When it comes to stories about trauma, they’re typically packed with intense emotions and dramatic stakes, with characters barely holding it together, always on the verge of a panic attack. Comedian Eva Victor decided to take a different route in her feature writing and directorial debut, Sorry, Baby. Instead of leaning into the expected flood of tears, she embraces a more restrained approach, one that brings a refreshing kind of cinematic honesty this genre has been craving.
We follow Agnes (Eva Victor), an English professor at a quiet university in rural New England. On the surface, she seems content, settled into her job and going through the motions of daily life. But her best friend, Lydie (Naomie Ackie), sees through the facade and knows that Agnes is still carrying the weight of something awful that happened to her. The story unfolds out of order, tracing Agnes’s journey as she slowly works through her trauma over the span of three years. Sometimes moving forward, sometimes slipping back, but always trying to make sense of it in her own way.
What makes Sorry, Baby stand out in a genre often defined by emotional extremes is just how restrained it is. Rather than centering the narrative on the traumatic event itself, in this case, sexual assault, or the expected, often chaotic aftermath involving hospitals, HR meetings, or legal proceedings, the film pulls back. It chooses instead to explore the quiet, complicated space of what it actually feels like to live with trauma.
Eva Victor doesn’t force the emotions or dramatics. She lets them simmer beneath the surface, allowing space for a more natural, lived-in portrayal. Agnes, the main character, might be smiling or tossing off a deadpan joke in the same way someone like Fleabag would, but it’s clear she’s carrying something much heavier. You catch it in the smallest moments, the flickers of sadness, the cracks in her confidence, the way she seems just slightly removed from the person she used to be. She’s not shattered, but she’s undeniably changed. Sorry, Baby doesn’t depict a character confronting her trauma in some explosive, cathartic way. Instead, we see someone inching her way through it, awkwardly, imperfectly, but honestly. It’s that emotional understatement that gives the film its power.
Agnes does have a few emotional outbursts, as you’d expect, but they’re never played up as big, dramatic set pieces. They’re just as restrained as the rest of the film, and one moment in particular really captures this beautifully. After she has a panic attack, Pete (played by John Carroll Lynch) gently calms her down and reminds her that sometimes the trauma is on your mind and sometimes it’s not, but either way, life keeps moving, and you have to figure out how to keep moving with it. It’s a simple moment, quietly delivered, but it hits hard. It’s probably one of the most honest portrayals of how someone actually processes trauma. It’s messy, inconsistent, and ongoing.
Eva Victor’s vision is strong with her writing and directorial feature debut. She crafts a quiet, almost soothing atmosphere set against the backdrop of a New England winter, wrapping the film in a calm that contrasts with the weight of what’s beneath the surface. What’s most impressive is how she strikes a delicate balance between dry, well-placed humor and the quiet horror of what Agnes has been through. It’s a beautifully simple, grounded approach. One that feels like a breath of fresh air in a genre that often leans into the overwrought. A perfect indie darling.
My Rating: A-
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