Have you ever felt utterly alone, desperately needing a story that understands your pain without overwhelming you? That's precisely the void Eva Victor's 'Sorry, Baby' on HBO Max aims to fill. It's not just a movie; it's a comforting presence, a hand to hold as you navigate the complexities of trauma and recovery.
Victor, in her own words, envisioned the film as embodying someone "at their window, looking out, both terrified of what is out there and, at the same time, desperate to join that outside world." This perfectly captures the agonizing push-and-pull of wanting to heal and reconnect while simultaneously being paralyzed by fear and the desire to retreat. Think of Agnes, the central character, stuck in a perpetual state of inaction, watching life unfold around her from behind a metaphorical pane of glass.
Victor emphasizes that she was searching for a specific kind of film: one that offered solace and understanding during the viewing experience. "I didn’t want the film to scare me with violent images or harsh words that shocked my system and shut me down — I wanted the film to hug me tight without shying away from the pain of it all." This is crucial. It wasn't about sensationalizing trauma or making a spectacle of suffering. It was about creating a safe space for those who have experienced hardship to feel seen, validated, and less isolated. The film isn't designed to educate others about trauma; it's designed to comfort those who've lived through it.
And this is the part most people miss: 'Sorry, Baby' intentionally avoids depicting the traumatic event itself. Instead, it focuses on what happens after. Victor posed the question: "How do you make a film that is marked by its absence of violence? The scene everyone is dreading and/or waiting for doesn’t exist, so what exists in its place? What is this about, if it’s not about violence?"
The answer, she discovered, lies in the power of intimate friendship. The film becomes a "love letter to the intimate friendship that can save your life when things are mind-bendingly painful." It chronicles a five-year journey of healing, highlighting the small, rebellious moments of joy that defy the isolating grip of trauma. The narrative structure mirrors the evolving relationship between the two friends, from a joyful reunion to a pivotal moment of unwavering support and, ultimately, to Agnes's own growth, enabling her to offer support to Lydie in return.
Victor connects the film's creation to her deep love of writing, describing it as "a deeply intimate, devastating, life-affirming, life-depleting, psychotic, meditative, euphoric, addictive struggle of building something where before there was nothing." She beautifully illustrates the paradoxical nature of writing: the miraculous act of bringing something into existence from nothingness, coupled with the inevitable disappointment and self-doubt that follows. It’s a process that demands resilience and a profound need to create, even in the face of constant internal struggle. But here's where it gets controversial... Is this struggle unique to writing, or does it mirror the creative process in any field, or even the broader human experience of striving toward a goal?
Interestingly, 'Sorry, Baby' was born out of a period of self-doubt and artistic questioning. Feeling "diluted and confused and idiotic," Victor retreated to Maine with her cat and poured herself into writing the script, initially for herself and her best friend. It was a "secret rebellion," a way to reclaim her voice and creative power. The act of writing became a cathartic release, a way to "exorcise" the story and set it free.
Reflecting on that time, Victor experiences a wave of nostalgia, despite acknowledging the intense emotional turmoil she endured. The "fire-filled chest" and the urgent need to bring the story into the world are now viewed with a bittersweet fondness. Having finally "shattered the glass" and released 'Sorry, Baby' into the world, she misses the intimacy and solitude of the creative process.
Ultimately, Victor concludes with a message of hope and empowerment: "There’s always more to write, there’s more privacy to be found, there are always more blank pages. And the most miraculous part is you don’t have to wait for someone to let you do it. You can write wherever, whenever, and without permission, and forever." This sentiment extends beyond writing, encouraging anyone to find their own creative outlet and to embrace the freedom of self-expression.
'Sorry, Baby' stands as a testament to the healing power of friendship, the resilience of the human spirit, and the transformative potential of art. It's a film that invites you to feel, to connect, and to find solace in shared experiences. What are your thoughts on the film's approach to trauma? Do you agree with Victor's decision to focus on the aftermath rather than the event itself? Share your opinions in the comments below!
