REVIEW. SORRY, BABY: A Funny (sort of), Unapologetic (in an offbeat way) Look at Pain and Healing.

Something bad happened to Agnes (Eva Victor), recently hired as a full-time English professor (the youngest in the department's history) at her grad school alma mater. But, while Agnes tries to celebrate this extraordinary life event, she remains haunted by the unspeakable "Bad Thing" that occurred three and a half years earlier, and observes that life seems to go on for everyone around her as if nothing happened.

Enter Lydie (a luminous Naomi Ackie), Agnes' grad school friend, who returns with the joyous news that she's pregnant, and whose arrival briefly distracts Agnes' from her funk by lifting her spirits. But Lydie's presence also adds a layer of complexity to Agnes' situation as her mind jumps back and forth in time, revisiting the events that led up to the as yet unidentified "Bad Thing." If this sounds like a downer movie that takes a dark walk down an unpleasant path, fear not. It is all that, but executed with a surprisingly light touch that belies its writer's razor-sharp, sardonic wit.

In their first feature film, writer-director-star Eva Victor (Agnes) raises the always uncomfortable questions: How do we handle bad things, the secret unspeakable violations that few know about, the things we can't talk about in polite company or maybe even with our closest friends? How do we heal from the traumas that shake us to our core, that trigger endless questions about every decision we've ever made prior to that catastrophe, and then linger on within the edges of our memory long after this initial shock wears off?

Sorry, Baby thus explores the impact of personal trauma on Agnes. Divided into five segments, bookended by "The Year With The Baby," the movie revisits time as Agnes remembers a year with "questions," one with "a very good sandwich," and - of course, the one in which the "bad thing" happened. Without spoiling anything, the trauma in question is sexual assault (you can probably figure that out from the movie's trailer). I won't go into the questions, ambiguities and circumstances surrounding the event as these things form the core of Agnes' emotional wound and are, alternately compelling and tedious.

As Agnes and Lydie reminisce about their collegiate friendship, we get glimpses into what made their relationship strong: their mutual trust bonded through shared seminar experiences, thesis deadlines, jokes about fellow grad students, and a sense of knowing each other's quirks and idiosyncracies. But, despite their genuine affection for each other, Lydie has moved to New York and has established a new relationship and marriage to Fran, with whom she is awaiting the birth of a baby via sperm donor. Agnes, seemingly boxed in by the past and frozen in her present state, still lives in the same tiny house they shared as graduate students.

Though I immediately connected with certain graduate school relationships and experiences, including admiration for my dissertation advisor's publications, pride at being recognized for my own research, and the undeniable pettiness of some graduate colleagues, I found much of Victor's academic characterization to be thinly developed and reduced to superficial stereotypes. The crew here includes a dashing, if lecherous, college professor, unreasonably strict, rules-driven college administrators who do nothing but sidestep problems and avoid resolving issues, and the quiet, nerdy English doctoral candidates, each one exhibiting their own version of a typically annoying, officious pedant.

In particular, Agnes' intellectual rival, a thoroughly revolting young woman named Natasha (Kelly McCormack), is the worst of the lot: a pushy and entitled narcissist whose off-putting physical appearance is matched only by her obnoxious behavior. She wanted Agnes' full-time teaching job and wastes little time telling Agnes what she did in order to ensure what she believed was her rightful legacy at the college. That conversation was, for me, way worse than Agnes' "bad thing," and only offset by an earlier scene in which Lydie hits perfectionist Natasha right where it hurts.

At a dinner gathering/reunion with their doctoral cohort, a smug Natasha tries to impress with her new house and exquisite taste, then informs everyone at the table that she wanted Agnes' job in the department. When an insulted Agnes quietly excuses herself, Lydie begins to compliment the meal, asking Natasha what type of fish they're eating, how it was prepared, etc. After luring Natasha into some self-congratulatory comments, Lydie leans in and says, very matter-of-factly, "There's a bone in my fish." When Natasha recoils, Lydie continues, "It's all very good, but - you know - you want might be more careful removing the bones when serving it to others."

