“Sorry, baby” review

By Nadia Dalimonte

Eva Victor in “Sorry, Baby”

The hardest and most tragic experiences in life are marked by small moments of spontaneous joy. Tiny interactions, whether befriending a cat, eating a good sandwich, or sharing a laugh with your best friend, can carry a lost soul towards a safer path. In “Sorry, Baby,” these vignettes define years of surviving and healing from sexual assault. Cinematic representations of this subject tend to centre the assault itself, whether explicitly showing how the violence happened or exploiting immediate reactions. “Sorry, Baby” resonates in the long-term aftermath, when time slows and the outside world melts away. Writer and director Eva Victor brings their singular vision to confront non-linear trauma with humanity and wit. One would be hard pressed to find a more compelling and confident feature debut this year.

Something bad happened to Agnes (Eva Victor). The “bad thing” unfolds through chapters of her life, told out of chronological order, starting with a glowing friendship in “The Year With The Baby.” Agnes, now an English literature professor, lives in a New England cottage full of unspoken memories and lifelong bonds. She and her close friend Lydie (Naomi Ackie) used to live here together when they were grad students. Lydie, now living in New York and expecting a baby, reunites with Agnes back in New England after years apart. Lydie’s presence instantly transforms the cottage from a place of isolation to one of comfort and familiarity. 

It’s implied that Agnes teaching at the same school she once attended might be uncomfortable. It’s implied why Agnes and Lydie’s joyous connection carries undertones of emotional heaviness, as though Agnes is frozen in time, and Lydie is moving forward. Victor sits in this fogginess with astounding clarity and a deep understanding of how to balance various tones, from series and somber to humorous and intimate. Victor takes a viscerally bittersweet approach to painful subject matter without ever trivializing the weight of Agnes’s trauma. The film emphasizes a journey of healing marked by the sort of comedy that happens effortlessly and derives from Agnes’s personality. 

The film delicately protects Agnes’s comedic bedrock, using humour not only as a coping mechanism but a prism through which she connects with the world. Whether it’s making a fool out of her inconsiderate doctor who questions why she didn’t go directly to the hospital after the assault, or questioning a pair of school administrators who claim to know what she’s going through simply because they’re women, Victor’s witty sense of humour shines bright. Additionally, Victor delivers one of the most exquisite and exceptionally human performances (and screenplays) of the year. Each and every nuance speaks to a fully realized character and story that quietly confronts the hypocrisy of systems that are heralded as supportive, but are in reality just diligently self-serving. 

Victor’s writing works to dismantle rules and regulations that don’t make sense; rules such as “your body is your body,” which calls into question, what happens when your body no longer feels like your body? The film’s academic setting also brilliantly juxtaposes how archaic educational institutions can be romanticized with the idea of being surrounded by inspiring literature, but are actually designed to systematically shut Agnes down at every plea for action. Darkly humorous as the scene between Agnes and the two school administrators is, the uneasiness and hopelessness in that room reverberate.

Each and every frame of “Sorry, Baby” demonstrates Victor’s thoughtful directorial sensibility. They bring a deep understanding of how a single image — notably the exterior shot of a house as time passes from day to night —can vividly communicate how Agnes feels. Four years prior to “The Year With The Baby,” “The Year With The Bad Thing” chronicles Agnes’s grad-school chapter, when she is sexually assaulted by her student advisor Preston Decker (Louis Cancelmi). In choosing not to show the assault itself, instead placing the camera outside of Preston’s house through a passage of time, Victor maintains Agnes’s emotionality. 

It is crucial to believe Agnes without seeing what happens. Her words are enough, and she shares on her own terms - in the safety of her friend Lydie’s presence in one heartbreaking scene. This is the only time the viewer hears about what happened, and it is directly from Agnes. Reminiscent of a similar approach by Sarah Polley in 2022’s “Women Talking,” sexual assault does not need to be explicitly shown on screen to understand how the violence was committed, or that it happened in the first place. In “Sorry, Baby,” the viewer is frozen in time alongside Agnes as she leaves the house and drives home, illustrated in one of the year’s most powerful sequences. 

As much as “Sorry, Baby” explores the devastation of trauma, Victor also takes gentle care of the friendship between Agnes and Lydie. The film excels at depicting how an intimately powerful connection can bring so much safety to someone recovering from trauma in body and spirit. Sharing warm and inviting chemistry, Victor and Ackie chronicle an absolute gem of a friendship. They navigate emotional highs and lows, humour and sorrow, with the same level of care and conviction. From their first scene together, one can immediately sense that the two characters have gone through pivotal moments and share a deeply unwavering bond. In many ways, Agnes and Lydie’s friendship anchors the film and emphasizes the recurring themes Victor engages with, whether it’s unspoken connections or the long-term aftermath of healing. 
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Every little detail, down to the inclusion of the cat, exemplifies Victor’s singular vision at play. In observing Agnes with her new feline friend, the film shows how intimate conversations can take place without a voice; she senses what the cat needs, and the cat senses emotions in her. Agnes’s moments with the cat define the few moments where she exists outside of herself, and begins to feel more attuned to her surroundings. A similar moment of exterior reflection arrives at the end of the film, in a deeply honest confessional that bad things will happen, and that Agnes can’t protect herself nor others from bad things happening. “Sorry, Baby” punctuates Agnes’s journey with an extensive vocabulary that lets healing take on many shapes - whether befriending a cat, eating a good sandwich, or sharing a laugh with your best friend.