CW: Mentions of sexual assault, mental health
Eva Victor’s work prior to Sorry, Baby often materialises as recycled Instagram posts on my feed from the feminist satire page Reductress. With unsettlingly vengeful and dark headings like: “How To Laugh It Off Even Though You’ll Never Forget This and Someday Your Son Will Get Revenge” and “‘I’m Feeling Good These Days,’ Says Woman Who Clearly Does Not Get NYTimes Notifications,” their confrontational and unnerving satire easily taps into a timelessly vindictive part inside many of us. Their filmmaking debut does something similar, but looms in our thoughts for much longer.
The MIFF headliner follows Agnes (played by Victor) on non-chronological episodes of her life shortly before and after being sexually assaulted by her professor, Preston Decker (Louis Cancelmi). With her best friend and support system, Lydie (Naomi Ackie), moving away to New York post-graduation, Agnes is left alone in the subtly suffocating container of her trauma: her New England college town. The film’s nonlinear structure mirrors Agnes’ own recovery, creating a tender reflection of how the process of recovery is often fragmented.
Labelled as a dramedy, Sorry, Baby gives generous attention to both genres without going overboard. The opening scenes are filled with hilarious banter: Agnes and Lydie acting out male sex moves and diving into an overly philosophical dissection on the phrase, “ya like that?” (…what is that?). The soundtrack, reminiscent of the game Untitled Goose Game, is light-hearted and simple—mischievous enough to keep things from being too quaint. For a while, the combination of Agnes’ wit, along with the playful music and serene setting, makes the film feel like a safe space. The apparent mutual respect between Agnes and Decker reinforces this comfort—they speak admirably of each other’s work, and she mentions to Lydie that she would maturely reject his advances if he were to initiate anything physical with her. Agnes’ confidence and Decker’s demeanour aid in creating that illusion of safety, which Victor dismantles shortly afterwards.
The assault itself is never shown; instead, we are placed outside Decker’s house as he invites Agnes in to discuss her thesis. It’s easy to wish and almost try to convince yourself that nothing happens during this visit, but that hope quickly fades as the sky darkens and the street goes still. Back home, Agnes recounts the moment to Lydie second-by-second. Afterwards, she endures a hostile ER visit and a useless response from the college disciplinary board, both of which are portrayed through outrageous, near-theatrical performances. Decker resigns before Agnes files a report, so the university doesn’t take disciplinary action—and that’s it.
Years later, Agnes finds herself working in Decker’s old office, teaching as a full-time professor, leading a class based on the thesis he once supervised. There’s irony everywhere: Decker is mild-mannered, a father, and his ex-wife is a prosecutor. He’s the opposite of “extraordinary,” a word he often uses to describe Agnes and her work. These are just some of the factors that shield him from facing even a fraction of the consequences. Agnes’ decision not to pursue legal action isn’t just believable, but quietly devastating in its realism.
The principal focus of Sorry, Baby leans more towards the mundane snippets of recovery. Albeit the scenes gave me one of the strongest feelings of second-hand embarrassment, Agnes’ friends-with-benefits relationship with her awkward neighbour Gavin (adorably played by Lucas Hedges) disproves the assumption that all survivors of sexual assault repel against physical intimacy. Her clinical lectures on the book Lolita are also unnerving to witness considering the book’s content. Victor’s performance throughout the film expertly delivers layers of disconcerting complexity into an otherwise monotonous everyday life.
In the present, Lydie visits with her partner and their newborn. After Agnes offers to babysit, she softly apologises to the baby for being born into a world where bad things can happen, but is still hopeful that the baby can have a good life. I wanted that scene to go on for longer. The juxtaposition of Agnes apologising for a life that she was violated by was heartbreaking and too universal to just walk away from. I wanted her to say something more definitive, something reassuring, as if I were the baby waiting for comfort, but knowing inside that there probably isn’t anything more that can be said. That was the first time I’ve felt that with a film.
That might be what makes Sorry, Baby so memorable: the physical and intimate response it evokes thanks to its emotionally tuned cast and balanced writing. Watching it felt like someone was gingerly tapping on my belly (consensually), and such intimacy made it hard not to feel protective of this film.
I appreciated how the overhead lights stayed off as we left the Astor Theatre; I don’t think many people wanted to be perceived right after watching that film, like it points out, “It’s a lot of time, but it’s not that much time too.”
Walking home alone after watching Sorry, Baby makes it feel just a little more unsettling than usual—and somehow, a little less lonely. I feel thankful, and sorry, knowing I am not lonely in that sense.