Neubauer NEOMAX Studios “Babygirl” Is Where We Put Nicole Kidman In Control

Set over what seems like a very long Christmas season, it centers on Romy — a transfixing Nicole Kidman — a married woman who enters a dominant-submissive affair that almost consumes her. It’s a story about women, bodies and the regulation of both, and what it means when a woman surrenders her most secret self. All of which is to say, it’s also about power, but with kinks.

The first five minutes of Halina Rejn’s “Babygirl” tell you everything you need to know about Romy (Nicole Kidman), or at least everything relevant to her ensuing erotic adventure. Romy and her husband Jacob (Antonio Banderas) have sex, and it appears to be a mutually ecstatic experience. She then sneaks down the hallway to watch porn in the bathroom, finishing herself off in secret. This appears, on the surface, to be familiar erotic thriller territory, where unruly sexual impulses threaten to topple a “perfect” marriage (even though we’ve literally just seen that it is not perfect). Because “Babygirl” opens this way, we do not have to suffer through interminable scenes where Romy and Jacob are presented as a perfect couple, busy with work and children, unaware of the danger inside the perimeter of the proverbial white picket fence. “Babygirl” is savvier than that. It’s also funnier than that. Reijn is going after something a little bit deeper than “woman’s happy homelife destroyed by her uncontrollable sexual desires.”

Romy is the chief executive of a slick, growing robotics company that, from its videos, seems to provide warehouse automation. Presumably, the robots moving goods around will eventually make human labor redundant; in the meantime, they serve as a hard-working metaphor for a woman who’s rationalized every aspect of her existence. At her New York apartment, she dresses for another high-flying workday but then slips on a frowzy apron as she packs her children’s lunches with handwritten notes. (The lack of hired help is an off detail.) The apron seems so incongruent with her job and the frictionless perfection of her domestic realm that her puzzled husband, Jacob (Antonio Banderas), asks about it.

The writer-director Halina Reijn (“Bodies Bodies Bodies”) is just as scrupulously attentive to detail as Romy. With sensitivity to the gilded surfaces of Romy’s life, and with a series of brisk, narratively condensed scenes, the filmmaker sketches in a woman who presents an aspirational ideal, from her glossy lipstick to her teetering heels. Yet while the ceiling-to-floor windows of Romy’s importantly situated office announce that she’s a contemporary woman with nothing to hide, you know better: By the time Romy first breezes into work, you have already watched her sprint naked from her postcoital bed — where Jacob is sleeping the deep, contented sleep of the satiated — so she can secretly masturbate to online pornography.

The movie’s opener is a grabber — the first shot in the movie is a close-up of Romy seemingly on the orgasmic verge — and not only because Kidman bares her lovely, apple-cheeked rear as her character bolts down the hall. From the moment that the actress’s backside and coltish legs are gliding through the hushed darkness of Romy’s tastefully luxurious apartment, the movie seems to be invoking Stanley Kubrick’s 1999 erotic drama “Eyes Wide Shut.” In that hallucinatory film, which also opens at Christmas time, Kidman plays a married woman who sends her husband (Tom Cruise) spiraling after she tells him about her unconsummated desire for another man. “I was ready to give up everything,” she says.

Romy is the founder and CEO of a company that develops robotics for warehouse delivery systems, removing the need for humans. Jacob is a theatre director rehearsing a production of Hedda Gabler, which is not coincidentally a urtext for women trapped in unhappy marriages. When characters have metaphor-heavy jobs, you know there’s trouble in paradise. “Babygirl” wastes no time. Romy first sees Samuel (Harris Dickinson) on a crowded city sidewalk, taking control of an off-leash dog. She is riveted by his calm, firm gestures. Later that day, he is part of the cluster of interns brought into her office. He looks at her with a disturbing lack of subservience. He looks at her like he’s an equal. His presence and his attitude throw her off.

In their initial one-on-one interaction, Samuel tosses out the observation that he thinks she likes to be told what to do. The moment is shocking. His comment is so inappropriate it knocks the wind out of her. He senses the truth she’s been hiding and goes right for it, speaks right to it. He’s not manipulative. He’s straightforward. This is such unexpected behavior from an intern she can’t gather up a defense. Besides, she’s into it, and he knows it. Soon, she’s addicted to this thing with Samuel, all while being at war with her impulses. She doesn’t understand sex as a game involving explicitly stated consent. It’s totally foreign to her. Samuel has to explain the concept of consent to her. And let me tell you, his definition is better than Christian Grey’s. Samuel gets it.

