Kelaru & Fulton rating: ★★★★★
Runtime: 1 hr 54 mins
Some have labeled Babygirl a psychological drama, but this isn’t a film about diagnosing or studying a psychological condition. Instead, it expertly exposes society’s discomfort with human sexuality, pushing plenty of emotional buttons along the way.
The story presents two contrasting worlds. The first is the high-powered corporate sphere dominated by Romy (Nicole Kidman), a CEO at the helm of a tech company revolutionising automation. Romy is in control of everything: her career, her family, even her bedroom, as demonstrated in an early sex scene with her husband Jacob (Antonio Banderas), where she is firmly on top. Yet beneath her flawless facade lies a dangerous secret—her perfect world can’t satisfy her sexually. The only way she can climax is by watching kinky, dominating porn on her laptop while pleasuring herself on the kitchen floor.
The introduction of Romy is one of the most compelling character openings in recent memory. It’s reminiscent of Colonel Hans Landa’s debut in Inglourious Basterds—not in its dialogue, but in how her actions reveal the truth of who she is and what she wants.
And this is all within the first five minutes of the film.
On her way to work one morning, Romy encounters Samuel, who saves her from a loose dog by effortlessly whistling it into submission. Later, it turns out Samuel is part of a new batch of interns at Romy’s company, and with him, we’re introduced to the second world: Samuel’s carefree, unpredictable existence. Both Romy and Samuel are clearly bored within their respective domains, and both are willing to risk everything to explore something new.
Their first encounter in the cafeteria is electrifying, establishing a chemistry that’s off the charts. It’s almost like a sexually charged version of Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling—both confident, subtly flirty, and completely aware of what they’re after. Samuel effectively calls Romy a “bitch” (without using the word) and hints at whether she wants to be treated like one.
For Romy, who thrives in a fully compartmentalised world of punctuality and perfection, Samuel is both an escape and a sharp-edged danger. He disrupts her orderly life in a way that’s suffocatingly alluring. Samuel, meanwhile, discovers her hidden desires like stumbling upon a photo meant to stay buried. He’s drawn to her power and control like a moth to a flame, and both understand the catastrophic consequences of their relationship. Yet the taste of liberation—sexual and emotional—is too intoxicating to resist.
Their shared moments, navigating the intersection of their worlds, are deeply vulnerable and raw. Returning to their separate lives feels like voluntarily stepping back into a prison cell.
Halina Reijn’s direction is confident and precise, allowing the excellent script to shine while giving her actors room to breathe. Nicole Kidman is especially phenomenal, delivering an Oscar-worthy performance. She embodies Romy as a mother, boss, adulterer, and sexual supplicant, seamlessly transitioning between these roles. Kidman’s portrayal captures every emotional nuance as Samuel pushes her boundaries, revealing the layers of her suppressed urges and bringing her closer to the brink of self-discovery—and self-destruction.
The theme of control runs throughout the film, extending beyond sexuality. In one striking scene, Romy unexpectedly visits her husband Jacob at the theatre, where he’s an established director. His subtle discomfort at her presence reveals that the theatre is the only space where he truly feels in control. Later, when Romy’s assistant discovers her “extracurricular activities,” she wastes no time demanding a promotion, threatening to expose her otherwise.
But the most powerful dynamic of control comes from Samuel, who alternates between taking charge, releasing control, and reclaiming it again, sending Romy’s emotions into overdrive. The tension is relentless, carrying through every scene and building to a third act that refuses to follow the conventions of erotic thrillers like Basic Instinct or Fatal Attraction. Unlike those films, Babygirl doesn’t punish its characters for their actions or desires. Instead, it liberates them from their restrictive lives and challenges the audience to confront their own barriers.
Babygirl is a bold, unflinching exploration of power, control, and the raw, often hidden truths of human sexuality.