Review by
Eric Hillis
Directed by: Halina Reijn
Starring: Nicole Kidman, Harris Dickinson, Antonio Banderas,
Sophie Wilde, Esther McGregor
One of the ways in which western liberal society is growing more
conservative is the increasing scorn towards age gap relationships. Scroll
through any social media feed and you'll inevitably come across some scold
moaning about two consenting adults whose ages happen to start with
differing digits. It doesn't matter if the parties concerned are 22
and 87 or 35 and 43; the new rule for these intolerant curtain-twitchers
seems to be that dating someone more than two years younger than yourself
is tantamount to sexual abuse. In their naive worldview, the older person
in any relationship is automatically the one who holds the power, as
though a myriad of factors such as class, race, gender, looks, salary,
nationality, religion etc play no part.
With Babygirl, her third film as director, Halina Reijn suggests that the person who holds the least
power in a relationship is the one with the most to lose. Her movie
features an affair between a fifty-something multi-millionaire tech CEO
and a twenty-something intern, but it's the latter who pulls all the
strings because unlike the former, they have nothing to lose.
Nicole Kidman is Romy, CEO of a tech company that
specialises in creating robots that will take away the jobs of factory
workers. One morning outside the skyscraper that houses her office she
is almost attacked by a loose black dog before it's brought under
control by a handsome young passer-by. In mythology, the black dog is
often seen as a portent of doom, but in astrology it represents positive
transformation. We later learn that Romy has an interest in astrology,
which might explain her sudden obsession with the black dog and the
young man who tamed it (in a continuance of canine metaphors, Romy will
later be commended as a "good girl").
That young man turns out to be Samuel (Harris Dickinson), who
has just begun an internship at Romy's company. In an introductory
meeting he dares to ask Romy a question about whether the claims her
company makes about "sustainability" are earnest. Romy is taken aback by
his insolence, left shaken but also stirred. Over the next few days she
keeps finding herself in situations where she's alone with Samuel, as if
fate is drawing her towards him in a way she won't consciously allow
herself. After one particularly flirtatious meeting, Samuel dares to
lean in for a kiss and seems thoroughly unsurprised when Romy
reciprocates, though Romy is surprised at herself.
Immediately the pair begin having clandestine meetings in hotel rooms
where a sub/dom relationship develops. Samuel clues in on the irony of
how despite her elevated position and the many minions she commands,
Romy likes being told what to do. He has her quite literally eating out
of the palm of his hand, and lapping up the saucers of milk he leaves on
the floor. Then he starts with the mind games, ignoring her when she
needs him most and turning up at the most inappropriate times. Romy
tries to end the relationship at several points, but Samuel always draws
her back in.
In American mainstream cinema, S&M is usually associated with
perversion and abuse. Reijn brings a very everyday European approach to
the kink. Samuel's games may be manipulative but they're never portrayed
as sinister. In fact he regularly cracks up laughing during his assumed
role of master. Romy keeps telling herself and Samuel that what they're
doing is wrong, but if it's so wrong why does it feel so right?
Dickinson and Kidman have a scorching chemistry that sucks us into their
thrilling relationship. Sure, back home Romy has a handsome and loving
husband, Jacob (Antonio Banderas), who hasn't done anything
wrong. But we get the sense that in their marriage he hasn't done much
right either. Jacob may be attentive to his wife but he's unobservant of
her needs. At one point Romy claims Jacob has never given her an orgasm
(she requires porn to secretly finish herself off after their lovemaking
bouts), but it's probably not because he's a bad lover (we're talking
about Antonio Banderas after all) but because he hasn't asked questions,
something Samuel has no issue doing.
Of course, Romy's liberation is tempered with her fear of being
cancelled should her trysts with Samuel ever be revealed. In the second
half of her film Reijn leans into this paranoia, shifting Babygirl into the realm of the erotic thriller as Samuel threatens to
request an incriminating job transfer and Romy's assistant, Esme (Sophie Wilde), begins to grow suspicious of her boss's new glow.
Though set in the very modern milieu of robotics, Babygirl borrows the aesthetics of '80s and '90s erotic thrillers, all
gleaming surfaces and offices in the sky. The tech setting is
reminiscent of Barry Levinson's Disclosure (a movie ripe for "good for her" feminist reappraisal in the wake
of Demi Moore's recent comeback), while a scene where Romy looks
decidedly out of place in a youthful nightclub recalls Michael Douglas
dad-dancing in his infamous v-neck sweater in Basic Instinct. These are the influences of a Gen-X filmmaker using the medium to
prod and provoke Gen-Z and its hypocritical attitude towards sexual
liberation, a generation that (rightly) believes consenting adults
should be able to have sex with whomever they like while simultaneously
setting restrictive parameters on what constitutes an "acceptable"
relationship. Reijn's previous pop at Gen-Z, the slasher comedy Bodies, Bodies, Bodies, felt too much like an old woman shaking her fist at a cloud, but
with Babygirl she has crafted a film whose exploration of the complex nuances
of power dynamics should have Gen-Z scolds questioning their reactionary
conservatism rather than simply rolling their eyes at some out of touch
old lady.
Babygirl is in UK/ROI cinemas
from January 10th.