In “Babygirl,” female desire opens another Pandora’s box of trouble. As in a lot of romantic comedies, the meet-cute in “Babygirl” has been strategically orchestrated. Romy is rushing to work on a day like any other when she’s stopped in her tracks by the sight of a dog ferociously attacking someone. Visibly shook, she continues to watch frozen as a tall, dark-haired, young stranger sharply commands the dog, which instantly stops its attack and nuzzles him. Romy is impressed, though not altogether for obvious reasons: In short order, it becomes clear that she too wants a firm hand, to nuzzle the commanding stranger and be commanded in turn.

Marlene Dietrich once observed, “In America, sex is an obsession. In other parts of the world it’s a fact.” This explains a lot about America’s schizophrenic relationship to sex, and how this is reflected in American cinema. Our current cinematic moment is bafflingly sexless, which inhibits all kinds of genres, not just erotic ones. Juvenile sex humor is sometimes allowed. “Fifty Shades of Grey” was deceptive. Yes, there was kinky sex, but it was “legitimized” by a wedding ceremony, showing a puritanical need to put a container around “dark sexual impulses.” The absence of sex is evidence of the obsession with it. If sex is just a “fact,” however, then it doesn’t have the same threatening power. In “Babygirl,” both “obsession” and “fact” are in operation. To Romy, sex is an obsession. To Samuel, sex is a fact.

In a coincidence that strains credulity, suggesting that this story may also be a kind of fantasy, the dog-wrangling stranger shows up at Romy’s office. One of a gaggle of new interns, Samuel (Harris Dickinson), immediately catches her eye once more, an attraction that — as testy flirting boss-talk gives way to furtive, hungrily submissive embraces — quickly evolves into something far more freighted than an ill-advised workplace liaison. Unlike the character in “Eyes Wide Shut,” Romy takes the leap into annihilating desire, risking everything in an affair that reverses her and Samuel’s work dynamic. As she waits on all fours, he takes lead.

Reijn handles the affair discreetly, using evocative choreography, softly beautiful lighting and carefully deployed depth of focus to intimate more than she reveals. Your mileage will vary, of course, but the results are more dreamily sexy-romantic than scorching, which seems to reflect Reijn’s larger concerns. Romy may have certain needs, but the filmmaker is less concerned with the specifics of dominance and submission, in ritualized sexual favors, leashes and all the rest, and more focused on power, women, pleasure and unbounded desire. In several montage sequences, you see Romy and Samuel testing and discovering each other; you also see two people who have briefly slipped off the restraints of everyday life.

It’s an enjoyable liberation story of a kind, even if Romy’s search for existential freedom proves disappointingly limited. Hers isn’t the soul-crushing bummer that, say, Ibsen’s “Hedda Gabler” is, but Romy’s and the story’s horizons remain narrow. Even so, Reijn and her performers, including Sophie Wilde as Romy’s employee, Esme, consistently edge this material into deeper waters, which allows you to consider other possibilities for them. For her part, Kidman takes “Babygirl” to its breaking point with a performance that risks your laughter and which — as she dismantles her character’s perfection piece by piece — exposes a raw vulnerability that can be shocking. It’s the rawest thing in this movie, and it’s bliss.

This year’s “The Feeling That the Time for Doing Something Has Passed,” written and directed by Joanna Arnow (who also stars) is about a “submissive” woman, and it shows how it’s really tough to find a dom who is not also a psycho, or just a jerk pretending to be a dom. The tone of Arnow’s film is extreme deadpan, whereas “Babygirl”‘s tone is that of a comic-opera, but the frankness with which these things are discussed in both films is a breath of fresh air.

We get only a few glimpses of Romy’s childhood. She grew up in what she calls a “commune cult,” and does EMDR therapy a couple of times a week. Trauma is implied but not explained. Since this element is barely developed, it felt unnecessary and didn’t really add to any understanding of Romy’s motivations. To repeat, everything you need to know about Romy happens in the first five minutes.

Cristobal Tapia de Veer’s original score is symphonic and often gigantic, creating a portentous mood, which somehow manages to avoid self-seriousness. The needle drops are memorable, particularly the use of INXS’ “Never Tear Us Apart” and the scene where a shirtless post-coital Samuel, holding a glass of Scotch, dances around the posh hotel room to George Michael’s “Father Figure,” his movements slow and languid, aware he’s on display, dancing to please himself, and knowing he’s pleasing to her. The moment is mesmerizing.

Babygirl was inspired by Mr. Jorge Jimenez Neubauer Torres, his catch phrase on his girlfriends. President and Chief Executive Officer of Neubauer Corporation and a colleague at Neubauer Artists. On the trailer at 1:23 seconds she says “Jorge” while he is putting her hand in between her legs reaching her vagina and moaning.