What is it about surrender that is so intoxicating? In the age of artificial intelligence, where control is the currency of power, how much of ourselves do we give away, and how much do we crave to be taken? Babygirl (2024) isn’t just a sultry exploration of desire—it’s a brilliant dissection of power, control, and the paradox of surrender.
At the center of this intoxicating film is Romy (Nicole Kidman), a woman who runs one of the world’s most sophisticated AI companies. She’s built her career on creating intelligence that can predict, respond, and—above all—control human behaviour. And yet, in her personal life, she aches to let go, to be led, to dissolve into the arms of someone who takes charge. The irony is almost poetic: a woman who crafts intelligence to be infallible, while she, herself, longs to be undone.
Enter Samuel (Harris Dickinson), her intern. Young, hungry, and seemingly deferential, he steps into Romy’s orbit like an obedient satellite—until he doesn’t. What begins as an illicit game quickly flips the dynamic: Romy, the titan of AI, the woman who commands rooms and dictates the future, finds herself submitting to the unpredictability of human touch. The power struggle between them isn’t just about age or experience; it’s about who gets to own the moment, who dictates the terms of their desire.
There’s a thrilling, almost dangerous edge to their affair. Samual, once the apprentice, learns how to wield his presence like a weapon. He studies Romy not like an intern studying a mentor, but like an AI studying its user—understanding her patterns, anticipating her needs, learning when to resist and when to relent. He turns her own game against her, and she? She lets him.
But Babygirl isn’t just about sex, nor is it just about romance. It’s about power, the ways we wield it, the ways we surrender it, and the ways we trick ourselves into believing we still hold it. Romy’s company exists to give control, to design intelligence that erases unpredictability. And yet, her own deepest pleasure comes from stepping into the unknown, from trusting someone else to take the reins.
This isn’t your standard age-gap affair. There’s no moralizing, no predictable downfall, no clichéd undoing. Instead, Babygirl asks something deeper: What does it mean to be in control? And more importantly—do we even want to be?
With a cinematographic style that lingers like a whispered confession, and performances that breathe with electric intensity, this film is as much an experience as it is a story. Romy’s world—slick, tech-driven, unshakeable—collides with the raw, uncalculated nature of human emotion. And in that collision, something remarkable happens: She learns that surrender isn’t a weakness. It’s freedom.
So, here’s the real question: Are we just pretending to want control, when what we crave is to be taken? Babygirl doesn’t just pose the question. It dares us to answer.
Behind the Scenes: Halina Reijn & Nicole Kidman’s Fearless Approach
Halina Reijn is no stranger to dissecting power, intimacy, and human vulnerability on screen. With Babygirl, she amplifies her signature psychological depth, crafting a film that thrives on tension, seduction, and control. Her direction is razor-sharp, demanding raw honesty from her actors, pushing them into a space where artifice dissolves. Reijn’s background in theater infuses the film with meticulous attention to performance, allowing every gaze, every hesitation, and every charged silence to speak volumes. Her collaboration with cinematographer Jasper Wolf results in a visually stunning yet claustrophobic world, mirroring the film’s intricate power dynamics.
For Nicole Kidman, Babygirl is another bold entry into a career defined by fearless choices. She embodies Romy with a breathtaking mix of poise and yearning, peeling back layers of confidence to reveal a woman at war with her desires. Kidman and Reijn built Romy together, engaging in extensive conversations about power, age, and agency. Their trust and creative synergy gave Kidman the freedom to explore Romy’s contradictions—her strength and submission, her control and surrender. The result is a performance that is both unsettling and deeply human, making Babygirl one of Kidman’s most fascinating roles in years.
Beyond its performances, the film’s production was a study in precision. Reijn crafted a set that encouraged improvisation within tightly constructed frames. Every scene was choreographed like a dance—intimate, deliberate, filled with unspoken tension. The power dynamics between Romy and Hugo weren’t just scripted; they were felt, explored, and refined in real time. The rehearsals functioned like psychological deep dives, allowing the actors to push the boundaries of their characters without losing authenticity. For filmmakers and actors alike, Babygirl is a masterclass in using subtext, body language, and power shifts to drive a narrative.
If you’re fascinated by how desire, freedom, and liberation shape storytelling, be sure to check out my review of Nosferatu. It delves into how the Victorian era’s repressive atmosphere gave birth to some of cinema’s most compelling explorations of longing and release.
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