Stream It Or Skip It: ‘Babygirl’ on VOD, a Kinky Age-Gap Thriller Starring Nicole Kidman and Harris Dickinson

It seems 2024 was Nicole Kidman’s Year o’ the Age Gap Movie. Babygirl puts the superstar actress in compromising positions with the 30-years-younger Harris Dickinson, preceded by the 20 years that separated her and Zac Efron in A Family Affair. I gave a pass to the latter for being kinda-dumb rom-com fun, but Babygirl is a different beast entirely, an erotic, funnyish thriller about power dynamics and S&M, written and directed by Halina Reijn (whose English-language debut Bodies Bodies Bodies was one of the best films of 2022). The film tools along pretty well on the strength of its performances – not strong enough to land Kidman a sixth Oscar nom, perhaps disappointingly – but it truly comes alive thanks to its slayer of a soundtrack, the placement of INXS and George Michael tracks earning Needle Drop of the Year awards. I mean, “Father Figure” in a movie called Babygirl? Bam. 

BABYGIRL: STREAM IT OR SKIP IT?

The Gist: Opening scene: Nicole Kidman is acting within the acting – faking the Big O. She plays Romy Mathis, and when she “finishes” with hubby Jacob (Antonio Banderas), she skitters down the hall to sprawl on the floor with some porn and actually get the job done. Next, a waltz plays as we watch robots methodically sort boxes in a warehouse, robots designed by Romy’s high-tech gigantocorp. She’s the CEO in the spacious glass-walled office with fancy-ass blinds that raise and lower remotely. We watch her deliver a corpspeak video that’s so lifeless, you’ll notice how “corpspeak” almost includes the word corpse, and that she’s rather robotic in her mannerisms, fitting considering the product she sells. Now, she’s not stone-cold. She writes sweet notes and puts them in her daughters’ backpacks, and seems to have a bountiful family life in their massive NYC apartment and mansion out in the country. But she’s also in a professional position where one must project power, and for a woman to head a company like this requires a certain icy demeanor, for better or worse.

The first inkling of her vulnerability shows one morning on the sidewalk in front of the office, where a loose dog attacks one passerby and sets its sights on Romy. But one whistle by a tall young man chills out the pooch quickly. Upstairs, Romy’s assistant Esme (Sophie Wilde) ushers the new interns in to meet the big boss and who is among them but that very same tall young man. He’s Samuel (Dickinson). She asks how he so easily dealt with the dog. He replies that he had a cookie in his pocket. “Do you always have cookies on you?” she serves. “Why, do you want one?” he volleys back with so much English on the ball that you can just about see her rupturing both ACLs. Audacious little twerp, ain’t he? A scene or three later, they’re in the break area and she’s on the phone talking about Important CEO Shit and she asks him to get her a cup of coffee without saying please and he complies but lectures her about drinking coffee too late in the day. Like I said. Audacious.

Now let’s talk some more about Romy’s sex life. Seems pretty good if you’re Jacob, who’s a very nice, compassionate guy. She broaches the topic of watching porn while they do it, but she’s so ashamed of her kink she pulls the sheet over her head before asking. Jacob seems fine with whatever she wants. He loves her, it’s pretty clear. Meanwhile, at work, the company mentorship program rears its head. Samuel chose Romy as his mentor. She insists she’s not on the list of potential mentors but he insists she is and insists on meeting with her. Samuel is not intimidated by her. She asserts something and he pushes back and she gets flustered and doesn’t know what to do. After a work Christmas party she finds his abandoned tie and takes it and closes the blinds and puts it to her nose and breathes in deeply. Mmm. Eau de jeune homme.  

