Entertainment
Babygirl finally shows us what subspace feels like
One day, you’re an all-powerful CEO, star wife, and mother, and the next day you’re eating out of your young intern’s hand, quite literally. How is this contradiction possible, if it is a contradiction at all? The answer for both Nicole Kidman’s character in Halina Reijn’s film Babygirl and for many others who identify as BDSM submissives lies in the elusive concept of subspace: a metaphorical space and altered state one submits to during a kink scene, thanks to arousal and exchange of consent.
The notion is very new to Romy Mathis (Kidman, whose performance won her the Volpi Cup for Best Actress at this year’s Venice Film Festival). She’s the sharply dressed big boss with her hair always pinned up, until she meets Samuel (Harris Dickinson): a much younger, cocky, and borderline rude intern wearing a suit twice his size, filling it with ego. Romy finds herself trembling when Samuel controls a stray dog about to jump on her in the street with a mere whistle and a nod. From this seemingly passing interaction, the flows of her desire steer the narrative into the unknown waters of ambivalent wants and surrender, as Romy and Samuel begin an affair based on the exploration of dominance and submission.
“Scene” and its double meaning
Nicole Kidman and Harris Dickinson in “Babygirl.”
Credit: A24
According to Lina Dune, kink educator and host of the Ask a Sub podcast, a Dominant/submissive (D/s) relationship affords “a ritual space,” where equal, consenting adults negotiate, establish boundaries and safe words, and create “a container where things can transform and alchemize.” The set-up is called a “scene” and within the kink scene, the submissive can experience subspace. In theatre, cinema, or kink, we associate the word “scene” with a curated experience and performance.
Speaking to Mashable, director Halina Reijn champions this dual meaning, adding that for her, Babygirl is about performing. “Of course, in a BDSM setting, there’s a lot of performing,” she says, “but sex in general can also be very performative.” As a result, this theme informed the script and conversations with Kidman, becoming an instrument to explore the character’s authentic self. “Romy thinks she has to perform the perfect mother, lover, wife, leader,” says Reijn, “and we are all a little bit like that — what we forget to do is be ourselves and accept whoever we are.”
But what makes Babygirl stand out is that it shows dominance and submission as a process of negotiation, trial and error, rather than a textbook example or a polished act. Babygirl’s kink scenes feel real and inviting because they lay bare the mechanisms in the inner workings of control exchange. In each scene, Samuel umms and ahhs, trails off, laughs in the middle of his commands, while Romy is shown to resist, back out, and change her mind. For the actors, this means an extra layer of performance that incorporates flippancy and respect for consent; for the viewer it means relatability.
Not every scene is a “scene” but subspace is a space
Credit: A24
Subspace is a term used within the D/s and BDSM communities, according to Dune, to talk about “the altered state that comes about through the experience of submission.” She insists that it is a wide category that encompasses individual experiences that may differ from one another, like that of intoxication or alcohol intake, for example. Scientifically, the state is a reaction to adrenaline, oxytocin, and endorphins rushing into the brain, but what does subspace feel like?
Dune explains that for some people it may be “a floaty, dreamy, quiet disconnected feeling,” while others might giggle or cry. “I like to refer to it as ‘getting high on your own supply,'” she says, “because you’re not on anything, but the experience of crossing over a taboo.”
Thinking of cinematic representations of liminal states — hallucinations (Enter the Void), drug-induced trips (Queer), or drunkenness (Another Round) — perhaps film is the most suitable medium to portray a subjective, heightened state of mind. The key is in the spatial metaphor: one “goes into” or “inhabits” a space. Unlike other films, Babygirl doesn’t rely on classical point-of-view shots showing a dizzy, spell-binding world seen through the protagonist’s eyes. Instead, the handheld work of Reijn’s long-time collaborator, cinematographer Jasper Wolf is more subtle.
Lights, camera, submission!
Credit: A24
Halfway through the film, Romy and Samuel decide to meet at a cheap hotel. No wonder, their affair belongs to clandestine spaces, the four walls of every office, bathroom stall, and hired bedroom swelling with desire. When it’s just the two of them, they can be free from the outside world’s demands. In that sequence, Romy storms out and comes back, Samuel wrestles her to the ground, and their power dynamics become a source of play: a scene begins. The camera sinks down with her, framing her face in a close-up, while Samuel becomes a blur in the background: where he touches her and how is not as important as Romy’s reactions.
