Babygirl is a singular entry in the canon of workplace dramas; less an exposé than a fever dream, where the boardroom becomes a boudoir and professionalism melts into power play. Halina Reijn’s direction is sharp, even when the narrative occasionally falters, and Nicole Kidman delivers a performance so finely calibrated, so steeped in longing and command, that she becomes the film’s emotional axis. It is not a perfect movie, but it is a compelling one; an erotic psychodrama with enough thematic bite to linger in the mind.
THE FILM
There is a peculiar, perennial tension embedded in the architecture of the modern workplace; an undercurrent that hums beneath the fluorescent lights and quarterly reports. Spend enough time confined to glass-walled offices and open-concept battlefields, and the boundary between professional camaraderie and intimate entanglement begins to blur. This is not news. But what is interesting is how cinema continues to mine that fraught terrain, especially when it intersects with questions of gender, status, and desire.
Halina Reijn’s Babygirl, a slick and sumptuous new erotic drama, dives headfirst into this fertile ambiguity. At its center is Romy Mathis, a tech CEO played by Nicole Kidman with the kind of commanding poise and low-burning intensity that reminds us why she remains one of the most daring actors working today. Romy is, by all accounts, a woman who has it all: a devoted husband (Antonio Banderas, warm and wounded), two bright daughters, real estate that gleams like a design catalog, and a formidable intellect sharpened by years of strategic ascent.
But as it often goes in stories of power and repression, what she has is not what she wants.
Her husband, though attentive, lacks the carnal instinct to satisfy her increasingly specific tastes; a dissatisfaction she articulates with clinical clarity, only to be met with hesitance and mild horror. Enter Samuel (Harris Dickinson), a young intern with a swimmer’s build and a sensitive eye, who registers Romy’s yearning with a mixture of curiosity and opportunism. Their flirtation escalates into an affair that is less about romance and more about release; a charged exploration of dominance, submission, and the unspoken rules that govern both sex and Silicon Valley.
Reijn, a Dutch actress turned director, brings a keen observational eye to this terrain. Her previous film, Bodies Bodies Bodies, skewered Gen Z narcissism with biting wit. Here, she trades satire for eroticism, but retains her fascination with performativity and power. If Babygirl echoes the contours of Secretary (2002), that’s no accident. Both films use the boss-employee dynamic as a lens through which to explore sexual agency, though Babygirl inverts the gender roles and tilts the playing field toward fantasy.
Still, this isn’t merely a film about kink; it’s about consequence. And in that regard, Reijn is less interested in tidy moralism than in the chaotic fallout of desire. Kidman plays Romy with a riveting duality: a woman who understands risk management but finds herself seduced by the very danger she’s built a career avoiding. It’s a performance that calls back to her turn in Eyes Wide Shut; all guarded longing and fractured elegance; as well as the chilly detachment of The Killing of a Sacred Deer. One senses that this material is more than just a role for her; it’s a thematic through-line, a continued excavation of what lurks beneath the skin of controlled femininity.
If the film falters, it does so in its conclusion, where Romy attempts to domesticate her urges through a curious arrangement with her husband; one that monetizes her desires in a way that feels too calculated, even for a woman of her shrewdness. The implication seems to be that liberation can be brokered through capital, but the execution feels strangely facile, as though the script ran out of nerve at the very moment it needed to go for the jugular.
There are other missteps, too. A subplot involving Romy’s assistant, Esme (Sophie Wilde), who leverages her boss’s secret for personal gain, gestures toward a commentary on feminine rivalry in corporate spaces; but lands more as a narrative detour than a revelation. If Reijn intended this as a critique of toxic ambition, it’s too undercooked to resonate. What does resonate, however, is Dickinson’s performance as the eager yet volatile intern. He oscillates between tender subordination and petulant control with unnerving ease. But it is Banderas, as the betrayed husband, who anchors the film’s emotional reality. His Jacob is neither a caricature nor a victim, but a man painfully aware of the chasm between intimacy and understanding.
Babygirl is not without its flaws, but it succeeds in provoking the kind of uncomfortable questions that linger long after the credits roll. What does it mean to transgress when you already hold the power? And is sexual freedom just another commodity in the executive suite? In the end, Reijn offers no neat answers; only the suggestion that desire, like leadership, is a performance. And sometimes the cost of admission is simply too high.
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THE VIDEO
In its home media release, Babygirl arrives via A24 with a 2160p Ultra High Definition 4K transfer; an aesthetic statement as much as a technical one. Enhanced with Dolby Vision and presented in a 2.00:1 aspect ratio, the film benefits from the kind of visual precision that transforms a simple viewing into something closer to a seduction. Though shot digitally, director Halina Reijn and her post-production team have crafted the illusion of celluloid with meticulous care. The result is an image textured with artificial grain, mimicking the tactile intimacy of 35mm film. That grain, however, is inconsistent; fluctuating from scene to scene, sometimes drawing the eye with intention, other times distracting in its irregularity. Yet even in its unevenness, it adds a patina of nostalgia, a certain visual musk that aligns with the film’s themes of buried desires and carefully constructed façades.
