In the Dark Reviews

Kirk Boxleitner | Jan 16, 20250

Courtesy photo count

Nicole Kidman and Harris Dickinson modernize decades-old erotic thriller tropes in Halina Reijn's "Babygirl."

Courtesy of Brion Rockwell count

"Glampire" star Tony Doupe and Kelly Combs bond while working out their problems in Western Washington filmmaker Brion Rockwell's "Not the Most Careful of Girls," playing Jan. 25 at the Roxy Theater in Bremerton.

Reviewing a couple of relationship dramas this week, one made by a filmmaker local to this side of the Puget Sound.

The Rose Theatre in Port Townsend and the Regal Poulsbo are showing writer-director Halina Reijn's "Babygirl," starring Nicole Kidman and Antonio Banderas, which was inspired by 1992's "Basic Instinct" and 1993's "Indecent Proposal."

A challenge in recreating the taboo heat of the erotic thrillers of decades past, such as those made by directors Paul Verhoeven and Adrian Lyne, is that modern audiences have nearly zero tolerance for sexual scenarios that do not incorporate expressly given consent into the core of their structures.

As a moviegoer who has never enjoyed seeing rape portrayed as "sexy" in the media, I approve of this sea change, but the frisson that fuels such erotic thrillers essentially requires that its main characters transgress other people's boundaries, so they may taste ostensibly forbidden fruits.

It's no coincidence that Reijn cited films from the early 1990s as her inspirations, because like me, she was born in 1975, which means her adult sexuality imprinted on that era, and she's had some time to consider how to rework those tropes for more modern sensibilities.

Covert whirlwind courtships sparking between corporate coworkers is practically a genre cliché, but making the boss a woman still slightly qualifies as a novelty, while having the younger, less experienced partner - in this case, Harris Dickinson, playing the 20-something post-collegiate intern of Kidman's CEO character - definitely turns the expected dynamic on its head.

Contrary to a number of unfulfilled adulterous wife narratives, Kidman is paired with a handsome, sensitive, loving husband (heck, I'm secure enough in my masculinity to admit that I might have a hard time saying no to a salt-and-pepper-bearded Banderas), so Kidman's inability to achieve sexual release is portrayed as her problem, and specifically, we're shown that it's a symptom of her compulsion toward remaining perfectly self-possessed at all times.

Kidman's character knows what she wants, but she doesn't want to admit it, so she doesn't admit it to her doting husband, who can't help but leave her unsatisfied as a result.

By contrast, Kidman's seemingly fearless young intern not only instinctively susses out what she wants, but he squares the circle of simultaneously transgressing her boundaries while still dutifully obtaining her consent, because by the very act of forcing her to explicitly state, out loud, what she actually wants, he's breaking down her free will.

To every other storyteller who unimaginatively insists that scenes of characters explicitly giving their consent to sexual interactions can't be subversively sexy, Reijn has proven you all wrong, while also making a point about how buying into corporate notions of "You can have it all!" feminism can itself become a confining, anti-feminist trap.

In the name of living up to an ideal of "empowered women" in the workplace, Kidman's job revolves around mouthing soulless platitudes about how artificial intelligence and automation can supposedly liberate consumers, all while we see her undergoing cosmetic injections.

Considering that Kidman has repeatedly denied allegations of having undergone plastic surgery in real life, having her character's daughter ridicule her for her post-Botox-shot puffy "fish" lips is a bold choice.

As much as Reijn gets right, I'm not quite sure she sticks the landing. Her conclusion feels overly tidy in the wake of its intentionally messy threads and unexplored dark alleys, which makes writer-director Brion Rockwell's "Not the Most Careful of Girls" a refreshing contrast.

On Jan. 21, 2023, I was fortunate to take part in a packed-house afternoon screening of a couple of Rockwell's works at the Roxy Theater in Bremerton, and I reviewed four of his films for the Journal.

On Jan. 25, the Roxy will screen "Not the Most Careful of Girls," with doors opening at 12:30 p.m. for appetizers and a no-host bar, and the film starting at 2 p.m., followed by an after-party at Brother Don's Bar and Grill in Bremerton at 4 p.m.

Rockwell's films appreciate the Pacific Northwest as only someone who's returned to it can, after spending an extended stretch of time away from it - he and I both attended Syracuse University in New York during the 1990s, albeit years apart - and his character portrayals empathize with those who struggle with addiction, without overly sanitizing their choices or experiences.

"Not the Most Careful of Girls" shows a former cocaine user helping a Seattle prostitute build a better life for herself because he understands, from the inside, what sorts of steps she needs to take next.

In stark contrast to the teasing titillation of Reijn's "Babygirl," Rockwell's depictions of romantic relationships excel at being authentically uncomfortable, as mutually defensive insecurity sparks arguments between partners who are still getting to know each other as people, and even his upbeat conclusions avoid feeling like simplistically pat or treacly resolutions.

And for fans of the Port Townsend Film Festival's 2024 short screenplay contest winner, "Not the Most Careful of Girls" offers a chance to see the star of "Glampire," actor Tony Doupe, without vampire makeup.