(potential spoilers)
Overall: 52/70
I have never finished a film, and so badly wanted to immediately sit back down and watch it again.
That is all I could think as I walked away from the cinema where I had spent the past hour and forty-five minutes having my heart ripped apart, and jumbled back together. I didn’t cry during Eva Victor’s Sorry, Baby (in which she both starred in and directed); I ached. Every part of me hurt for my friends, for the girl that I am, for the young child that is my sister, for my mum and my grandma. It hurt. And we healed.
One key element I noticed about this movie was how well-done the balance was between laughter and tears. There were moments of such genuine humour, which, somehow, faded into scenes of sobering tragedy. The light-hearted playfulness and deep sadness are intertwined to become undeniably real. Getting to see positive moments and relationships reminds the audience that it isn’t all awful. Bad things will happen; but there will still be times when your friends make you laugh, or you have a nice meal, or you meet someone new. That felt like the core message of this film, to me at least.
The types of shots and images used throughout this film to present the narrative were inspiring. One particular shot, a view from the outside of the house, where we remained, unmoving, sent chills down my spine. The hours going by are displayed only through that sky, the darkening horizon making it so damn clear how much time has passed. Light fades in front of our eyes, and the frozen camera places the audience in an agonising position. All we can do is wait. We can’t look away, everybody has to face the horrors of what we know is happening, and everyone should; this film ensures that nobody can avoid the truth.
Long shots are cleverly utilised in moments where the character is feeling lost, and disassociating; we follow them in real-time, and the removal of quick cuts – which signify high energy and awareness – hints at the characters emotions. We share in the never-ending sensation, forced to stay with the character for as long as they have to stay with themselves. It allows us a glimpse into how they must feel, since we as the audience are also having to endure, and sit with, the same feeling.
One of the most poignant moments of this film is the retelling in the bath. Watching Agnes speak keeps you deadly still in your seat. I think that having such an awful event verbally described is so much more emotional than actually being witness to the attack – it allows for a more gentle, less distressing, and yet still evidently tragic, recount. Seeing can remove the element of reality, and replace it with something simply uncomfortable and overly dramatized; listening brings a new level of awareness and simplicity. You cannot just close your eyes and hide. You are forced to hear, forced to understand.
This moment also gives full focus to Agnes. She is centred in the scene, with no other person or background taking up space, and drawing attention away from her. For once, the victim is given full control of the narrative. Allowing her to line by line detail what she has been through removes any slight chance of misinterpretation (as could be construed from a visual attack scene), and puts full power into her hands. She can not only tell us what happened, but explore how she actually felt. Agnes, the victim, has the platform. The voice of the attacker has been removed.
Lydie’s statement ‘whatever you need’ is the most healing line of the film. It makes clear the theme of trying to recover after trauma, and how people ‘need’ different things. It also demonstrates how those around you can be accommodating, through showing acceptance and understanding. There is no judgement, only a cat. This is similarly reflected in the segment title ‘the year with the good sandwich’. Whilst obviously humorous, it is notable in another way – it displays a focus on simple pleasures, and how often the most mundane of things can be the things we want. They help us when we are seeking that sense of simplicity and grounding. In this moment, everything slows down to focus on smaller details.
I won’t touch too heavily upon the final scene of this film, for fear of providing too much of a spoiler, and also out of worry that over-discussing the moment will dilute down the power I felt from it. The position of the hurting, recovering, and surviving, Agnes sat with the calm, untouched, and also surviving, baby is, quite simply, poetic. She has found someone who is just like she once was. And she admits the worst parts of the world to this reflection of herself; the fact that terrible things will happen, they will, and they cannot be stopped. Yet, after it all, magic will still exist, flowers will still bloom, people will still make you laugh, and there will always be a sunset to cover you in golden light. You will shine, no matter what.
Overall, Sorry, Baby is an incredibly moving film, with an inspiring balance of humour and deep, deep sadness. But it is not only the narrative that holds this film up; the cinematography, with its use of wide camera angles, and one-shot sequences, helps create beautiful images, and a gentle pacing. The message of this movie is also one of great significance. It deserves to be seen, and it deserves to help as many people as it can. When the credits start to roll, sit for a while, and just think about what you’ve watched. Think about how real it is. Think about how important. And think about that cat, because they acted so well.
Narrative – 9/10
Cinematography – 9/10
Design/Aesthetic – 8/10
Soundtrack/Music – 7/10
Emotional Response – 8/10
Enjoyability – 9/10
Bonus points
Made Me Laugh – 2/2
Overall: 52/70