Sorry, Baby

When we experience a traumatic tragedy, we often can’t fathom how we’re going to respond to it. Some reactions may follow expected patterns. But others may come across as wholly unpredictable, in larg... When we experience a traumatic tragedy, we often can’t fathom how we’re going to respond to it. Some reactions may follow expected patterns. But others may come across as wholly unpredictable, in large part because we don’t quite know what to make of them ourselves. That can become considerably more complicated when we don’t even know how to speak about them, to find the words to sufficiently express our feelings. And, when you combine all of these elements, you have the basis for the quandary faced by unnerved protagonist Agnes Ward (actor-writer-director Eva Victor in her debut feature). The film, told in a series of time-shuffled chapters over the course of several years, follows the troubling experience of a graduate student/professor (Victor) enrolled in the English lit program at a small liberal arts college in rural New England, along with her patchwork attempts at reconciling her feelings about it. In the course of sorting out her emotions, her plans for dealing with her circumstances and the potential fallout involved, and the impact of the event on her life and prevailing outlook, she examines her options and feelings from a variety of angles. And, in the course of doing so, she engages in a series of introspective but often-vague conversations with her best friend (Naomi Ackie), her kindly but somewhat bumbling neighbor (Lucas Hedges), an embittered rival from the university (Kelly McCormack) and a Samaritan sandwich shop owner (John Carroll Lynch) who helps her overcome a serious panic attack while driving, among others. These dialogues often mix a curious combination of poignant observations, dark humor and blunt revelations. But therein lies the picture’s fatal flaw – this odd concoction of story elements doesn’t mesh well, leaving viewers wondering where the narrative is ultimately headed (the overriding uncertainty of the lead’s reaction to her circumstances notwithstanding). It’s as if this offering is constantly reaching for a profound insight that it’s fundamentally unable to adequately express, an experience that becomes ever more exasperating as the picture unfolds. That’s unfortunate given the subject matter involved here, but the goal is never sufficiently attained, presenting the audience with an array of random situations and a collection of unrelated characters that seem to provide the basis of something meaningful that never emerges. To its credit, there are some truly engaging moments (though not enough of them), backed by fine performances and some gorgeous cinematography. But those qualities aren’t nearly enough to save this lost and meandering exercise that seems innately incapable of answering its own questions, making for what essentially amounts to an ambitious but innately unsatisfying watch.

There is something especially individual about the lead characterisation here, and even though Eve Victor delivers strongly, I just didn’t really engage with it. We conclude fairly swiftly that her “A... There is something especially individual about the lead characterisation here, and even though Eve Victor delivers strongly, I just didn’t really engage with it. We conclude fairly swiftly that her “Agnes” has suffered some trauma in her life and that now, in her late twenties, she has taken up a professorial job in a small rural community where she seems content to live en seul. Except, that is, until her friend “Lydia” (Naomie Ackie) comes to visit. She and her new girlfriend are expecting a baby and though joyous of the news, it seems to awaken in “Agnes” an appreciation of a hitherto subdued sense of loneliness. During this visit, and thereafter, the plot dances between timelines as we learn more about both women, particularly “Agnes” and along the way are put through quite an emotional wringer. There is a degree of humour here, but it’s not the giggle sort - more along the observational, story of life, line that is often quite relatable but frequently swamped in a surfeit of dialogue. It also strays into the melodramatic one too often, too - not least as it descends a little into a well of self-pity that isn’t really supported by any depth of likeable characterisation. Ultimately, I think that was probably my issue with “Agnes” here. I just couldn’t really empathise with her, despite the heinous nature of the incident, and though entirely justifiable, I found her just a little too self-centred. Sorry, baby, but I just felt fairly underwhelmed and uncomfortably disconnected all the way through.