Baby, Don't Cry: A Messy, Decidedly Dark Coming-Of-Age About Codependency And Toxic Relationships
Baby, Don’t Cry recently had its world premiere at the 2021 Fantasia International Film Festival. Directed by Jesse Dvorak, who works from a script by Zita Bai (who also stars as the titular Baby), the film delves into the dark side of the coming-of-age genre (similarly to 2017’s Raw), giving audiences an unflinching look at a toxic romance and codependency.
Baby, a withdrawn and sensitive 17-year-old Chinese immigrant from a troubled home, is living in the outskirts of Seattle. One day, she meets a 20-year-old delinquent named Fox. Together they embark on a twisted journey to escape their hopeless fate.
Baby, Don’t Cry (which might possibly get its title from the 2Pac//The Outlawz song) isn’t going to be for everyone. In fact, it’s likely going to be too difficult and uncomfortable for many, which isn’t to say that it’s not without merit. This decidedly black, strange, and dingy coming-of-age film about a bad romance fully leans into the darker side of the genre in the same ways that Julia Ducournau's Raw or Kevin Phillips’ Super Dark Times does (although it’s not nearly as entertaining). Somewhat fable-esque, with light touches of magical realism, the film also shares some similarities to Terrence Malick’s monumental debut about outlaw love, Badlands (although it’s not nearly as hypnotic or timeless). Its primary focus centers around an ill-fated couple also gives it notes of Jean-Luc Godard’s Breathless and Arthur Penn’s Bonnie and Clyde. Yet, for all its familiarities, it still feels like a pretty refreshing entry into this dime-a-dozen genre.
What sets it apart is its punk attitude, cultural slant, emotional rawness, and commitment to the darker end of the genre’s spectrum, which tends to be populated with warm, nostalgic entries. The film follows the titular Baby (played by screenwriter Zita Bai), a shy and sensitive 17-year-old Chinese immigrant living in rural outskirts of Seattle with her oppressive mother, as she becomes romantically entangled with a young gutter punk by the name of Fox (played Vasily Provatakis). Baby has dreams of one day moving to L.A. to pursue a career in filmmaking, which she prepares for by lugging around a Hi8 camcorder that she uses in a very American Beauty-esque way, and while Fox doesn’t appear to have many aspirations of his own, he is the catalyst to Baby’s journey toward self-discovery. Both are pariahs in their own right, and they’re drawn to each other’s “otherness,” but the ties that bind them are the same which threaten to pull them apart.
Many protagonists in coming-of-age films have the luxury of turning to friends or parents for support, but Baby has neither. With no one to guide her along the way, it makes sense for her to fall into the arms of the first person who makes her feel seen, even when they’re obviously bad news. Because this feeling is so new to her, it’s hard for her to just up and walk away from the relationship, despite its aimlessness, emotional turbulence, and impending doom. There’s an intentional stagnancy to the film’s romance (which might feel like a narrative flatline to many), but it’s really the underdeveloped parental subplot that drags this one down. It’s difficult to parse what exactly is wrong with Baby’s mother, and it’s hard to believe she’s grief-stricken by the loss of Baby’s father when we see how volatile their relationship was in a dizzyingly uncomfortable flashback. While there are echoes of Baby and Fox’s relationship in her mother and father that give the film an interesting cyclical layer, there are many scenes between Baby and her mother that don’t add much value and felt like padding for the runtime.
Some of the film’s magical realism works, but some of it is distracting and a bit too on the nose. Baby’s mother is the perfect example of this, as her selfishness in wanting to keep Baby to herself is unnecessarily epitomized by her metaphorical transformation into a pig (which could also be a cultural reference for a developmental stepping stone; although, that’s a bit of a reach). We also see some additional on-the-nose metaphors with Fox, whose mischievousness, cunning, and deception all play into his animal namesake, and Baby, whose brimming with innocence and naivety. Dvorak’s direction is pretty simple and leaves room for the performances to take center stage. Both Bai and Provatakis give terrifically committed performances that churn Baby and Fox’s questionable relationship into something that can be viscerally felt. Bai is strongest in her silences, but Provatakis (who reminded us a bit of Anton Yelchin) steals the show; he makes Fox feel palpably real and gives him an unpredictable quality that makes any scene with him an exciting one to watch.
Although Baby, Don’t Cry frequently struggles to maintain a cohesive tone and juggle its narrative threads, its unflinching commitment to its examination of toxic and codependent relationships is commendable. It’s slow moving and somewhat lacking in surprises, but its jagged rawness finds ways to pierce deeper than you’d expect, and its hopeful (albeit ambiguous) closing gives viewers something to ponder.
Recommendation: If you’re into darker films and want to see a more uncomfortable take on the coming-of-age film, give Baby, Don’t Cry a go.
Rating: 3 toxic entanglements outta 5.
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