Now, Samuel senses something with her. It’s like gaydar, but different. Call it roughplaydar, and it’s silently ringing five-alarm hot-chili sirens and bells. They have yet another combative exchange and he finds the head of her nail and hammers it square: “I think you like to be told what to do,” he says. He leaves a note on her desk with an address and she shows up at the grimy hotel in a moderately sexy but not quite totally seductive dress. Have I mentioned that the bulk of the musical score is wordless choral manipulations, all breathy panting and moaning? Well, it is. In that hotel room, Samuel orders Romy to stand in the corner and get on all fours and before you know it, he’s breaking down the barriers that she thought were steel-fortified but were actually rather vulnerable. Next thing you know, he’s making her lap milk from a saucer on the floor. Whoa nelly.

What Movies Will It Remind You Of?: Babygirl is a significantly less patently ridiculous 50 Shades of Grey. Kidman acts in roughly the same realm of meta-performance as Demi Moore in The Substance. It’s impossible not to think of the Kidman kink in Eyes Wide Shut. And Reijn draws a little bit from steamy ’80s and ’90s thrillers like Disclosure and Indecent Proposal.

Performance Worth Watching: Although Kidman’s performance occasionally skids too far into self-consciousness, it’s hard not to admire the vulnerability required to make it all the way through Very Long Orgasm Takes. Dickinson shows skill at playing the mystery-man boytoy type who keeps his submissive guessing as to whether he’s playing games or veering into I-could-make-this-a-scandal reality. Babygirl’s secret weapon, though, is Banderas, who’s sneaky great, bringing depth and emotion to a role that mostly exists to contextualize the lead character’s psychological discovery. 

Memorable Dialogue: Samuel smashes a coffee cup on the tile: “Why don’t you clean that up.”

Sex and Skin: Plenty! Near full-frontal, several sex scenes, multiple instances of eyebrow-raising role playing.

Our Take: Babygirl never goes too far over the top into camp or melodrama, and while Reijn and her cast show plenty of ability to generate a little yank-on-your-collar-with-a-forefinger heat, the film keenly avoids being voyeuristic or exploitative. (Brian De Palma might be disappointed.) And yet it’s slyly funny, mostly in the way Kidman navigates Romy’s self-exploration, and the film has a little something to say about power, gender and workplace taboos and dynamics in its depiction of a woman who “has everything” on a superficial level, but lacks the nerve to push herself out of her comfort zones. It’s a bold, but winking film that flirts with prestige-movie tone and visual style while still keeping sleaze in its peripheral vision. 

It’s easy to admire the craft of the film, whether it’s the gloomy, grainy visual textures of Christmastime on the East Coast, or the music, which amplifies the nudge-in-the-ribs of it all – INXS’ “Never Tear Us Apart” is a dead bullseye tonally, feeling like the blooming spring of discovery, our eyes wide open as Samuel leads Romy out of the boring, safe darkness of denial into brighter, if more treacherous, spaces. Oh, the drama. The drama! Sure, Samuel doesn’t break out ballgags and cuffs, but the movie is more subtle than that, a functional assertion that S&M needn’t necessarily be violent or extreme. 

Whether Reijn’s thematic intent ever comes fully into focus is up for debate. Her screenplay pushes hard against decaying ideas about sexual roles and mores, and those ideas feel more fully dissected within the context of Romy’s home life than her professional life; where Babygirl lands on ethically treacherous boss-intern relationships feels a touch underdeveloped, as if Reijn is purposely sidestepping the predictably lascivious drama of more mainstream thrillers. Of course it’s ironic that the woman with scads of power secretly desires to have none, and the film wades medium-deep into the idea that people are generally happier when they relinquish control, opening their hearts to their true desires. There’s a near-throwaway line here about the difference between ambition and morality that feels like a shrugged-off thesis statement, but it’s nevertheless a provocation for the mind, which ultimately is Reijn’s goal here. Her emphasis isn’t titillation, but that’ll probably happen anyway. Call it a fringe benefit.

Our Call: Smart writing and direction guide excellent performances in this enjoyable, subtly provocative thriller. STREAM IT.

John Serba is a freelance writer and film critic based in Grand Rapids, Michigan. 

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