Mashable After Dark
Discussing that part of the film, Wolf tells Mashable that the camera is like a third character in the room with them. Instead of story-boarding the shots, he would film long, single takes to capture the erotic flow of power exchange. The camera often remains still and fixed on Romy, letting the viewer accompany her throughout the cascade of emotions coloring her face with arousal: from surprise through shame to blissful release, we partake in her surrender.
“It’s like an honest and sometimes relentless gaze on what is going to happen between the two,” he says.
Coordinating subspace
Credit: A24
Why can’t words accurately describe subspace? “If we lived in a matriarchal utopia, perhaps we would have more words for it,” jokes Dune. But in today’s individualistic Western world, she points out that people “are expected to actualize themselves in a way that’s masculine-coded. Submission, in contrast, is understood to be very vulnerable which is more female-coded.”
In cinema, pop culture, or daily life, the derogatory stereotype for men in power who want to be dominated and/or humiliated is often presented as a point of humor. Admitting a submissive desire costs a lot: “I’ll receive at least one phone call per week from someone who says they want to be a sub, but stress on the fact that they are not submissive in their day-to-day life,” says Dune.
What’s novel about Babygirl is that not only does it show the characters’ vulnerability, but also how much they are willing to reveal to one another. In cinematographic terms, this exchange of consent is translated by panning movements linking Romy and Samuel’s faces as they look at each other. “Put simply,” says Wolf, “the camera is often a representation of her inner world: it becomes more free and fearless alongside Romy.”
On set, the cast and production team worked with intimacy coordinator Lizzy Talbot (No Hard Feelings, Dead Ringers) to ensure there were no surprises. Dickinson, who had previously worked with Talbot on the TV series A Murder at the End of the World, underscored the importance of clear communication. “If you approach [sex] scenes with too much trepidation and sensitivity, it can be anxiety inducing; you need an intimacy coordinator to be very direct and pragmatic about it,” he tells Mashable’s Anna Iovine. Reijn also brainstormed with Talbot when writing the intimacy scenes, saying that the work with a coordinator “goes much further than just being on set with her.”
Facing subspace
Credit: A24
Later in the film, there is a second hotel room scene, where Samuel “directs” Romy from across the lavish suite. He commands her to strip, tells her where to put her hands and how to pose. Even when both are naked, the camera doesn’t linger on the nudity of their bodies, but their faces. When sharing subspace, they see each other anew, and their newfound intimacy translates into the visuals. To channel the ebb and flow, Wolf used a mix of camera lenses, shifting between spherical and anamorphic. As for the visible effect, “it’s not in your face and it shouldn’t be,” he says, “but a slight change of perspective [makes you] suddenly see them with different eyes.” The game of letting your guard down plays out on their faces.
Unlike films like Steven Shainberg’s Secretary, which relates submissive kink to trauma, Babygirl succeeds in telegraphing to a wider audience the message that these are real people, and their desires — even when dangerous to their status quo — don’t have to be as destructive or severely punished. “The BDSM community,” says Dune in relation to Secretary, “wants to see more empowered people portrayed as submissive and break that stereotype.”
But she is optimistic: “I think we’re getting closer to better representation of BDSM on screen. Obviously, I would be a lot more excited about films that hire sex workers as consultants, but for example, a film like Sanctuary had less research done into the BDSM community, but what I saw on screen rang true to me.” Dune admits that she doesn’t expect education from cinema, or at least not the kind that sex and kink educators like herself offer, adding that “film should be about fantasy.”
By setting Babygirl’s subspace explorations against a corporate, hetero-mono-normative backdrop, Reijn also makes a political point. However ephemeral, subspace is a consent-bound altered state that resists categorization. Perhaps a way for some of us to survive the capitalist hell is to surrender — to desires or to films like Babygirl — and take Dune’s advice: “Let the film dominate you.”
Babygirl is now showing in cinemas.
Entertainment
Star Trek’s First Broadcast Episode Was Very Carefully Chosen, Because It Was Boring
By Chris Snellgrove
| Published
These days, Star Trek is a bona fide pop culture phenomenon. But during the development of The Original Series, there was anxiety that the general public wouldn’t really understand Gene Roddenberry’s mashing up Western tropes with a sci-fi setting. Making matters worse was that the original pilot, “The Cage,” had been rejected by NBC for being too brainy. Fortunately, Roddenberry got a chance to shoot another pilot, one which impressed the network enough to order an entire season worth of episodes.
