If John Cassavetes directed a horror movie about a Tupperware party, it might look something like Babygirl . Don’t let the cutesy title fool you. This is not a film about innocence. It is a 94-minute panic attack disguised as a domestic drama, and it is one of the most unsettling films you’ll see this year.
And she is utterly, completely losing her mind.
Lio Tipton, who previously charmed in comedies, gives a career-defining performance. Watch her eyes in the two-minute scene where she simply watches her daughter sleep. In that stillness, you see: love, terror, resentment, nostalgia for a life she never had, and a tiny flicker of pure, animal hatred. It’s breathtaking.
Heller’s thesis is brutal: The absence of conflict is itself a form of violence. Nico is too good. He remembers her coffee order. He initiates therapy. He folds the fitted sheet correctly. There is nothing to fight against, and so Lena turns her rage inward, manifesting in compulsive behaviors—counting grains of rice, rearranging the spice rack by color at 3 AM, and eventually, a series of quiet, devastating acts of sabotage.
Also, the film’s pacing is deliberately glacial. A scene of Lena peeling an apple lasts 90 seconds. It is excruciating. It is the point.
It will haunt your commute. It will make you side-eye your own quiet kitchen. And you will never hear the phrase "babygirl" the same way again. The scariest film of the year has no ghosts, no jumpscares, and no villains—just a woman drowning in a glass of perfectly filtered water. Note on viewing: As of this writing, check your local public library’s Kanopy or Hoopla service—they sometimes have A24 films like this for free with a library card. Otherwise, it’s worth the $5.99 rental.
The film follows Lena (an astonishing, raw performance by newcomer Lio Tipton), a 30-something former artist who has perfected the art of vanishing. She lives in a pristine Brooklyn apartment with her doting husband, Nico (Jeremy Allen White, shedding his charm for a skin-crawling earnestness). She hosts perfect playdates. She bakes sourdough. She smiles at the right moments.
White, as the "good husband," plays against type brilliantly. His kindness is not a mask, which is the film’s darkest joke. He isn't a villain. He is genuinely good. That makes Lena’s desire to scream at him all the more tragic. You can’t hate him, and so Lena learns to hate herself.