Some events in life split your story into two clear parts—before it happened and after. These “Bad Things” can leave you reeling, unsure of who you are anymore, and uncertain of how to keep going. If you’re lucky, time passes. You find ways to live alongside what happened. It may not go away completely, but it stops coloring every memory, every moment. That’s the kind of emotional landscape Eva Victor explores in their deeply personal and oddly funny film Sorry, Baby.
At first glance, you might assume this is another indie drama about pain, or maybe a quirky comedy trying to make trauma digestible. But Sorry, Baby walks a careful, almost defiant line—it’s irreverent, sometimes silly, other times deeply sad, but always honest. It’s not a sob story, and it’s not about revenge or justice either. It’s about what happens after. About surviving. About figuring out what your life looks like when a bad thing tries to rewrite it all.
A Reunion in the Present, a Journey to the Past
The story begins in the present day. Agnes (played by Victor themself), has just landed a tenured teaching position at the university where she was once a bright-eyed grad student. It’s a big deal—a sign of success, of having “made it.” Just as Agnes settles into this new chapter, her old friend Lydie (played wonderfully by Naomi Ackie) returns to town. Lydie has big news: she’s pregnant.
Their reunion is sweet, full of teasing and memories. There are hints of something heavier lurking beneath the surface, but for a while, the film lets us simply enjoy watching these two women reconnect. The chemistry is effortless, and the warmth they share is a soft reminder of life before.
Then, like a memory you didn’t want but can’t avoid, the film flashes back to the earlier years. We see Agnes as a grad student: sharp, promising, noticed by everyone, especially her professor, Decker (played by Louis Cancelmi). It’s in this time period that the Bad Thing happens.
Decker invites Agnes to his house. It’s framed as a casual invite, maybe even flattering. But it’s here that Agnes is assaulted, and her life, as she knew it, changes forever. The film doesn’t show everything explicitly—it’s not about graphic trauma—but the emotional fallout is clear.
Moving On Isn’t Always Forward
From here, Sorry, Baby splits into chapters, following Agnes across the years as she tries to find some sense of normalcy. We see her coping with anxiety, zoning out in public places, avoiding people, struggling to find rest even in private. At times, she’s fine—on the surface. But there are cracks everywhere.
Victor’s performance is raw and restrained. They don’t play Agnes as a victim who falls apart, nor as a stoic survivor with everything together. She’s awkward, deadpan, occasionally hilarious, and deeply unsure of herself—just like a real person might be after something like this.
Victor’s background in comedy comes through, but not in a jarring way. They use humor as a shield, as a coping mechanism. You laugh with Agnes, and sometimes at her, but you never stop rooting for her. Some of the biggest laughs come from moments that are painfully real—like dealing with clueless doctors, or an admin who means well but doesn’t help at all. That’s the power of Sorry, Baby: it finds absurdity in the everyday pain, and in doing so, it makes that pain feel a little less lonely.
Friends, Lovers, and People Who Just Don’t Get It
The relationship between Agnes and Lydie forms the emotional spine of the film. Lydie is funny, grounded, and fiercely loyal. She knows Agnes isn’t okay, but she never pushes too hard. She’s just… there. Supportive. Loving. It’s refreshing to see female friendship portrayed this way—messy, honest, and stronger than most romantic relationships in movies.
Speaking of romance, there is a sort-of-love-interest in the film: Gavin, a neighbor played by Lucas Hedges. Their relationship is tender and awkward, a kind of gentle “situationship.” But even Gavin has his limits. When he brings up the future—a shared life, maybe kids—Agnes pulls back. She’s not ready. Maybe she never will be. Hedges plays Gavin with just the right amount of cluelessness and care. He’s trying, but he doesn’t fully understand, and that’s okay. Sometimes love isn’t enough to fix things.
Then there’s Natasha, a fellow academic who starts out as a bit of a joke—a jealous, self-absorbed former classmate. But Natasha ends up stealing the show. Kelly McCormack plays her with such manic energy and misplaced confidence that you can’t help but laugh. Over time, though, Natasha reveals layers of her own pain. She’s struggling too. She’s just better at hiding it behind jokes and petty competitiveness.
The Power of Not Centering the Villain
One of the smartest choices Victor makes in Sorry, Baby is to not give Decker—the man who assaulted Agnes—too much screen time. He’s not made into a cartoon villain. He’s polite, well-spoken, seemingly harmless. And that’s the point.
The real horror of what happened to Agnes lies in the fact that Decker seems so normal. He’s the kind of guy everyone trusts. That’s what makes his betrayal so devastating. The film doesn’t dramatize his evil; instead, it shows how these kinds of things can happen anywhere, from people who seem kind, even charming. Most of what we learn about him comes from the way other people talk about him. Some adore him. Others have doubts. No one knows the full story—except Agnes.
This decision keeps the focus on her experience, rather than his actions. It’s not about him. It’s about what she does next.
Visuals, Vibes, and Victor’s Vision
Visually, the film is gorgeous but subtle. Mia Cioffi Henry’s cinematography captures the small-town New England setting with both coziness and coldness. The town feels lived-in, full of brick buildings, gray skies, and cluttered offices. It’s a perfect backdrop for Agnes’ internal world—familiar but isolating.
The costume design by Emily Constantino also deserves a shoutout. Agnes wears big, comfy jackets, old T-shirts, and pajama pants that feel like armor. It’s not high fashion—it’s real. These outfits say so much about where she is emotionally: needing protection, retreating from attention, holding onto the things that feel safe.
Behind the camera, Victor’s voice as a filmmaker is clear. They have a style—offbeat, emotional, and unafraid of silence. They know when to let a moment sit, when to pull back, when to let a character crack a joke that cuts a little too deep. They trust the audience to understand, to sit with the discomfort, and to laugh anyway.
That confidence is rare in a debut. Victor doesn’t try to impress with flashy visuals or dramatic twists. They just tell a story that matters to them, and in doing so, it matters to us.
A Different Kind of Ending
One of the most touching parts of Sorry, Baby comes near the end, when Agnes holds Lydie’s newborn baby. There’s a quiet understanding in that scene—a recognition of the pain life inevitably brings, and the choice to show up anyway. Agnes doesn’t promise everything will be okay. She just promises to be there. To support. To love. To stay.
That’s the heart of the film. Survival isn’t about being strong all the time or forgetting what happened. It’s about showing up. For yourself. For your friends. For the people who need you.
Agnes isn’t “cured” by the end. She hasn’t figured everything out. But she’s trying. She’s living. She’s laughing again. And maybe that’s enough.
Final Thoughts: A Quiet Revolution
Sorry, Baby may not be for everyone. Its tone is unusual—funny and sad at the same time. Its characters don’t always say what they mean. The plot doesn’t follow a traditional arc. But for those who have lived through a Bad Thing, or loved someone who has, this film might feel like a deep exhale. Like being seen.
Victor’s debut is bold not because it’s flashy or confrontational, but because it dares to treat survival as ordinary. Agnes isn’t a hero. She’s just a person. And in a world that often expects victims to either disappear or rise from the ashes with a triumphant speech, that’s quietly revolutionary.