Bam! Lydie defends Agnes without ever mentioning the job or who deserved it more, skewering Natasha's arrogant perfectionism without raising her voice or causing disruption. It's vicious, but so intellectually cool and satisfying watching Natasha get her comeuppance.

Another scene that did ring true, as it relates to academia, involves the only time we see Agnes in the classroom teaching. When one of her students complains that he finds Vladimir Nabokov's novel Lolita, offensive, Agnes presses him to consider whether it is the prose or the context he finds objectionable. This small, but important distinction between style and subject matter gets closer to Agnes' intellectual and emotional nucleus: she understands everything, but believes nothing.

In this way, we gain a ray of light into Agnes' internal struggle: she can't reconcile her unanswered questions about the "bad thing" with the events that happened before and since. She is determined to understand things that may never be comprehensible. Writer-director Victor frames Agnes' ordeal in a series of claustrophobic scenes, each one confined by physical, emotional, or metaphorical walls. From the dark, small rooms in her house (including a very tiny bathroom) to the bookcases that envelope her office, Agnes is trapped by snippets of memories, conversations, and feelings that don't quite add up to or explain what happened to her.

In one particularly revealing exchange, Agnes is among several local citizens selected as potential jurors. When the district attorney asks one man if he can be impartial, given that he admitted to once being the victim of a robbery, Agnes asks if anyone who has experienced trauma can be impartial in this case. The DA probes Agnes a bit more, trying to ascertain what sort of crime Agnes is describing, did she report it to the police, etc. But Agnes can't say the words. She cannot identify her trauma, in part, because she is still processing her role in that "bad thing." So many questions unsettled and no apparent closure in sight.

In this way, Victor raises the eternal existential question of why we are here, and how our experiences shape and form who we are. Agnes, about whom we know very little except that her friends and colleagues describe her as "tall and smart," and, in one case, "extraordinary," doesn't have much of a backstory. We don't know where she is from, what her childhood was like, why or how she ended up at a small college in rural New England studying literature. We only learn about Agnes through her "bad thing" and everything connected to it.

Overall, the portrait Victor sketches here is intensely personal and sometimes engaging. I found myself, at first, oddly detached from Agnes and then pulled in to her story in ways that felt natural and familiar. Sorry, Baby is clearly a woman's tale told from a female perspective, so I caution those who embrace the "It's a Man's World" philosophy about seeing it. Unless you are open to a new perspective and are comfortable with a fair amount of ambiguity and vagueness, Agnes' process of managing the lingering, unresolved feelings associated with her trauma might generate comments like, "Get over it already," from some males and anti-feminists.

But for those who stay with Victor's very real, sometimes rambling and random narrative, the pay-off may be worth the time investment. Newcomer Eva Victor emerges as a strong and promising talent, with this movie (produced by Moonlight's Barry Jenkins) already receiving numerous accolades from movie critics and film festivals alike, including a formidable premiere at this year's Sundance Film Festival. It will be interesting to see if Sorry, Baby's inclusion on many "Best of 2025" movies so far, will have staying power come awards season later this fall. It's a smart script, nuanced with dry wit and intelligent, offbeat humor, which plays as an effective counterpoint to Agnes' "bad thing."

As Lydie's story comes full circle with the birth of her baby, Agnes continues to replay moments, scenes, conversations with others, somehow trying to dissect how she ever became a victim in this "bad thing." When Lydie and Fran her and then promptly go off to explore the local lighthouse, Agnes is left alone with Lydie's baby Jane and embarks on a beautiful, touching monologue, promising the infant that she'll always listen to her, no matter what she is feeling, and that she'll never judge her no matter what happens. Ultimately, Agnes's meandering thoughts lead her to conclude that, as much as she might want to, she won't be able to shield Jane from the bad things that happen in life because, in the end, bad things happen to everyone and sometimes there isn't a rhyme or reason as to why.

The best we can hope for is having someone willing to listen.

Sorry, baby.

*******

Sorry, Baby is now in wide theatrical release, though it is unlikely to have an extended run or yield a large box office return. It will eventually stream on MAX later this year and should play well at home on television.