion, Law and Liberty, among others. She’s currently writing a biography of Edward G. Robinson and a book on Ronald Reagan’s Hollywood years.