Sorry, Baby: A Meditation on Trauma and Recovery
As I perused the selection of theatrical releases for the past few weeks, I was appalled by how boring they were. With the notable exception of One Battle After Another, which was reviewed by Robin-Clementine Herold last week, there was nothing notable enough to dedicate an article to. This is typical of the September and early October season. Until the Halloween movies later this month, Thanksgiving blockbusters, and winter holiday award season bait, the theater is a desolate landscape of movies that simply do not exist, let alone have the substance for a compelling review… (Gabby’s Dollhouse: The Movie, anyone?) With that being said, I’ve decided to bring your attention to an August release that I think would be a better use of your time than anything currently out right now: Sorry, Baby.
Sorry, Baby opens the way you might expect from a classic Sundance indie darling. Agnes (played by director Eva Victor), reunites with her best friend from grad school Lydie (played by Naomi Ackle). They spend a few days together, going on walks through the cozy landscape of autumnal New England, having conversations that range from silly to philosophical. Their visit ends with Lydie revealing that she’s pregnant. What follows should be an enjoyable, comedic indie film about friendship and growing older, right? However, there is a darkness looming over the first act of the film, the source of which the viewer is not privy to. It is present in the conversations between Lydie and Agnes, as an unspoken tension builds between the two friends. It is present in Agnes’s reactions whenever their time in grad school is mentioned, such as when she abruptly leaves the table during a dinner party with their former peers. It is present in every joke Agnes cracks, her playful exterior showing visible hairline fractures that grow bigger and bigger as Lydie’s visit continues. The breaking point comes when Lydie prepares to leave, bluntly telling Agnes not to kill herself before Lydie’s next visit, to which Anges responds that if she wanted to kill herself, she would have done it by now. It puts all of Agnes’s strange behaviors throughout the first part of the film into disturbing clarity.
At this point, the film goes back in time several years to reveal its true focus. During her time in grad school, Agnes was sexually assaulted by her thesis advisor. Ever since, she carries the trauma with her. The film’s non-linear narrative is an extremely smart choice for this sort of story; it makes sure the viewer is able to get to know Agnes outside of her status as a victim. She isn’t simply a prop to discuss dark themes or make a statement; Agnes is a multifaceted, complex human being who happens to have experienced something horrible. The film is not about the event itself, which happens off screen as the viewer bears witness to a haunting stationary shot of darkness falling over a house, with Agnes inside. Instead, it focuses on the aftermath and the rippling effects it has on her life going forward.
Eva Victor’s performance throughout the film is heartbreaking in its realism. Agnes cloaks herself in a blanket of humor and pretends like she’s fine, but she’s fed up with the people around her. She must keep going as if everything is normal, even though it is anything but, or explain what happened and lose her personhood, as she would no longer be seen as Agnes and instead become “Someone who had a Bad Thing happen to her.” This is one of the many unfair things about traumatic experiences. While trauma is earth-shattering to the person who experienced it, the rest of the world moves on in the exact same way as if there wasn’t a seismic shift that cleaved everything in half, before the Bad Thing and after the Bad Thing. This is represented through the title cards that denote the passage of time throughout the film. There are no dates, no specificity of how much time has gone by, simply descriptions of singular events: “The Year with the Bad Thing” and “The Year with the Baby.” Everything is muddled in the aftermath.
Another thing I liked about the film was its depiction of the healing process. Healing from trauma is a messy process, there is never a moment when you’re fully done. Even once you’re in a better place, it is still a part of you. A line that struck me was Agnes’ remark that sometimes she can go days without thinking about what happened to her, but then she feels bad for not constantly thinking about it, like starting to move on means that it wasn’t actually that bad, or like all of her pain was for nothing.The film lacks closure, but that’s the point. We aren’t seeing a clear linear narrative with a climatic end point, but rather one small snapshot into a person’s life. Still, the film leaves you with a sense of hope. Even after your worst fears come true, even when a Bad Thing happens to you, it doesn’t have to define you. I would highly recommend watching this film if you feel you can handle the subject matter, it’s very beautiful and impactful.