After Sorry, Baby (2025) premiered at Sundance on January 27, my timelines immediately erupted with endless praise for the debut feature. Much to my delight, it was one of the films available for the virtual portion of the festival so I added it to my lineup and tried to temper my lofty expectations.
Sorry, Baby sees a professor named Agnes trying to reckon with and move forward from an assault that occurred during her time in grad school. While the aftermath of this incident has seeped into every corner of her life, the world around her continues to move.
Writer, director, and star Eva Victor is a quiet storm both in front of and behind the camera. They craft a measured heartache of a film that manages to also be disarmingly funny and beautiful despite its heavy material. The non-linear structure of their screenplay allows the pain to permeate the film in a quietly impactful way. It’s never heavy-handed, but it is everywhere.
Even the most regular things are altered for Agnes—the creaks in her house are frightening, a knock at the door elicits alarm, and her uncovered window feels extra exposing. Yet, while her insular world screeches to a halt, the rest of the world simply cannot. There are still milestones to be had, people to see, moves to make, and joy to be found. In the context of these bigger moments, we watch how she’s been “stuck” by this traumatic event.
Victor breaks up the measured and controlled screenplay with sharp dialogue that will make you laugh and then wonder if you even should be laughing. The humor is never dismissive of the weight of the story; rather, it showcases how life is never one thing and levity interrupts the struggle, especially when we least expect it. Victor allows comedy and pain to walk hand in hand and compliment each other. It can be jarring, even uncomfortable, yet it’s authentic and beautiful.
The camera often lingers at a distance, waiting to be invited in to witness these moments more closely. Victor is very intentional about when she chooses to extend that invitation—the assault itself is never shown, but Agnes’ retelling of the events is shot up close and personal. Before she recalls the details of her assault, the camera idles in the hallway. When we finally enter, the camera stays solely on Agnes’ face. In doing so, Victor prioritizes Agnes rather than sensationalizing the event itself. They hold Agnes in tender hands and carefully tell the story on Agnes’ terms.
As if they weren’t firing on all cylinders behind the camera, Victor also gives a performance for the ages that is laden with raw honesty and vulnerability. They never reduce Agnes to a shell of her trauma. There’s a lot of light behind her eyes fighting to break through the exterior in the wake of her assault. There are many moments where Victor has us believing that Agnes has fully moved forward. But in the moments we are alone with Agnes, she sheds any and all armor and allow us to fully witness her.
Agnes’ constant support comes from her best friend Lydie (Naomi Ackie). Ackie has the kindest eyes in the biz; she wraps Agnes and the audience in her gaze and gives all parties the energy to continue on this difficult path. Ackie infuses the film with a beautiful warmth that, while quiet, radiates powerfully.
Ackie and Victor play off each other wonderfully. Their dynamic feels years old as they spit invasive witticisms at each other, bask in each other’s milestones, and coexist in heavy silence. There’s a trust palpitating between these two performers; each allows the other to fully commit to where they need to go as an actor while firmly supporting the trek.
Lucas Hedges continues his return to the screen with the equally warm Gavin. Despite the fact that he doesn’t have much to do, Hedges crafts Gavin as a stark contrast to Agnes’ assailant; a man who seeks nothing and expects nothing from Agnes and merely enjoys her companionship.
It feels like a rarity for a film to match major festival hype, let alone exceed them. But Sorry, Baby knocked the wind right out of me. It’s equally harrowing and soothing and presents one of the most realistic depictions of navigating trauma I’ve seen in recent memory.
As Agnes says, “I’m sorry that bad things are going to happen to you. I hope they don’t.” It’s almost naive to shield anyone from evil because it’s inevitable. However, even though we can’t stop bad from happening, it also doesn’t stop the good.
We cannot stop the world from turning as much as we’d like to. All we can do is try to turn along with it. Sometimes trying is just waking up the next day. Sorry, Baby sits in the discomfort of healing and spotlights the quiet resilience we need to push forward.
Review Courtesy of Adam Patla
Image Courtesy of Mia Cioffi Henry via Deadline