‘Babyratu’: Horny as hell’.Cinema and Female Sexuality On Screen.

Words: Sienna Shetty (she/her)

 ‘‘Babyratu’ is a reaction to the pernicious rise in sexism and shifting attitudes to gender roles online and off – these films contest the idea of sex as something done to women’

It’s no surprise that Nosferatu and Babygirl have been lumped together online as “Babyratu”; the heroines of both films are constrained by themselves and society, down to their elaborate corsetry and Zara business casual tailoring. Both films culminate their desire, which is depicted as so potent it can destabilise cities and companies.

Women-centric horror films are not new and are often reactionary warnings, heralding a cultural shift. Harsh abortion crackdowns following the repealing of Roe V Wade in the US literally gave birth to 2024’s Immaculate and First Omen, films centred around unwanted (and demonic) pregnancies, and the 1968 classic Rosemary’s Baby was released before women in the US had ever had legal access to abortion. It’s no coincidence that the rise of far right ideologies globally and Trump’s recent reelection are happening alongside the glamorisation of housewifery on social media. ‘Babyratu’ is a reaction to the pernicious rise in sexism and shifting attitudes to gender roles online and off – these films contest the idea of sex as something done to women. Whilst Nara Smith is cooking for her husband on Instagram reels, Kidman is squirting on the big screen.  

Nosferatu (2024), a gothic horror, transforms the classic vampire tale into one of obsession and darkness. Director Robert Eggers experiments with female sexuality within the context of horror, blurring the lines between repulsion and sensuality. Ellen Hunter’s (Lily-Rose Depp) spiritual relationship with Count Orlok (Bill Skarsgård) intensifies during the film as he fights his way into the city to see her, sending plague-infested rats to expedite the process. Female sexuality is represented as sinful in the first half of the film; Ellen is wrought with guilt over her previous encounters with Orlok, and Anna (Emma Corin) seems permanently pregnant as a result of her sexuality. As the plague decimates the city, Ellen is forced to reckon with her own sexual history and reconcile with her inner darkness. In one memorable frenzy, Ellen tears off her coquettish corset and revels in her true sexuality, naked, to confront her own desire. It is interesting to note that Depp took inspiration for this role from fellow French icon Isabelle Adjani’s performance in Possession (1981), demonstrating horror’s lasting curiosity in female sexuality. Nosferatu centralises Ellen’s spiritual transformation through a sexual self-acceptance, a spin on the classic that is riveting, nuanced, and sexy.

Babygirl (2024) also offers its heroine an on-screen release, depicting its heroine’s choices without judgement. Among other things, Romy Mathis (Nicole Kidman) cheats on her husband and abuses her position of power to fulfil her sexual urges. Her desires subvert her CEO image, pivoting away from the rigidity of the girlboss-femme-fatale trope into a position of submission, begging her intern to control her. The film exposes questions around how women are allowed to enjoy sex, whilst bridging the famed “orgasm gap”. Kidman is a powerful CEO of an Amazon-esque tech start up, but also inexplicably does all housework too – she makes her kids’ packed lunches whilst her husband lounges, and hoovers as he chats to the kids. She exercises control in every aspect down to her facial muscles (impeded by Botox injections). Between picking up after her husband, being declared ‘botched’ by her adolescent kids, and hounded by her work phone’s ringtone, it was no surprise that she sought to relinquish control. I was, however, left wondering whether she might have found more sexual satisfaction in her marriage if her husband perhaps experimented with doing some housework.

Whilst seeing Romy get her rocks off with a badly tattooed Samuel (Harris Dickinson) is fun, it lacks the bite to develop any real meaning. Romy is an interesting character – the film tentatively explores some of the fringes of her identity, even hinting at an upbringing in a cult. Despite this, it never delves deeper. The lack of exploration into Romy’s character means that as an audience we don’t experience her peril as the situation unravels to be tangible or particularly moving. Even as she is worried she will lose everything, we are never convinced she will. Despite these nuances, and director Halin Reijn’s avoidance of moral prescriptivity, the underdevelopment of Romy’s character nipped some of the film’s more interesting explorations of sex and relationships in the bud. The emphasis on how consensual loss of control can be empowering is interesting and culturally relevant but it would be great to understand why Romy feels this way, which is something we never quite reach. 

The films are engaging, and it’s depressingly refreshing to see woman-centred sex back on screen. But I did have some misgivings about Babygirl’s depiction of desire in film – Romy laps up milk from Samuel, and we watch as another woman submits to a man in a heteronormative BDSM relationship. Honey, we have The Secretary (2002) at home! Similarly, Nosferatu’s Ellen has her sexual awakening at the end of the film, but we are still not quite sure about the effects of her childhood interactions with Orlok, and how these have formed her sacrificial-lamb complex. As the plot centralises Ellen’s desires being realised through sex with men, you are also left wondering – is there much else to her except wanting to shag her childhood situationship?   

   Female pleasure on screen is clearly a popular niche in a rapidly more conservative world ($100 million and $20 million for both films respectively), and it is nice to see these heroines flaunting their sexuality. In a traditionally male dominated environment, Babyratu’s attention to female pleasure is still exciting – I just wish the female characters themselves were as equally stimulating, or complexly drawn.