The best thing about Nicole Kidman's thriller Babygirl isn't the sex

But pulling off this combination is a feat that Halina Reijn’s third directorial feature manages with almost surgical precision, even if its submissive sex scenes are far from being the movie’s most compelling element.

The kinky affair between high-powered, aloof CEO Romy (Nicole Kidman) and her much younger intern Samuel (Harris Dickinson) is relatively tame. There isn’t anything here that other movies dabbling in BDSM haven’t addressed in greater detail and, like Secretary, to a more brilliantly humorous, alienating degree.

Instead, Babygirl thrives in the unanswered questions it raises about agency and pleasure, and how people in different age demographics attach their meanings to them.

Kidman shines as an accomplished woman suppressing her fantasies with her charming, devoted husband Jacob (Antonio Banderas). The theatre director is in the dark about his wife’s kink, none the wiser about her faking every orgasm and looking for that satisfaction elsewhere.

Romy watches her every word when leading presentations at her automation company, but is afraid to communicate openly in her personal life.

When she timidly gives a name to her urges with Jacob, she’s swiftly dismissed. Her ashamed demeanour shifts when Samuel reads through her, picking up on her unspoken desire to be dominated.

Reijn acknowledges that societal expectations inform the way women think they’re allowed to enjoy sex. The freedom that comes with surrendering and the playful exploration of gender roles are territories to roam and find out what makes one tick, the film says.

The fuss with Babygirl is rarely about the sexual act in itself, though. Rather, it lies in the uncomfortable places it leads viewers. The movie probes our sexual and romantic relationships within patriarchal societies.

Even as successful, feminist women, it’s hard to shake the thrill of male validation, Babygirl argues with every smiling, approachable, soft-spoken answer Romy gives at work, or to an assertive Samuel.

Investigating whether there can be any true pleasure in conforming to what’s traditionally considered male desire and how to break from those gendered constraints is Babygirl’s goal.

Reijn is no stranger to messing with our idea of what’s hot. Her 2019 directorial debut Instinct, about a prison therapist obsessed with her serial rapist patient, put the provocative director on the map and drew Kidman to her.

And while Babygirl is a more subdued, cosier fare, you may still feel a pang of uneasiness clouding the excitement of Romy lapping up a plate of milk on all fours.

But branding the film demeaning would be missing its point entirely. The affair stems from an imbalance of power and descends into messiness, but it's never exploitative — not for Romy, anyway.

Like most men in power before her, she can’t keep her side of the street clean, and is shocked when the status quo reverses as Samuel threatens to expose them.

The morally ambiguous movie sees both protagonists try their hand at BDSM, discuss their responsibilities within the affair and muster the courage to be vulnerable with each other in some tender, awkward aftercare. Neither is sure how to proceed, though their age gap highlights a different understanding of consent and strength.

Romy doesn’t know how to ask for what she wants and isn’t seemingly concerned about consent because, as a Gen X woman, she probably wasn’t ever told she should be. It’s Samuel who mentions consent as an essential part of their agreement, adding they should have some ground rules and a safe word, albeit only halfway through their relationship.

Later on, Babygirl boils down the misconception that kinky play is a male fantasy to a generational misunderstanding.

"It’s an outdated idea of sexuality," Samuel tells an older character who sees sex as mostly vanilla and considers sub-dom dynamics to be harmful to women.

Not even Romy is immune to this view initially, pathologising her kink in a disappointing yet relatable attempt to be "normal". Her bond with Samuel and her conversations with her eldest, carefree daughter Isabel (Esther McGregor) bring about a refreshing change in Kidman’s uptight heroine.

When delivering a pitch early on in the film, Romy makes it clear that she abides by a "never show your weakness" policy. She’s not accustomed to the idea of tapping into one’s emotional vulnerability as a potential advantage, and spends the movie unlearning some of her problematic ways in and out of the workplace.

Babygirl doesn’t just split the power dynamics open, but criticises 'girlboss feminism' as well. The love child of patriarchy and capitalism, 'girlboss feminism' is a hyper-individualistic mindset. There are very few seats for women at the table, hence those that are available ought to be clutched at with everything a woman has and not ever given up.

Babygirl challenges this 'alpha woman code' through the character of Esme (Sophie Wilde), Romy’s diligent assistant who’s not too in awe of her to fail to keep her in check.

Once Esme catches wind of the affair, she tells Romy she doesn’t intend to be silenced with a promotion. That may have worked when Romy was young, Esme says, but it’s not the way things are dealt with today. The CEO, who had hypocritically put Esme off a romance with Samuel because of their different status within the company, is stunned.

This interaction provides a generational lens through which to look at the workplace politics in Babygirl, also revealing a fault in Romy’s Wonder Woman autopilot.

A woman at the top, she’s crumbled under the strain to maintain her social and professional personas spotless. Her male peers would hardly experience the same pressure, as is apparent in the CEO’s final conversation with slimy board member Sebastian (Victor Slezak), who makes her an unsolicited sexual offer.

Sebastian’s proposition is degrading not just for the kink-shaming language he uses, but also because no hint of consent was ever given. His overly confident attitude proves how most men in power feel protected within the patriarchal, capitalist structures that made them, and will hold onto them until their dying breath.

Romy, who’s found the sexual satisfaction she’s long sought by embracing her kink within her marriage, is repulsed. She coldly explains she can pay to get humiliated if she so wishes and shows him the door.

The conclusive lines of Reijn’s tight, clinical script reestablish who’s always been boss, proving that Romy might’ve enjoyed the exhilaration of relinquishing control, but she’s never lost sight of her bodily autonomy and needs. She can be a Babygirl, just not anyone’s — and in this crucial difference lies the ultimate liberation.

Babygirl is now showing in UK cinemas.

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