Several episodes of Star Trek: The Original Series had already been shot when the time came for this new show to make its broadcast premiere. The first episode that the general public saw was “The Man Trap,” which featured a shapeshifting monster that was revealed to be an alien salt vampire. This good-but-not-great episode was an odd choice, and it was one that the cast and crew hated. As it turns out, though, this episode was very carefully selected by executives because it served as an inoffensive, relatively straightforward encapsulation of everything Star Trek had to offer.
It’s A Trap!
Most of the information we have about why “The Man Trap” was selected as Star Trek’s first episode comes from the book Inside Star Trek: The Real Story. Within this impressive reference tome, Robert H. Justman and Herbert F. Solow revealed something surprising: NBC had several other episodes to choose from for the premiere, including “The Corbomite Maneuver,” “Charlie X,” “Mudd’s Women,” “Where No Man Has Gone Before,” and “The Naked Time.” All of them had already been shot and were mostly finished, so it was just a matter of figuring out which episode would serve as the best introduction to Star Trek, a heretofore unknown sci-fi series.
“The Man Trap” won out, mostly because the powers that be worried that other episodes would be off-putting to general audiences in some very specific ways. For example, they worried that audiences would find “Charlie X” a story that was “too gentle” because it focused on an adolescent with special powers. This was probably the right call, in retrospect: when Variety gave a negative review of “The Man Trap” (an episode chosen, in part, because of its relative maturity), they declared that Star Trek: The Original Series was “better suited to the Saturday morning kidvid bloc” (ouch!).
A Monster Hit Of An Episode
“The Corbomite Maneuver” was a great potential choice, but this episode’s impressive special effects were still in post-production, and almost all of its action took place on the ship. “Where No Man Has Gone Before” really outlined the premise of the new show, but it was deemed “expository” for general audiences expecting more action and danger. Justman thought “The Naked Time” was a killer introduction to the crew’s personalities, but the network passed, presumably because of how over-the-top (half-naked, swashbuckling Sulu? Oh, my!) that episode gets. “Mudd’s Women,” meanwhile, was deemed too offensive because the plot involved literally selling women to miners.
Through this process of elimination, executives decided that “The Man Trap” was the best intro to Star Trek. It had cool scenes on both the Enterprise and a distant outpost (a strange new world) and featured a straightforward action plot you didn’t have to be a sci-fi aficionado to understand. Finally, it was all about finding and defeating a creepy monster, which offered thrills to audiences of all ages. The network’s choice paid off, and Star Trek: The Original Series became the most popular sci-fi show in television history, even though the cast (including William Shatner and Leonard Nimoy) thought “The Man Trap” was the worst possible episode they could have chosen.
All of this is a keen reminder of how much thought and work went into putting Star Trek’s best foot forward. It might be a reminder that Paramount’s current upper leadership needs, as Starfleet Academy hit the ground running with the worst episodes of Season 1. The show got better after that, but it didn’t matter because the prospective audience had already been driven away. As it turns out, today’s execs need to learn something that the network execs of the ‘60s had learned very well: series succeed when you give the audience what they want to see and not what you want to show!
Entertainment
How A Fantasy Box Office Bomb Lost $200 Million In Theaters, And Suddenly Became A Streaming Hit
By Jonathan Klotz
| Published
For the last decade as streaming has taken off in homes around the world, it’s become possible for films that lost historical amounts of money in theaters to find success, even if it might be the post-Mystery Science Theater 3000 trend of “so bad it’s good.” That’s why a massive flop, for example say, Morbius, and films that slightly missed the mark like The Fall Guy can turn it around and become a streaming success.
What’s even more impressive is the amazing turnaround of 2013’s Jack the Giant Slayer, which lost Legendary Pictures an alleged $200 million, only to end up topping streaming charts in 2025.
The Classic Fairy Tale With A Twist
Everyone knows the story of Jack and the Beanstalk, the classic fairy tale about selling a horse for magic beans and climbing a beanstalk to find a giant living in the clouds. It’s simple, contains multiple morals, and can be easily adjusted to turn Jack into the villain, but Jack the Giant Slayer instead asks, “What if there was no moral, and instead of one giant, there was an entire army of evil giants?” The movie is the classic story, as you’ve never seen it before, and it almost works.
Nicholas Hoult plays Jack, the young man who finds himself trading his horse to a monk in exchange for beans that he can’t allow to get wet, ever. Like the rules in Gremlins, it’s not long before Jack accidentally gets the beans wet and a beanstalk grows under his house with the princess, Isabell (Eleanor Tomlinson), trapped inside as it grows into the sky. All the king’s men gather to rescue the princess, including Lord Roderick (Stanley Tucci), who, thankfully, Jack the Giant Slayer makes obvious is very evil, very quickly.
