Nicole Kidman has never been a risk-averse actor. For every commercial notch in her body of work, be it Bewitched or Moulin Rouge!, there’s a Birth or Dogville: films that mine the darker depths of humanity, often to the extreme. Babygirl may not linger in those shadowy corners for quite as long, but is nonetheless a reminder of Kidman’s gutsy choices and no-holds-barred approach to performing.
In this film, directed by actor-turned-filmmaker Halina Reijn (who made 2022’s excellent Gen-Z murder-mystery Bodies Bodies Bodies), Kidman plays high-powered tech- executive Romy, who we immediately meet in the final throes of leg-buckling sex with Jacob (Antonio Banderas), her husband of nearly 20 years. Moments later, she steals away to another part of their family home and secretly climaxes to the flickering glow of submissive porn on her laptop.
Dickinson is impeccable; as Samuel he brings an elusive yet calming presence with a slow half-smile...
By day, Romy serves as the well-respected, freshly-Botoxed face of her New York-based robotics company. In all aspects of her life she has everything to lose, and takes pains to stop that happening. Until she meets Harris Dickinson’s anorak-clad and cocky Samuel, who instantly sees a woman unfulfilled in his new boss. It would be easy and expected for writer-director Reijn to set the pair tumbling down a slippery slope into obsession, boiled bunnies and rigid, dated morality. Instead, she weaves a more complex and impactful tapestry of desire, power and, wonderfully, humour.
Alongside Kidman, Dickinson is impeccable; as Samuel he brings an elusive yet calming presence with a slow half-smile, and ricochets off Romy’s ever-shifting moods with a blend of delight, deviance and vulnerability. Only wisps of their former lives are offered up — she was raised via cults and communes, he describes himself as a cuckoo chick, causing chaos in places where he doesn’t belong — but it’s enough to establish that both weren’t born into the world that they operate in today. It’s a shared connection that underscores a sexual dance so raw and joyful and gorgeously captured (a shot of Kidman’s hair billowing underwater in a swimming pool, in particular) that you find yourself hoping that it won’t end.
Of course, the film shifts course as the stakes rise, but by veering away from genre conventions Reijn promises something fresh and sees it through. Banderas is key here, portraying a pillar of patience and earnestness that evokes sympathy but never at the expense of Romy’s journey. And what a journey it is, one that pushes Kidman’s sensibilities to their limits, at times stripping her down and causing her whole body to sigh and crawl, recoil and unfurl. Through tender and empathetic filmmaking, we see a woman at her most alive.