Grief is a cloud, ever-present, that casts darkness at any moment. Clouds can dissipate and let light shine through, or they can completely disappear. The problem is, clouds can appear at any moment and remain indefinitely. Sorry, Baby wrestles with grief and writer-director Eva Victor observes a tragic event through a gentle lens. With their feature directorial debut, Victor effectively blurs the lines between comedy and dramatic tension with quick wit and sharp production design to illustrate how trauma can create prisons.
Mild spoilers beyond this point.
Sorry, Baby begins with an isolated house nestled in the woods reminiscent of creepy houses set in most horror films. Though this film does not fall under the ambiguous horror umbrella, the house is ominous, not the safe haven a home should be. Lydie (Naomi Ackie, Mickey 17) visits her best friend from college, Agnes (played by Victor). They lay around in fallen leaves and ponder Lydie’s future as a soon-to-be mother. The scene is quite funny and endearing; the audience grows to like the two without haste. Later that evening, the duo attends a small dinner with a few of their former classmates. One of the attendees, Natasha (Kelly McCormack), is blatantly jealous of Agnes’ success as a skilled writer and young professor on the rise.
Humorous banter between Agnes and Lydie, coupled with the deadpan seriousness of Natasha, is a testament to Sorry, Baby’s wonderful screenwriting and acting. Though our story begins as a comedy, there is an underlying tension within Agnes that keeps her from fully enjoying her friend or being comfortable in her own skin. When the night ends, there is a quiet creep ruminating through the house. The house, almost fully lit by moonlight, establishes an atmosphere of something being off.
In talking about the making of Sorry, Baby at a screening in early June in Austin, Texas, Victor commented on how films have become too keen at showing the violence of sexual assault but not its aftermath. Agnes is assaulted but the audience does not witness it. The restraint in not showing the assault in Sorry, Baby is a powerful choice. While most novice (and veteran) filmmakers would lean on using the shock from a disturbing scene, Victor does not and forces the audience to sit with the devastation in a meditative way.
After the assault occurs, Agnes is panicked, hurt and confused. Rushing home in the night, she is bathed in shadows and broken streaks of orange street lights and fluorescent headlights whipping across her face. When Agnes arrives home, she tell Lydie the events that led to and what happened during the assault. The cold bitterness of reliving the event is juxtaposed against the beautiful care that Lydie gives. Though the assault is the watershed moment of Agnes’ life, the core of Sorry, Baby is the nurturing power of friendship. When there is no perfect thing to say, the truest thing to do is to allow people space and to comfort them with softness. As a performer and storyteller, Victor does not show Agnes as only a victim, but as a human.
In the year that Friendship, a movie about how men have difficulty in cultivating healthy and rewarding relationships, has garnered praise, Sorry, Baby stands as its polar opposite. Though deeply funny, it shows the depth of love and intimacy that the best friendships can produce. Romance and intimate partner love has its place, but Agnes and Lydie are the ‘ship goals that we all should strive for. The trust between the two is adamantine.
Of the performers, Eva Victor has the toughest job in Sorry, Baby; they must balance the natural whimsy and charisma of Agnes with the internalized pain of the assault. Victor is vibrant, spunky, has an expressive face and radiant smile — all a treat to experience. In the character’s toughest moments, Victor effectively pulls from a heavy and vulnerable place. Naomi Ackie gives a stellar and beautifully understated performance just by simply listening. Like Victor, Ackie has to waffle between charm and sincerity, and does an amazing job in flexing her dramatic range.
As Agnes’ story progresses, the assault has serious ramifications. Agnes has panic attacks and is isolated from the world. In their home, the final graded paper from her assailant lines their bedroom windows, creating a physical representation of the mental barrier between Agnes and the world. The house serves as an additional character, its quiet and emptiness loom large in the psyche. Like anyone subject to a tragic moment, Agnes must choose if she can move beyond. They have a casual neighbors-with-benefits situation with Gavin (played ever so sweetly by Lucas Hedges) but have the possibilities of something more serious.
The film’s title comes from its final scene. Alone looking after Lydie’s new baby boy, Agnes verbally reckons with the last few years of her life. Agnes expresses worry in bringing a baby, who is pure and vulnerable, into a world that is fallible and dangerous. When the world is filtered through a child’s eye, it is easy to understand just how difficult life can be. While acknowledging there is no way to protect someone so vulnerable, Agnes allows for grace and understanding about what happened all those years ago.
Eva Victor’s directorial debut shows a filmmaker with great touch and sensibilities. They have a young voice that is expressive but never preachy, pulling from honest feelings rather than going for shock for the sake of it. Sorry, Baby is fresh, insightful, and remarkably crafted.
Rating: 4.5 out of 5 stars
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