It’s up to Jack, Isabell, and the loyal Knight, Elmont (Ewan McGregor) to save the kingdom and stop the invasion of giants led by Roderick and the giant two-headed General Fallon (Bill Nighy). If there’s one thing Jack the Giant Slayer does better than every other adaptation, it’s the third act featuring a full-blown war between humans and giants, with a touch of humor and absurdity. Watching a giant toss a windmill like the glaive from Krull is the perfect amount of off-beat to distract from a surprising amount of body horror in both the giant’s designs and Fallon’s ultimate fate.
A Movie For No One
Jack the Giant Slayer looks too good, and the star-studded cast is having way too much fun for it to be a truly bad movie. The problem is that the pacing is off: it takes a little too long to get to the good stuff, then it feels a little too rushed, and though it is a fun adventure, it’s also, like the source material, simplistic. It’s not like the movie wasn’t watched in theaters; it made $197 million worldwide, which would be a great haul except it cost $185 million to make, and that’s not including the extensive marketing campaign.
The push and pull of director Bryan Singer’s vision of a dark take on the fable, complete with actual people-eating on screen, and the sanitized version that hit theaters, which was still too dark for children, since the film is surprisingly rated PG-13, meant it ended up being a film for no one. The Rotten Tomatoes ratings, of 52 percent from critics and 55 percent from the audience, are proof that the final product is not great, but not bad; it’s a movie that will keep you watching for a few hours and then leave no lasting impression. These days, Lionsgate and Sony wish they’d release a movie that is that well-received, as even Jack the Giant Slayer looks like a masterpiece compared to Borderlands or Kraven the Hunter.
Streaming is the perfect home for Jack the Giant Slayer, and 10 years later, it no longer matters that the movie lost hundreds of millions in theaters. It finally gets to stand on its own as a fun, if unremarkable, fantasy adventure.
Entertainment
Did Star Trek’s Best Series Secretly Doom The Franchise?
By Chris Snellgrove
| Published
Star Trek: Deep Space Nine is considered the best show in the franchise by many fans, myself included. The show focused on extensive characterization, long-running arcs, and fairly dark plots, including the Dominion War story that dominated the last two seasons. Decades later, NuTrek shows like Discovery, Picard, and Starfleet Academy fizzled, leaving the frustrated fandom to ask a simple question: why can’t these newer shows be more like Deep Space Nine?
However, here’s a troubling fact: NuTrek sucked so much precisely because the creators were trying to make shows like DS9. Obviously, they didn’t do a very good job, mostly because executive producer Alex Kurtzman is a complete hack. But if you pound a few shots of Romulan Ale and squint, you can see that the architects of NuTrek went all-in on the idea of creating “darker” Star Trek shows in a failed attempt to recapture the magic of what made Deep Space Nine so special.
Star Trek Into Darkness
Deep Space Nine is considered the dark (if not the darkest) Star Trek show for many reasons. It doesn’t feature the squeaky-clean heroes of The Next Generation; instead, our heroes include a former terrorist (Kira), a former spy (Garak), and an angry widower who ends up becoming a reluctant Space Jesus (Sisko). His chief foe is basically Trek’s closest analog to Adolf Hitler (Gul Dukat). Even the relatively “normal” characters get dark backgrounds and plots. For example, fresh-faced medical prodigy Dr. Bashir is revealed to be a Khan-like augmented human. Affable everyman O’Brien, meanwhile, gets physically and mentally tortured at least once a season.
The show also used its Dominion War arc to test the boundaries of Star Trek’s endless idealism. Sisko becomes an accessory to a murder, but he never admits it because this act finally gets the Romulans to join the war. He also discovers that Starfleet has a secret wetworks division known as Section 31, which handles everything from assassinations to genocides. Odo gets so distracted by shapeshifter sex that he becomes a collaborator with monsters (again). Oh, and Worf murders Gowron (with Sisko’s blessing!) so he can install his buddy as Chancellor of the Klingon Empire.
NuTrek Is An Edgerlord’s Paradise
Obviously, DS9 had dark characters and storylines, but what does that have to do with NuTrek? In short, the entire Kurtzman era of this franchise has been filled with lame, edgelord attempts at making the franchise darker. The first season of Star Trek: Discovery, for example, centers on a mutineer who started a war as its main character. It’s a season where Klingons eat their dead foes and strip down to engage in sex that’s half play, half intimate assault. An evil Starfleet captain tortures a tardigrade before the good Starfleet captains one-up him with a plan to blow up an entire planet in an attempt to end a costly war.
