Sorry, Baby is a tender, beautifully crafted film. Eva Victor’s portrayal of trauma is handled with such care and sensitivity — a feat not every filmmaker can achieve, especially when taking on the roles of writer, director, and actor. It’s deeply human, raw, and unforgettable.

“When you grow up, you can tell me whatever […] I’m sorry, bad things will happen to you. I hope they don’t.”

Some films stay with you because they know how to hurt gently. They don’t shout — they whisper. They break your heart slowly, leave your chest heavy, and linger in the quiet afterward. Sorry, Baby is one of those films.

Told in a non-linear way and split into different chapters, the film follows Agnes (Eva Victor), a college professor navigating the quiet aftermath of a life that has been forever changed. It opens with “The Year With The Baby,” where Agnes and Lydie (Naomi Ackie) reunite after years apart, years after the “bad thing.” Lydie is now married, expecting, and living in New York, while Agnes remains in the small town where they went to college, still teaching there.

An unspoken story echoes in every glance and pause — something that’s felt rather than seen. Agnes moves through moments of laughter and connection, but beneath it all lies a subtle heaviness, a shadow that never quite lifts. It’s in the way silence lingers just a little too long, in the hesitations before words are spoken. The pain isn’t loud or obvious, but it quietly shapes her world. It’s during a dinner with old classmates that the story slowly reveals itself to be about something deeper than it initially seems.

It’s in “The Year With The Bad Thing,” which brings us a couple of years prior the opneing chapter, right before Agnes and Lydie’s graduation, that the story truly unfolds. Though nothing is shown explicitly, you know — and that’s what makes this act so powerful. There is a palpable tension and weight that comes through the screen, evoking a profound sense of discomfort in the viewer.

This is the strength of the film’s direction and visual style — everything is so carefully framed, paced, and performed that we don’t need to see what happened to understand it (even though it’s addressed later). The way that pivotal scene is constructed says it all, and that restraint is exactly what makes it hit even harder — that one frame still haunts me.

Victor’s writing shines throughout. The screenplay handles complex emotions and difficult realities with an honesty that’s rare and refreshing. Scenes like the bathroom conversation afterward are deeply heartbreaking — stripped of music or drama, just raw, human dialogue. And honestly, that’s all the film needs. 

Sorry, Baby doesn’t shy away from uncomfortable truths, especially in how it portrays the dismissive and insensitive responses Agnes receives. Medical professionals question her choices, suggesting that she would have gone straight to the hospital without showering. Institutional authorities offer surface-level empathy, telling her, “We understand what you’re going through — we’re women.” These moments add layers of realism and frustration, highlighting the systemic challenges survivors continue to face.

Every detail in this film — from its structure to its dialogue — is intentional and deeply considered. I could talk endlessly about the moments that stayed with me, but I don’t want to give too much away. I want people to experience the film the way I did: letting the story unfold slowly, allowing the emotions to build, moment by moment. There’s something deeply moving about uncovering the story as it unfolds. When you go through it alongside the characters, it stays with you in a much more meaningful way.

The film’s power lies in its delicate balance between the weight of trauma and the resilience found in human connection. Despite its serious subject, Sorry, Baby is surprisingly funny — not in a way that undercuts its message, but with humor that feels honest and lived-in (you’ll laugh at moments you didn’t expect, and it works). Eva Victor brings a dry wit and awkward charm to Agnes, while Naomi Ackie delivers warmth and impeccable comedic timing as Lydie. Their humor isn’t there to soften the weight — it’s there because it’s real. Even after pain, people still laugh and reach for joy.

At the heart of the film is Agnes’s friendship with Lydie. Their bond is fierce and intimate, full of shared glances, quiet reassurances, and unspoken tenderness. It’s in the way Lydie shows up and stays close, even sleeping beside Agnes to feel safe. Friendship in Sorry, Baby isn’t secondary — it’s everything. It’s a shield, a lifeline, a kind of love that’s deeply personal and rare. And it’s portrayed with such honesty.

This moved me deeply because I share a similar bond with my best friend of over twenty years. There’s something incredibly precious about a friendship like that — one that doesn’t require constant contact or daily conversation to stay strong. It’s the kind of connection that holds, no matter the distance or time apart. You know they’ll always be there. It’s grounding, and healing, and helps carry you through the hardest times. I truly wish everyone could have something like that.

Agnes’s journey is also one of self-discovery and quiet courage. We see her navigating complex feelings about identity, intimacy, and reclaiming agency in their life. Moments like hesitant sexual encounters, the subtle tension that arises in professional settings, and the small yet subversive act of reshaping a binary form to reflect something more true add depth and nuance to her character.

Sorry, Baby is a tender, beautifully crafted film. Victor’s portrayal of trauma is handled with such care and sensitivity — a feat not every filmmaker can achieve, especially when taking on the roles of writer, director, and actor. It’s deeply human, raw, and unforgettable.

In a year full of films, Sorry, Baby stands out as a quiet triumph — a film that lingers long after the credits roll, reminding us of the strength found in vulnerability, the complexity of healing, and the enduring power of friendship. I can’t recommend it enough.

Grade: A

Oscar Prospects:
Likely:  None
Should be Considered: Best Original Screenplay

Where to Watch: In Select Theaters