Babygirl

Wild. Bold. Sexy. Or maybe not.

The American erotic thriller Babygirl certainly caught public attention with its daring promotional campaign, promising to deliver the "real" Fifty Shades of Grey. But as I sat through its preview screening, the laughter in the room far surpassed anything I’d heard even during Anora. At one point, I even found myself checking the genre to see if "comedy" was listed. Which begs the question: is this the reaction the filmmaker intended?

The film follows Romy, a strong, successful, and independent CEO running a tech company in New York. She seemingly has it all—husband, kids, wealth, recognition—but lacks one thing: sexual fulfillment. Enter Samuel, a young, cocky intern who picks up on her desire to relinquish control and steps in to satisfy her needs.

Let’s be frank: the premise is kinda dumb. The ultra-wealthy know how to satisfy their urges without jeopardizing their careers, and it's laughable to think a junior intern could waltz into a CEO’s office and demand she kneel before him. Narrative-wise, this plays out like a porn film with all the explicit scenes removed, leaving only an awkward, exaggerated story about an implausibly unprofessional boss who beds her pretty subordinate. The climax? A near-cuckold session with her husband, Jacob. I won’t tell you who the almost-cuckold will be, so it will be a surprise.

Sure, on paper, the concept holds promise, but it doesn’t translate perfectly on-screen. The lack of chemistry between the leads is glaring. There’s no palpable danger, no unhinged passion that you’d expect from such a premise. What we get instead is a chaotic descent into tears and melodrama. The script doesn’t help, jumping erratically between scenes seemingly designed more for TikTok edits than for telling a cohesive story or fleshing out its characters.

Occasionally, the film finds its footing, offering glimpses of something deeper. Moments where characters reflect on their desires and relationships hint at a more compelling narrative. Ultimately, this is a story about power—who holds it, who craves it, and how it can upend even the most controlled lives. It’s a tale of self-discovery, of learning what truly makes us tick, and of realizing that even the "biggest and strongest" can be brought to their knees by someone who dares to call them babygirl.

But the film squanders this potential. It lacks the dynamism to develop these themes into something truly impactful, especially as it fumbles the opportunity to craft a powerful feminist statement. Instead, Romy is repeatedly humiliated, portrayed as foolish until the very last scene.

Nicole Kidman (Romy) and Harris Dickinson (Samuel) are clearly talented and know exactly what to do, but they feel like they’re acting in two different movies—and not because of their characters' differing social statuses. Their disconnect is profound, and it’s Antonio Banderas, as Romy’s husband Jacob, who steals the show at any time he appears on the screen. His scenes with Dickinson are among the film’s strongest moments, crackling with tension and nuance.

In the end, Babygirl delivers a story about two terrible people who learn nothing and change even less over 90 minutes. They gain new problems, manipulate each other and everyone around them, and stumble through a narrative that promises exploration of power and desire but settles for shame and betrayal. Instead of the sharp sting of a whip, we’re left with a soft bow tied around a hollow experience.

5/10