Writer-director Halina Reijn aims to reimagine the 90s high-concept erotic thriller with an apparently daring spin on workplace sub/dom role play. Yet the result feels more like a gentle exercise in soft power dynamics—a sort of cosy erotic thriller that downplays real-world consequences. At the heart of this film lies the provocative word “babygirl,” an endearment that is meant to challenge our assumptions about gender roles, power, and passion, but often falls flat under a storyline that fails to generate genuine tension or lasting stakes.
Key Highlights:
A Sex-Positive Reboot of the 90s Thriller
In many ways, this film seems to pick up the torch from the 90s era of erotic thrillers like Barry Levinson’s Disclosure (1994), where the concept of harassment flipped gender norms. Back then, Michael Douglas was the reluctant victim, while Demi Moore took on the role of the powerful aggressor. Here, the twist is similar yet inverted: the female CEO, Romy, is drawn into an affair with her much-younger intern, Samuel. The intent is clear—to present a sex-positive narrative that upends gender-based power structures. But the final product lacks the underlying sense of peril that once made these storylines so gripping.
Nicole Kidman as Romy: Glamour Meets Frustration
Nicole Kidman portrays Romy, the inspiring CEO of a successful urban tech corporation focused on automated delivery systems. She’s married to Jacob (Antonio Banderas), a theatre director working on an avant-garde production of Hedda Gabler, Ibsen’s classic play about a stifled marriage. Romy and Jacob have two teenage daughters—one openly queer, the other apparently straight—reflecting the film’s progressive approach to sexual identity.
Romy appears to have it all: a thriving career, a stable family life, and plenty of bedroom activity with her husband. Yet her real source of pleasure comes afterward, when she slips away to watch porn on her MacBook. Kidman’s performance excels at depicting Romy’s frustration, a woman who is impeccably put-together yet quietly discontent. Adding to the realism, she freely acknowledges her Botox use, shrugging off teenage barbs about looking like a “dead fish.”
Enter the Intern: Samuel and the Power of “Babygirl”
Romy’s predictable life is upended when she encounters a new intern named Samuel (Harris Dickinson). Their first interaction is as random as it is potent: Samuel seemingly rescues her from a menacing dog on the street, employing a level of skill that hints at possible premeditation. With a penetrating stare and an audacious lack of deference, Samuel projects an unwavering confidence that cuts right through Romy’s professional armor.
Before long, he is propositioning her—his “perv spidey-sense” attuned to her simmering dissatisfaction. The key dynamic revolves around him calling her “babygirl,” a term that inverts the typical age and power hierarchy. Romy, who is his boss and could theoretically destroy his career, is suddenly placed in a submissive role. Their secret game becomes an exercise in taboo-breaking, promising corporate scandal and personal risk if exposed. However, the tension rarely escalates beyond mild hotel rendezvous and the occasional threat of HR involvement.
Domination-Lite: Where’s the Real Risk?
For a film that teases a bold exploration of dominance and submission, it remains surprisingly tame. Most of the so-called “degradation” is confined to grimy motel settings—complete with the ick factor of a stray hair on a bedsheet—that are visually coded to stand in for transgression. At Samuel’s command, Romy kneels, faces the wall, and performs menial acts like drinking milk from a bowl. There’s straight sex, too, but the storyline never veers into anything that feels genuinely boundary-pushing. Despite the film’s marketing, there’s no real BDSM energy, nor is there a safe word looming in the background.
The only consistent taboo is the age gap and the inversion of corporate power. Calling his boss “babygirl” underscores this role reversal, but the film fails to flesh out the real consequences of their fling. Modern HR policies, potential lawsuits, social media gossip—none of these real-world implications ever truly materialize. Instead, the plot leans on the expected 90s trope where the lover surprises the heroine by showing up at a family gathering, fueling tension that quickly dissipates.
