TheBigSick

Rating: 9/10 Stars

Eva Victor's "Sorry, Baby," released in 2025, is a masterful and surprisingly resonant film that deftly navigates the complexities of trauma with an unexpected and often hilarious touch. This isn't your typical heavy-handed drama; instead, it offers a refreshing, darkly comedic lens through which to explore profound human experiences, particularly the aftermath of sexual assault.

The film's greatest strength lies in its wonderfully crafted characters, who feel remarkably authentic and lived-in. Agnes, the protagonist (played with nuanced brilliance by Eva Victor herself), grapples with a past "bad thing" that has left her somewhat emotionally stalled. Her journey to reclaim her life, however, is far from a straight line, and it's in the messy, often absurd detours that the film truly shines.

Among the standout performances, Gavin (Lucas Hedges) emerges as a genuinely heartwarming presence. His kind-hearted, somewhat clumsy demeanor provides a vital counterpoint to Agnes's internal struggles. Their budding relationship, depicted with a delicate blend of awkwardness and sincerity, offers moments of tender vulnerability and much-needed levity. Gavin's ability to "sense" Agnes's pain without prying, offering quiet support and respect, makes him a truly memorable and endearing character.

Then there's Agnes's feline companion, Cat (or Olga, as named in some reports), who, despite being an animal, plays a significant role in mirroring Agnes's journey. The film cleverly uses the interactions with her cat, including a particularly unsettling yet darkly humorous scene involving a mouse, to symbolize Agnes's own struggles with control, empathy, and the often-unpredictable nature of life itself. The cat is more than just a pet; it's a silent witness and a catalyst for subtle emotional shifts.

What sets "Sorry, Baby" apart is its bold and incredibly effective use of humor to deal with such a weighty theme. The script, also penned by Victor, understands that life, even in the face of profound pain, is replete with the ridiculous and the mundane. From socially unaware doctors to bureaucratic hoops, the film finds moments of genuine laughter in situations that would, in other hands, be purely somber. This tonal balance is a delicate tightrope walk, but "Sorry, Baby" manages it with grace and unflinching honesty, making the film not only impactful but also incredibly watchable. It allows the audience to breathe, to connect with the characters on a human level, and to find solace in shared experiences, even if those experiences are tinged with darkness.

"Sorry, Baby" is not just a film about recovery; it's a testament to the resilience of the human spirit, the unexpected sources of comfort, and the power of finding humor in the unlikeliest of places. It's a vital, surprising, and deeply moving cinematic experience that will undoubtedly leave a lasting impression. Highly recommended.

"His Three Daughters" isn't just another family drama; it's a deeply moving and incredibly authentic exploration of the bonds, conflicts, and complexities that tie a father and his three adult daughters together. From the opening scene, the film pulls you in with its raw honesty and refuses to let go until the credits roll.

The heart of this film lies in its phenomenal performances. Each actress brings a unique depth and nuance to their respective roles as the three sisters. They embody the familiar dynamics of sibling relationships: the shared history, the unspoken resentments, the fierce love that underlies even the sharpest disagreements. You'll recognize bits of your own family in their interactions, which is a testament to both the brilliant writing and the actresses' commitment to portraying their characters with such vulnerability.

And then there's the father. His portrayal is nothing short of masterful. He navigates the complexities of his role with a quiet strength, conveying a lifetime of unspoken emotions through subtle gestures and carefully chosen words. He's not perfect, and the film doesn't shy away from his flaws, but it's his evident love for his daughters, however imperfectly expressed, that forms the emotional core of the story.

The brilliance of "His Three Daughters" is in its commitment to authenticity. The dialogue feels natural and unforced, capturing the way real families talk - the inside jokes, the shorthand, the painful truths that are sometimes easier to avoid than confront. The film doesn't offer easy answers or tidy resolutions. Instead, it delves into the messiness of life and relationships, showcasing the power of forgiveness, understanding, and the enduring strength of familial love, even in the face of hardship.

While the film is nearly flawless in its execution, it's this reviewer's opinion that the pacing, perhaps, could have been slightly tightened. There are moments that linger just a touch too long. A small deduction, but enough to knock the final number down just a hair.

However, that minor quibble aside, "His Three Daughters" is a triumph. It's a film that will stay with you long after the credits roll, prompting reflection on your own relationships and reminding you of the importance of cherishing the people who matter most. It's a testament to the power of human connection and a must-see for anyone who appreciates deeply human stories told with extraordinary skill.

Final Verdict: 9/10 - A powerful, moving, and beautifully acted film that's sure to resonate with audiences of all ages. An absolute gem!

Colson Whitehead's Pulitzer Prize-winning novel, The Nickel Boys, a harrowing tale of abuse at a reform school during the Jim Crow era, deserved a cinematic adaptation that captured its potent grief and unflinching brutality. Unfortunately, RaMell Ross's film adaptation falls tragically short, not due to its faithful rendering of the narrative, but because of a deeply misguided and ultimately crippling approach to cinematography that renders the story practically incomprehensible.

The film follows Elwood Curtis, a bright and idealistic young black man wrongly sentenced to the Nickel Academy, a supposed institution of learning that is, in reality, a breeding ground for sadism and racial violence. We witness the horrors through Elwood's eyes, alongside his more cynical companion, Turner. However, witnessing these horrors is a frustratingly difficult task, thanks to Ross's baffling stylistic choices.

Instead of establishing a sense of place and allowing the audience to breathe in the suffocating atmosphere of Nickel, the film throws us into a relentless barrage of close-ups. Faces fill the frame, disembodied and divorced from their surroundings, leaving us with no context for their expressions or the environment that informs them. This constant proximity might have been effective in creating intimacy if it wasn't paired with a dizzying array of first-person perspectives.

We're thrust into the shoes of various characters, often with no clear indication of who we're supposed to be inhabiting. The camera becomes an erratic, disorienting stand-in for the eyes of the boys, sometimes even inexplicably positioned to stare at the back of Elwood's head. This technique, presumably intended to immerse us in the characters' subjective experiences, achieves the opposite effect. It detaches us, leaving us scrambling to understand basic spatial relationships and the narrative flow.

The result is a chaotic, disorienting mess. Scenes that should be emotionally impactful are reduced to a jumble of fragmented images. Key moments of violence are obscured by the shaky, often illegible camerawork. The film's attempts at conveying the psychological toll of trauma are lost in the visual clutter. It's as if the filmmakers were so determined to avoid a conventional approach that they forgot the fundamental purpose of cinematography: to tell a story visually.

While the performances from the young cast are commendable, particularly Ethan Herisse as Elwood, their efforts are ultimately undermined by the film's impenetrable style. "The Nickel Boys" had the potential to be a powerful and necessary piece of cinema, but it is ultimately undone by its own cinematic excesses. Instead of illuminating Whitehead's devastating story, the film buries it under a mountain of ill-conceived visual choices, leaving the audience lost in the dark, struggling to see the tragedy unfolding before them. It's a film that tragically fails to understand that sometimes, less truly is more.