The color palette is undeniably expressive; lush greens, sultry purples, searing oranges, and ripe reds dominate the screen, particularly in the film’s more carnal spaces: restaurants drenched in mood lighting, hotel rooms that practically radiate perfume. These hues feel almost operatic, as if the emotional temperature of each scene were being conducted through a visual score. In contrast, Romy’s domestic environments; her minimalist home, her glass-and-metal office—are rendered with muted precision. Pale wood, steely blues, and tasteful neutrals offer a visual chill that serves as a counterpoint to the heat of her transgressions. It’s a clever bit of cinematic semiotics: the absence of color becomes a narrative in itself. Detail is sharp, especially in close-ups, where textures; skin, silk, polished stone, are given room to breathe. Wide shots benefit equally, offering a clarity that never feels sterile. Black levels are rich and deep, allowing darker sequences to unfold with sultry definition. Dolby Vision, often the unsung hero of modern home cinema, plays a crucial role here, allowing both the shadows and saturated tones to co-exist without compromise. It’s especially effective in the film’s more intimate moments, where soft lighting and rich hues demand a level of tonal complexity that lesser transfers often miss.
The overall presentation, while not flawless, is a strong one. It may not be a benchmark release for reference-quality home theater setups, but it’s a thoughtful, visually rich transfer that respects the film’s aesthetic intentions. Like Babygirl itself, the 4K edition walks the line between control and excess; buttoned-up at first glance, but with something far more provocative simmering beneath the surface.
THE AUDIO
In a landscape where Dolby Atmos is often deployed for pyrotechnics; roaring engines, helicopter rotors, the blunt-force grandeur of cinematic mayhem, Babygirl arrives as something of a subversive pleasure. There are no explosions here, no scenes of architectural collapse or midair gunfire. Instead, the Atmos mix is restrained, intimate, and, in its way, quietly radical. It wields spatial audio not for spectacle but for seduction. The mix leans into the physicality of the human body; the small, ambient theater of skin brushing skin, breath catching in throats, and the subtle thwack of contact in moments of sexual tension. These sounds are distributed with precision across the surround and height channels, creating an immersive environment where one feels not so much like an observer as an accomplice. A hotel room hums with distant movement, a sterile office rings with the soft percussion of keyboards and clicking heels. These are the sonic textures of desire and repression, rendered with meticulous care.
The score, a simmering blend of modern strings and digital pulses, underscores the emotional architecture of the film without overwhelming it. Rather than directing feeling, it amplifies what’s already present; lingering like perfume in the air, just noticeable enough to shift the atmosphere. Dialogue is clear and clean, delicately woven into the spatial mix without being swallowed by it. The track also features well-timed English subtitles, which manage to preserve the tonal nuance of the script; an often overlooked but essential component of accessibility in films where subtext carries the heaviest load. It’s rare to call a Dolby Atmos track elegant, but that’s what this is. Babygirl doesn’t rattle the room, it stirs it. It invites the listener to lean in, to tune the ear to frequencies of longing, dissatisfaction, and pleasure. In an age of bombast, it’s a soundscape of quiet confidence, and in that, a kind of revelation.
THE EXTRAS
- Audio commentary – Director Halina Reijn
- Directing Desire with Halina Reijn (11 Mins.)
- Power Looks: Dressing the Cast (9 Mins.)
- Deleted Scenes (9 Mins.)
- 6 Art Cards
THE ULTIMATE WORD
A24’s 4K release of Babygirl supports the film with style: the transfer is rich in color and texture, bringing out both the sterile minimalism of Romy’s domestic life and the lush sensuality of her affair. The Dolby Atmos audio mix, unexpectedly elegant, favors breath and atmosphere over bombast, turning silence and subtlety into storytelling tools. While the bonus features are modest; no in-depth cast interviews, no auteurist commentary; the package is ultimately a handsome one. It won’t convert the uninitiated, but for those already seduced by the film’s twisted glamour, it is a worthy addition to the shelf.
WRITTEN BY: BRYAN KLUGER
BRYAN KLUGER, A SEASONED VOICE IN THE REALM OF ENTERTAINMENT CRITICISM, HAS CONTRIBUTED TO A WIDE ARRAY OF PUBLICATIONS INCLUDING ARTS+CULTURE MAGAZINE, HIGH DEF DIGEST, BOOMSTICK COMICS, AND HOUSING WIRE MAGAZINE, AMONG OTHERS.
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