Star Trek continued going (ahem) into darkness with other spinoffs. Picard inexplicably features a beloved Voyager B-lister getting tortured and murdered while Picard cozies up to a Romulan swordsman whose only solution to any problem is cutting someone’s head off. They’re fighting to save a Federation that is now cool with creating synthetic slaves. Later, Season 2 has our heroes fighting ICE, watching Q die, and discovering that a young Picard accidentally helped his mother unalive herself. Even the relatively lighthearted Starfleet Academy had the good guys put the entire Federation in danger because they meddled with and accidentally weaponized the most dangerous molecule in the galaxy.
It’s All About Testing Characters’ Morality
In retrospect, it’s clear that Alex Kurtzman and his writers thought they could recapture the old Deep Space Nine magic by throwing a bunch of grimdark characters into gritty situations and calling it a day. However, this didn’t work because DS9’s characters weren’t inherently dark; instead, they were good men and women forced to weigh their morals against the greater good. In the classic episode “In the Pale Moonlight,” Sisko isn’t compelling simply because he’s a morally murky character. No, what makes this episode fascinating is that he’s a good man forced to do bad things, with the fate of potentially billions of lives riding on his decision.
Similarly, Worf doesn’t kill Gowron because of petty vengeance or a haunted past. Instead, he weighs his cultural values as both a Klingon and a Starfleet officer, ultimately deciding it’s better to kill a tyrant than let him continue getting others killed. Even plain, simple Garak seems happy with his life as a tailor, and he’s only reluctantly drawn back into active spycraft because he realizes the best way to save his homeworld is to save it from the Cardassians who have sold its soul, one alliance at a time.
This obviously extends to the Dominion War arc as a whole. We see the toll the war has on good men and women: Nog becomes a wounded and disillusioned war veteran, and Rom nearly gets killed trying to save the Alpha Quadrant. Jadzia Dax does get killed fighting superpowered space Hitler, and Odo begins to question his loyalties. However, characters retain their morality throughout every ordeal. Bashir repeatedly refuses to join Section 31, and Odo saves the Changelings from that organization’s attempted genocide. Standing victorious on Cardassia, Captain Sisko and Admiral Ross refuse to toast their victory, instead choosing to mourn this utterly senseless and completely preventable loss of life.
NuTrek Made Its Worst Villain Into A Hero
Compare that to NuTrek, where the Klingon War hardens hearts and makes the wisest people lose their moral compass. Both Sarek and Starfleet are willing to blow up the Klingon homeworld and kill billions in order to end the war. Starfleet has suddenly decided to trust its war planning to Mirror Universe Georgiou, a woman who has terrorized the entire galaxy while murdering countless people. Later, she’s put in Section 31 (a DS9 invention NuTrek tried very hard to capitalize on) so the entire Federation can continue to benefit from her completely amoral advice. That’s because the Feds believed the same thing that Picard suddenly starts believing over a century later: violence is great as long as the ends justify the means.
This is basically the problem with NuTrek in a nutshell. We don’t get fully fleshed-out characters whose morality is tested by unthinkable scenarios. Instead, we get one-dimensional characters who are dark and compromised from the beginning. Michael Burnham is meant to be the embodiment of Starfleet ideals, but she comes to us as an angry, nearly broken mutineer who, in her guilt, saves an alternate universe’s most murderous monster from certain doom. Even formerly complex characters like Picard are made dumb, violent, and impulsive by writers who value blunt spectacle over elegant storytelling.
Star Trek Needs More Than Darkness
Alex Kurtzman tried to copy the Deep Space Nine formula for NuTrek, but, in typical fashion, he went about it in the stupidest possible way. It’s not enough to give us dark settings and plots; we need well-developed characters whose morality is an idealistic counterpart to the darkness around them. Stories needed to reinforce Star Trek’s hopeful ethos and reward audiences who never lost faith in the greatest sci-fi franchise of all time. Instead, what we got was a collection of dark characters, pointless action scenes, and endless violence, all wrapped up with another snoozeworthy Michael Burnham speech.
This is Kurtzman’s warped idea of what makes Star Trek so great. Is it any wonder that every one of his NuTrek shows has been a colossal failure?
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