\”One day, you go from being an all-powerful CEO, star wife, and mother, to eating out of your young intern’s hand the next day, quite literally. How is this contradiction possible, if it is a contradiction at all? The answer for both Nicole Kidman’s character in Halina Reijn’s film Babygirl and for many others who identify as BDSM submissives lies in the elusive concept of subspace: a metaphorical space and altered state one submits to during a kink scene, thanks to arousal and exchange of consent. The notion is very new to Romy Mathis (Kidman, whose performance won her the Volpi Cup for Best Actress at this year’s Venice Film Festival). She’s the sharply dressed big boss with her hair always pinned up, until she meets Samuel (Harris Dickinson): a much younger, cocky, and borderline rude intern wearing a suit twice his size, filling it with ego. Romy finds herself trembling when Samuel controls a stray dog about to jump on her in the street with a mere whistle and a nod. From this seemingly passing interaction, the flows of her desire steer the narrative into the unknown waters of ambivalent wants and surrender, as Romy and Samuel begin an affair based on the exploration of dominance and submission.
According to Lina Dune, kink educator and host of the Ask a Sub podcast, a Dominant/submissive (D/s) relationship affords \”a ritual space,\” where equal, consenting adults negotiate, establish boundaries and safe words, and create \”a container where things can transform and alchemize.\” The set-up is called a \”scene\” and within the kink scene, the submissive can experience subspace. In theatre, cinema, or kink, we associate the word \”scene\” with a curated experience and performance.
Speaking to Mashable, director Halina Reijn champions this dual meaning, adding that for her, Babygirl is about performing. \”Of course, in a BDSM setting, there’s a lot of performing,\” she says, \”but sex in general can also be very performative.\” As a result, this theme informed the script and conversations with Kidman, becoming an instrument to explore the character’s authentic self. \”Romy thinks she has to perform the perfect mother, lover, wife, leader,\” says Reijn, \”and we are all a little bit like that — what we forget to do is be ourselves and accept whoever we are.\”
But what makes Babygirl stand out is that it shows dominance and submission as a process of negotiation, trial and error, rather than a textbook example or a polished act. Babygirl’s kink scenes feel real and inviting because they lay bare the mechanisms in the inner workings of control exchange. In each scene, Samuel umms and ahhs, trails off, laughs in the middle of his commands, while Romy is shown to resist, back out, and change her mind. For the actors, this means an extra layer of performance that incorporates flippancy and respect for consent; for the viewer it means relatability.
Subspace is a term used within the D/s and BDSM communities, according to Dune, to talk about \”the altered state that comes about through the experience of submission.\” She insists that it is a wide category that encompasses individual experiences that may differ from one another, like that of intoxication or alcohol intake, for example. Scientifically, the state is a reaction to adrenaline, oxytocin, and endorphins rushing into the brain, but what does subspace feel like? Dune explains that for some people it may be \”a floaty, dreamy, quiet disconnected feeling,\” while others might giggle or cry. \”I like to refer to it as ‘getting high on your own supply,’\” she says, \”because you’re not on anything, but the experience of crossing over a taboo.\”
In cinema, pop culture, or daily life, the derogatory stereotype for men in power who want to be dominated and/or humiliated is often presented as a point of humor. Admitting a submissive desire costs a lot: \”I’ll receive at least one phone call per week from someone who says they want to be a sub, but stress on the fact that they are not submissive in their day-to-day life,\” says Dune.
What’s novel about Babygirl is that not only does it show the characters’ vulnerability, but also how much they are willing to reveal to one another. In cinematographic terms, this exchange of consent is translated by panning movements linking Romy and Samuel’s faces as they look at each other. \”Put simply,\” says Wolf, \”the camera is often a representation of her inner world: it becomes more free and fearless alongside Romy.\” On set, the cast and production team worked with intimacy coordinator Lizzy Talbot (No Hard Feelings, Dead Ringers) to ensure there were no surprises.
Later in the film, there is a second hotel room scene, where Samuel \”directs\” Romy from across the lavish suite. He commands her to strip, tells her where to put her hands and how to pose. Even when both are naked, the camera doesn’t linger on the nudity of their bodies, but their faces. When sharing subspace, they see each other anew, and their newfound intimacy translates into the visuals. To channel the ebb and flow, Wolf used a mix of camera lenses, shifting between spherical and anamorphic. As for the visible effect, \”it’s not in your face and it shouldn’t be,\” he says, \”but a slight change of perspective [makes you] suddenly see them with different eyes.\” The game of letting your guard down plays out on their faces.\”