“Sorry, Baby” (2025) is Eva Victor’s phenomenal directorial debut that masters the rule of show don’t tell. Also written by and starring Victor, it follows protagonist Agnes after a troubling event in her life. Told out of order, the story jumps through the most important moments following her trauma and how she begins to live with it.
This film is shockingly amazing. It is incredibly hard for movies to subtly explore daunting and traumatic life experiences without diving into the well of dramatization, but Victor’s script is laced with so many nuances that it radiates complexity. There are so many shining moments of commentary without ever directly telling the audience what to think, and they’re all paired with directing and acting that elicit such an authentic experience.
The writing is simple, realistic and everyone feels like someone you could bump into on your way to lunch or overhear at the library. Nothing they say is ever overdramatic, literary, psychoanalytic word garbage and they never say a word too many. Sometimes, the script lets the audience just watch, leaving the actors to portray the emotions without a syllable of soliloquy.
My favorite moment of this, if I had to choose one in a film steeped in it, is when Agnes has a sandwich with stranger Pete, played wholesomely by John Carroll Lynch. When discussing traumatic recovery after three years, he says, “It’s a lot of time, but it’s not that much time, too.”
Perfect. Everyone knows what he means, he doesn’t need to overexplain that, and that whole conversation is teeming with small moments of quiet understanding. Matter of fact, so is the whole film. Characters are able to give small, unspecific details about their lives, but because they know each other and read their body language, you and the other characters can understand exactly what they mean.
In the end, though, all of this writing is only as good as the acting that puts a face to it, and with Victor also directing and acting, it’s no wonder that every performance is knocked out onto Lansdowne Street. They’re sincere, palpable characters who create a rich, lived-in world for such a small film. Victor, in particular, illuminates every scene with awkward, witty, indispensable emotion that turns a very serious plot into something genuine and heartfelt. In their eyes alone, she displays a mosaic of cerebral intricacies.
I haven’t even begun to discuss the cinematography. Mia Cioffi Henry takes a simple script with few locations and shoots a beautiful, cozy, painterly, pastel film. The shots, like the script and story, are simple and realistic, but they are elevated by gorgeous compositions. The shot of Agnes and Lydie, splendidly portrayed by Naomi Ackie, sitting next to each other on the beach, is so uncomplicated and easy, but somehow looks so angelically comforting. There are also many repeated shots throughout the movie, most notably of the front door to Agnes’ house. This is where the subtlety is played quietly out for the audience to feel rather than see. Fear of unwanted entry is a major theme, and the door’s repetition represents this, imbuing the film with more layers than immediately apparent.
I hate that I can’t go on with this, but word counts exist so garrulous people can’t bore folks to tears. However, if you find me on campus and wish to talk more about this, please do. This is one of the most sincere films I’ve seen in a long time, and nothing I say here will adequately portray its worth. It’s an honest, meditative experience that deserves the highest recognition. I can’t believe Victor did this on her first try.