Produced by Barry Jenkins's Pastel, this understated Sundance drama offers a nuanced look at the impact of a traumatic incident on a twenty-something graduate student.
In "Sorry, Baby," the defining moment of Agnes's adult life occurs off-camera but is echoed in nearly every other scene of the film. One of the standouts in Sundance's U.S. Dramatic Competition, Eva Victor's disarmingly funny, slow-burning debut is less a film about sexual assault than a serious look at the process of rebuilding after such an experience. Compassion merges with satire, and acceptance raises questions (not the other way around), as Victor herself embodies a bright young woman who probably considered herself a dozen things—witty, independent, a future teacher who would undoubtedly inspire—but who now must add "survivor" to that list.
Director: Eva Victor
Writer: Eva Victor
Stars: Eva Victor, Naomi Ackie, Louis Cancelmi
Agnes, a tall, slender twenty-something, is a brilliant literary mind who must rewrite everything, including her understanding of the word "brilliant," after the professor (Louis Cancelmi), who had paid her so many compliments, makes a pass at her. "Do you think that's why he tells me I'm smart?" Agnes asks her lesbian roommate, Lydie (Naomi Ackie), who mischievously tells her to play it cool. Agnes wouldn't be the first to sleep with her thesis advisor, but she's looking for a different kind of validation, and when he crosses the line, he shatters her confidence in practically everything, to the point where by the end of the film she has to apologize to the newborns for life's inevitable disappointments.
Early on, before Victor has even established the #MeToo dimension of the film, it feels as though he might be mocking her generation, especially the hyper-expressive grad student circle to which Agnes belongs. In one scene, after driving from New York to visit her friend (who hasn't left her college town in Massachusetts), Lydie picks up a copy of Vladimir Nabokov's "Lolita" from Agnes's desk and whispers an instinctive "ugh!" So that's what they are (or at least they seem to be): overeducated, progressive young people whose ideals are based on challenging the status quo.
But whatever the first impression, Victor's character develops in layers (later, we'll see Agnes as an adjunct professor, defending "Lolita" in her seminar, which opens up room for other points of view). Her observant and unconventional script isn't so much nonlinear as elliptical, starting in the present and then flashing back to "The Year with the Bad Thing" to show Agnes before the incident, when her smiles were more natural and her happiness wasn't primarily an act meant to put others at ease. From there, Victor's narrative moves forward, albeit in unusually well-organized chapters.
That first section reveals Agnes's emotional trajectory: a dark place, marked by depression and suicidal thoughts. But it's only part of the picture, and it's a bit jarring to compare her with the three-years-younger version we see next. She seems much lighter and more idealistic. I wish someone could warn her of what's coming. I wish the various institutions were prepared to deal with what's happening, from the doctor who cruelly criticizes her for cleaning up after the assault (as if his advice would be useful the next time) to the university staff who insist, "We know what you're going through; we're women," but do nothing to help her.
Despite everything, Lydie demonstrates the unconditional solidarity her roommate needs. When Agnes shows up one day with a kitten, Lydie takes it in stride: "Whatever you need." This comfort animal will accompany her during the long months after Lydie and others have moved on with their lives, leaving Agnes alone. Victor also includes scenes of a kind, discreet neighbor (a role that fits perfectly with Lukas Hedges's uniquely sensitive energy), suggesting that not all men are problematic, while also showing how difficult it is for Agnes to reestablish intimacy.
In developing "Sorry, Baby," Victor doesn't follow the classic American screenwriting strategy of filling a bulletin board with index cards containing all the key plot points ("This is the scene where this and that happens," etc.), detailing every major turning point on screen. Victor's approach is more indirect: key incidents occur between scenes, and instead presents seemingly mundane, everyday moments in which we have to play detective, trying to piece together what happened. This may be confusing or counter-dramatic for those accustomed to having everything handed to them on a plate.
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