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26 Aug 25
Fresh Takes is Picturehouse's space for the next generation of film lovers to share their thoughts on the latest films coming to our screens. Aged 16-25 and want to see your words here? Find out more.
This time, our writers were treated to the debut of writer, director and star Eva Victor: Sorry, Baby is a fresh, hopeful, and utterly authentic portrait of young academic Agnes across three chapters of her life, before and after 'the bad thing' that happens to her. (Don't worry: her cat is fine.)
Book tickets to see Sorry, Baby now.
Audrey is a musician, writer, and Film & TV Editor for The Student. She is a lover of all things media and aspires to be a culture editor in the future. You can find more reviews on her Letterboxd.
Acting, writing, and directing a film are all difficult feats within themselves – yet Eva Victor accomplishes all three with grace in Sorry, Baby. This is a stunning and expectation-defying piece of work.
A somber tenderness is settled on the audience from the start, establishing a tone that will be felt long after members have exited the cinema. Its images are spacious, leaving just enough breathing room for us to navigate the unimaginable complexity of the "bad thing" – which is heavy, weighty, immense but also genuinely portrayed. Sufficiently conveying grief and trauma in a respectful manner is an obvious challenge, yet the film does so wisely; it is patient and meticulous, crafting its difficult matters with unparalleled sensitivity and without falling into clichés.
Victor's integration of dry humour equally stood out as a remarkable quality. Comedy was delicately balanced with purpose, and underlined the film with a subtle relatability that allowed viewers to step closer to access Agnes' raw, individual experience. The film is thus a subversive example of how to portray trauma, with its strength lying in attentive consideration for its audience, who are guided mindfully by a sympathetic and singular director.
Overall, the film is truly exceptional and a profound watch, anchored in capable visual storytelling driven from the heart. I am enthralled by Eva Victor's impressive portrait of vulnerability, and eagerly wait in anticipation to be seated for whatever they accomplish next.
Tiffany is a biomedical undergrad who loves film as a medium connecting image, story and time to reshape history, tell the present and dream the future. Tiffany is a trained projectionist for her uni's student cinema and can be found lurking on Letterboxd.
Sorry, Baby, Eva Victor's succinct, prodigious directorial debut, is unafraid to linger in the discomfort of a bad thing. Yet it never lurches to a truly harrowing tone, with Victor able to deftly work in a brilliant, wry sense of humour throughout the film – a truly incredible feat, considering they wrote, directed and starred in it. You can really appreciate the meticulousness with which every scene is approached. Sometimes it feels a little too pristine, too neatly arranged, but that might just be a testament to the level of precision required to balance its sharp tonal shifts.
The easy standout for me is the storytelling at the crux of the film. Its subject matter is incredibly handled, and in such a visually striking way, I had to sit up to really take it in. Mia Cioffi Henry's cinematography and Lia Ouyang Rusli's score play off each so well to tie it all together, with Naomi Ackie and Lucas Hedges being absolutely wonderful as part of the supporting cast.
Living is a relentless and precarious thing: you need hope and love to buoy you through its storms, lest you get lost in stasis. This film is a gentle and honest reminder of that.
Whilst working for a PR agency, Olgalissia spends her time outside of work volunteering at film festivals, assisting with Doc'n Roll, and being a Barbican Young Film Programmer. Olgalissia loves community cinema, from Grassmarket Cinema in Edinburgh to collectives like Atlas Cinema in London. Partial to a strong female lead, Olgalissia loves films that discuss female friendships, sisterhood and the power of aging.
Agnes (Eva Victor) lives in a world of literature. Books scatter her stairs, pages are stuck on her windows; it appears to be a literature-student's haven, yet there's a deep-beating sadness underneath the surface. Does this house instead serve as a refuge?
From the beginning of Sorry, Baby, the importance of friendship shines through. The film celebrates the pseudo-romantic friendship between Agnes and Lydie (Naomi Ackie), which is infused with a reliability, trust and love that puts Friends' Monica and Rachel to shame. Over the course of the film, their friendship changes naturally with time – but against Lydie's more obvious life progressions, we question Agnes' development, introducing the film's central question: how can you accept and heal from a day that alters your reality?
It becomes apparent that amongst all the film's prickly humour, a crime has been committed, a trauma is being carried, and everything starts having two interpretations. Words that originally held academic satisfaction ("extraordinary") then seem menacing, and Agnes is caught in a dichotomy: both strong and career-driven, she is also vulnerable, carrying an unsinkable hurt. Does becoming a figure of authority represent her reclaiming the space, or is she halting her wider opportunities blocking herself from the outside world with these pages covering the windows?
Along with a satisfactory feeling that love in friendship is powerful and is what carries us through trauma, Sorry, Baby leaves us with the question: what does healing feel like? What does acceptance look like?
Minnie is an English Literature graduate and very much a lover of all things film writing related. Fond of stories that follow real life and don't hide the ugliness… and beauty of it. Find more @minniemertz on X.
In a staggeringly quiet yet momentously poignant debut film, Eva Victor encapsulates the experience of trauma. Sorry, Baby takes – or rather, fills – the position of the perfect black comedy-drama. The content strays far from perfect, but Victor's dialogue, direction, and presentation demonstrate their uncanny ability to tap into the constantly oscillating brain of a 'victim.' Cinematographer Mia Cioffi Henry hones a blisteringly haunting landscape for the film, which not only mimics the action on screen but, like the whimsy of Lewis Carroll, becomes a character itself.
The retrospective nature of this film does not desire to dwell upon its events, but instead reimagines how trauma and emotional stagnation may make way for rebirth and joy. Naomi Ackie's performance brings this unregulated joy not just out of the audience, but more importantly out of Victor's Agnes. I sense that, similar to Jesse Eisenberg's recent A Real Pain, this film will resonate deeply with audiences – and, like Kieran Culkin, Victor will be spearheading many award categories. Though Victor is the clear standout, a special mention should be made of Kelly McCormack's subtly hilarious performance as well.
Like Charlotte Wells' Aftersun, Sorry, Baby feels naturalistically conjoined with lived experience, and has an organic take on not what its subject matter should look like on screen, but what it could look like. The questions we are left with are embraced rather than rejected – a testament to just how moving and thought-provoking this film really is.
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