Babygirl (2024): With Infidelity As The Cost of Sexual Liberation, Can Love Withstand The Aftermath?

Babygirl’s (2024) deception begins in its trailer itself, masquerading as a psychological thriller yet turning out to be a character’s inner odyssey. Suspending disbelief and judgment proves difficult as the film wrestles with the notion of what actual power is. Its ambitious protagonist Romy (Nicole Kidman), surpassing her male counterparts in wealth, status, and power— desires to be “tamed”. Submission isn’t historically unfamiliar in the expectations already placed upon women, yet Romy takes it up a notch, by harbouring risqué desires, including humiliation. Rather than placing shame, the film’s lens gravitates thematically towards the protagonist’s internal conflict and how personal desires can complicate, and even destabilize, one’s sense of empowerment.

Babygirl (2024) writer-director Halina Reijn also very briefly explored an age-gap relationship (between Alice & David) in her previous film Bodies, Bodies, Bodies (2022). Yet, In Babygirl, it takes centre stage, dismantling shame, disconnect and the consequences of upholding a long-standing facade in a marriage. In Babygirl’s Romy, I saw a striking resemblance to Connie (Diane Lane) in Unfaithful (2002), directed by Adrian Lyne. Both films centred around wives seeking the thrill and excitement that their structured, happy-go-lucky families, devoted husbands and comfortable lives failed to offer. Jacob (Antonio Banderas) is a playwright and director, a devoted father, and a loving husband to Romy, single-handedly managing the household and their children. Though well-intentioned, his limited grasp of sexual dynamics, coupled with Romy’s inability to articulate her desires with clarity, culminates in a growing emotional rift between them.

Using the raunchy segue of an illicit romance, Babygirl, at its core, sets out to explore power dynamics and the unpredictable nature of power—how it can be taken or given away at any moment.

For Romy, “something needs to be at stake”, which her lover Samuel (Harris Dickinson) presents despite being younger and considerably junior. He holds leverage over her in ways more than one: from the initiation of their affair to his potential to smear her reputation as a boss, and of course, in the boudoir. Samuel is painfully bland and one-dimensional, as if written to be a sort of fantasy for Romy and nothing more— with his unironed shirts, indifferent face and unbridled dance moves. He is boastingly shrewd, confident and possesses a lingering gravitas. From the very first moment, Romy is intrigued by his commanding demeanour, evident from his actions—such as taming the street dog—coupled with his outrageous remarks like “I think you like to be told what to do.” This raises a compelling question: Is power something inherently possessed, or is it, in fact, something one consciously surrenders?

The film introduces an arguably superfluous backstory through Romy’s childhood flashbacks, hinting at a cultish upbringing, which she presents as the rationale for her fetishes. While such events may serve as catalysts, they should not be mistaken as definitive causes. The filmmakers’ decision, to frame Romy’s trauma as the supposed origin of her desires, risks oversimplifying the complexities of sexual preferences. Such inclinations, after all, do not always demand a specific or singular explanation. Moreover, the bold parallels drawn between Romy and the black dog, though peculiar, create a profound sense of discomfort. It is within this discomfort that the film compels viewers to suspend judgment, inviting them to confront the sheer bewilderment Romy must feel in accepting these desires as integral to her sexual identity.

Kidman previously starred in Eyes Wide Shut (1999) by Stanley Kubrick, in a similar role— exploring sexual dynamics and repressed desires. But here, she appears unsettled as Romy, with most of the intimate scenes with Samuel seeming awkwardly performative, rather than fulfilling. Her performance lacks the reflection of her long-awaited desire to experience what she’s always wanted. The tussle—between wanting to surrender control and being conditioned not to—is perhaps why those scenes aren’t intended to be completely erotic or sexy, but more exploratory in nature.

Although Romy finds a fleeting sanctuary in Samuel, her persistent inner turmoil and hesitancy prevent her from falling for him— a development one anticipates, yet one that the film never truly delivers. The narrative refuses to explore Samuel’s psyche, reducing him to someone focused solely on casual, consensual affairs. His charm is superficial and deliberately designed to keep the viewer at a distance, ensuring we don’t root for him to end up with Romy. In a rare moment of pillow-talk vulnerability, Romy expresses to Samuel, “I think you’re a lovely person. You know things, sense things about people— what they want, what they need.” This momentary admission of affection offers a brief glimpse of an emotional connection that remains unfulfilled.

The act of being called an endearing name by a lover that no one else calls you is quite a sacred moment in the infidelity genre— a kind of undressing and vulnerability in front of the lover often denied to the strong-headed protagonists in their lives. In The Piano Teacher (2001) by Michael Haneke, Erika (Isabelle Huppert), in the arms of her lover, asks him, “Do you like me calling you darling?” Similarly, when Samuel refers to Romy as his “baby girl” while they embrace, he allows her to fully embody her authentic self. These exchanges, though seemingly tender, also reveal the resonance that such phrases evoke, subtly reinforcing the complex interplay of power, intimacy, and self-identity in their relationship.

In the office, Romy also appears to share a close relationship with her assistant, Esme (Sophie Wilde), who positions herself as a strong advocate for women in positions of authority. Yet, despite her repeated attempts, Esme struggles to secure a promotion from Romy, reiterated at several intervals in the movie. In a subtle display of power, Esme manoeuvres Romy and Samuel’s relationship to her advantage, asking her to act on the promotion and never see him again. Esme expresses her disappointment in seeing Romy fall short of her expectations of how a woman in power should behave. She hints at blackmail but doesn’t intend to pursue it. What could have been a feminist opportunity for mutual understanding between them, devolves into a game of manipulation, with both women subtly exploiting the other for personal gain.

The crux of films in the infidelity genre rests upon people unable to communicate their desires effectively to their partners, ultimately jeopardizing their current lives in pursuit of a sort of rebirth. In the film Margarita With A Straw (2014), Laila (Kalki Koechlin) is unfaithful to her girlfriend Khanum (Sayani Gupta) with a man, while struggling to accept her bisexuality. When the intricacies of human nature resist the imposition of moral judgment, does adultery really have to be the only path and plot device to emancipate the protagonist? If so, who are we—flawed as we are—to decide if another deserves punishment for failing to embody the perfect protagonist?

While tragic and complex, Babygirl deliberately chooses to neglect severe consequences and accountability for adultery, to liberate Romy, while minimizing the potential collateral damage to her loved ones, and even the corporate legacy she worked so hard to build. While love isn’t enough, Jacob undergoes a difficult transformation of his own—confronting his outdated ideas and taking some time apart to accept Romy as she is. Similarly, Isabel (Esther Rose McGregor) who is Romy’s daughter is also unfaithful to her girlfriend, Mary. Yet she dismisses it by saying she’s in love with Mary but “just having fun with Ophelia”. Instead of holding Romy or Isabel for accountable for their transgressions, the film offers a rather extremely idealistic and forgiving space to make “mistakes” and come to terms with one’s desires.

Babygirl is far from revolutionary. Its lacklustre morality, comical awkwardness and underwhelming chemistry between the protagonists feel like a surface-level exploration of desire when set against the enormity of Romy’s internal conflict. Babygirl tests our judgment— of taboo desires misaligned with our own, the fate it grants or withholds from its characters, its fractured narrative, and a startlingly joyful ending unbefitting a thriller. Although thematically, Babygirl brings in interesting ideas yet remains unremarkable. Kidman’s performance stands out in this Christmas thriller— mesmerising, yet diminished by the scope of its storytelling. It is a well-intended character study, receiving the short end of the stick with its execution.

Sakshi Salil Chavan is a documentary filmmaker and an entertainment writer based in Mumbai.