Jacob, Family Life, and Unresolved Subplots
Romy’s husband, Jacob, is immersed in a modern theatrical version of Hedda Gabler, replete with edgy digital projections. It’s a clever parallel to Romy’s own sense of entrapment. But while Kidman’s inner turmoil and Samuel’s brazen demeanor drive the film, Jacob remains somewhat oblivious. He never questions why Romy occasionally disappears to indulge her private fantasies on a laptop or how she might be compromised by an intern with a hidden agenda.
Their children add a veneer of real-life complexity—a queer daughter and a straight daughter living under the same roof as this power couple. Yet even they barely interfere with or even notice the drama unfolding beneath their noses. Esme (Sophie Wilde), Romy’s ambitious assistant, momentarily appears poised to be a catalyst for major conflict. Ultimately, however, her role never develops into the kind of game-changing presence the film desperately needs.
The Missing Ingredient: Genuine Suspense
One of the greatest strengths of 90s erotic thrillers was the undercurrent of danger. You felt the protagonist could lose everything—career, marriage, and even personal safety—if the affair went sideways. Here, the stakes don’t quite stick. Yes, the script flirts with the idea that Samuel could report Romy to HR, but it never feels like a real threat. The corporate environment, rife with potential scandal, is largely ignored. Instead, we get scene after scene of soft entanglements in dingy settings, overshadowed by mild tension at best.
Nicole Kidman’s past roles in films like Stanley Kubrick’s Eyes Wide Shut or Jonathan Glazer’s Birth prove she can embody affluent, sophisticated characters wrestling with hidden desires. She does an excellent job here, too, capturing Romy’s quiet desperation. However, the film’s lack of genuine jeopardy makes it difficult for her to deliver a truly electrifying performance. Harris Dickinson, as the aloof and manipulative Samuel, remains a blank slate, providing the film with a one-note seducer who never fully reveals his motives.
Comparisons and Missed Opportunities
Comparisons to Disclosure and even Joe Eszterhas-scripted flicks are inevitable. Films from that era had their own flaws, but they understood the necessity of a final, explosive payoff. Whether it was a courtroom showdown, a violent confrontation, or a major public scandal, there was always a sense of narrative reckoning. In Halina Reijn’s version, we drift toward a muddled ending that leaves almost everything unresolved. Romy and Samuel’s dynamic seems to dissolve without any lasting effect on either party’s personal or professional life.
This restraint might be an attempt at subverting the usual sensationalism. However, if you’re going to present a steamy, transgressive storyline and highlight the provocative use of “babygirl,” some bold follow-through is expected. The tension, while teased, never hits a crescendo. Instead, the film remains on an even keel, offering viewers a subdued ride that might be more comforting than thrilling—like a lukewarm cappuccino when you were promised a double espresso.
But, Where “Babygirl” Falls Short
Despite the promise of exploring the complexities of office power play and the taboo of an older woman dominated by a younger man, this film ends up delivering a diluted version of the erotic thriller formula. While it wants to be sex-positive and boundary-pushing, it fails to generate the genuine excitement and real consequences that might have made it a standout entry in the genre.
Nicole Kidman’s star power and Harris Dickinson’s raw magnetism help sustain some interest, especially in the film’s earlier scenes. Their performances underscore what could have been a deeply unsettling yet mesmerizing exploration of toxic desire and corporate vulnerability. But the script never fully commits to the thrill of precarious power dynamics. Instead, it leans on the novelty of an age-gap affair and a cheeky moniker, “babygirl,” without truly wrestling with the psychological or professional fallout.
Ultimately, if you’re seeking a nostalgic throwback to the tension-filled erotic thrillers of the 90s—complete with moral ambiguity, corporate intrigue, and a sense of looming danger—this might not be the film for you. It offers more of a gentle, “cosy” approach that softens the edges where it could have been razor-sharp. For all its promises of subversive sub/dom energy, it ends up settling for tepid transgression and a meandering conclusion. The “babygirl” dynamic may be central, but it isn’t enough to rescue the film from its absence of genuine suspense and lasting impact.
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