There are few movie stars who have been as prolific as Nicole Kidman.

In fact, the Australian star of “Babygirl” – the slick erotic thriller by Dutch filmmaker Halina Reijn now in theaters – has been so busy in recent years (23 films in the last decade, and that’s not even counting her television work or her gig as celebrity spokesmodel for the AMC Theater chain) that it’s become a running gag in the popular conversation. It even emerged as a punch line for Golden Globes host Nikki Glaser earlier this month.

Make no mistake, though, there’s a reason for her continued presence as one of Hollywood’s most valuable players, and “Babygirl,” which pushes her to exhibit the kind of vulnerability rarely even expected of performers half her age, is ample proof of that.

In the film, Kidman stars as Romy Mathis, the CEO of a New York tech company – an Amazon-style purchasing hub where order fulfillment is handled exclusively via robotics – whose marriage to a renowned theater director (Antonio Banderas) works everywhere but in the bedroom. When Samuel (Harris Dickinson), a much-younger new male intern at the company to whom she is already attracted, requests her as his mentor as part of a company leadership program, she finds herself drawn into an affair, fueled by the Dom/sub sexual dynamic of her fantasies, which compromises her position of power in the company almost as much as it satisfies the unmet needs of her personal life. It’s a self-described thriller, so needless to say, things start to spin out of control when Samuel shows up unannounced at her home in the middle of a family gathering – but the increasing danger only serves to draw her deeper into a situation which, by any conventional standard, represents a highly inappropriate breach of conduct, at best.

Influenced noticeably by films from the pre-“MeToo”-era dealing with the blending of sexual and professional power dynamics (both “Indecent Proposal” and “Basic Instinct” have been cited by Reijn as inspiration) and marked by an aloof, almost documentarian perspective that contrasts with the boundary-pushing provocation of its intimate scenes in a way that distances us from the ethical quandaries of its central relationship, it’s a movie that both invites us and challenges us. Investing us in the experience of a woman who has beaten the odds to find success while resigning herself to an unsatisfactory sex life with an otherwise perfectly matched husband, it asks us to empathize and even root for Romy as she negotiates the thorny path toward an erotic self-actualization that matches her professional one, despite the strong societal current that would brand every decision she makes along the way as toxic. It’s this conflict between what’s “right” and what serves our deepest instinctual needs that gives “Babygirl” its edgy power, far more than its scenes of fetish-driven intimacy – which, while they crackle with the kind of sexual tension that’s often lacking in the scenes of “socially endorsed” intimacy presented in mainstream cinema, are undeniably tame compared with what can be found in the more transgressive milieu of underground cinema – and rattles our sense of (for lack of a better word) “decency.”

This said, the scenes in which Kidman – who fearlessly embraces the challenge of being an A-list superstar (of a “certain age”) in a role that hinges not just on her sexual viability, but the willingness with which she allows her body to be presented for scrutiny – surrenders herself to the irresistible draw of her forbidden young lover are nevertheless searing examples of raw cinematic expression. This is certainly a function of her full commitment to the role, and her ability to find the right blend of self-awareness and self-abandon that convinces us of their authenticity. But it’s equally due to the smouldering charisma and adroitly balanced persona of Dickinson’s Samuel, who overcomes the natural distrust that inherently accompanies his role (as a male subordinate seemingly exploiting his female superior’s vulnerability) to win a palpable measure of respect – if not our full sympathies – through an almost preternatural sense of self-confidence and a kind of dark sincerity that renders the mutually exploitative nature of their relationship almost irrelevant in our visceral response to it.

Before anyone questions the weight with which we consider the movie’s sex scenes, it’s important to convey that “Babygirl” is most decidedly a film about sexual politics, and, despite the complimentary juxtaposition it provides with workplace culture, it is there where it hits its deepest and most resonant chords in our collective psyche. The forced strictures of our societal roles take a back seat to the raw and untamed urgency of our most intimate desires, and even the sacrosanct bond of marital commitment is fair game when it comes to fulfilling the fantasies that somehow make us feel more wholly ourselves, regardless – and indeed, often because of – any taboos that might otherwise discourage us from exploring them. 

In an era when the “rules” around sex somehow feel both less and more stringent than ever, such an approach feels particularly transgressive. Indeed, the implication than an illicit office affair might be anything other than an HR nightmare might well seem like a radical notion even to those with a more-or-less permissive stance on matters of personal morality, in any era. Yet “Babygirl” negotiates those dangerous curves with wickedly seductive finesse, offering up a steamy portrait of illicit-yet-irresistible sexual adventure that ultimately feels less like a cautionary tale – despite the inevitable personal and professional consequences that threaten to shatter Romy’s idealized “Girl Boss” life as her affair with Samuel grows more and more out of her control – than a taboo-smashing story of personal liberation and growth beyond conventional mores.

Delivered without overt judgment through Reijn’s observational treatment, it’s a movie that successfully conveys the allure of “kinky” sexual roleplay far more convincingly than “Fifty Shades of Gray” – thanks in no small part to Dickinson, whose breathtakingly opaque performance renders Samuel with equal parts searing charisma and chilling menace, and whose May/September chemistry with Kidman is not only convincing but undeniably hot.

It’s her film, however, and it’s her performance, which captures an emotional nakedness far more courageous than that required by baring her perfect-for-any-age body, that gives “Babygirl” the depth that makes it more than just a topical tale of sexual politics in the workplace. Indeed, the office intrigue that surrounds the affair seems almost an afterthought, a convenient “McGuffin” to draw us into a story that is really about something much more interesting.

While the movie doesn’t always land perfectly – particularly in its treatment of Romy’s marriage, which feels vaguely perfunctory and leaves Banderas with little room to explore the nuances that might make his character more than a cipher – it’s still a deliciously provocative, visually stylish piece of boldly countercultural filmmaking, that dares to suggest that the path to personal growth sometimes lies through kinky, forbidden sex.

You have to admit, it’s a very appealing suggestion.

If there’s anything Hollywood loves – during “Awards Season” at least – it’s a good old-fashioned epic.

From “Gone With the Wind” to “Ben-Hur” to “The Godfather” and beyond, the film industry has always favored “big” movies when it comes to doling out its annual accolades, in part because awards equate to more public interest (and therefore more revenue) for films that might not otherwise grab enough attention to earn back their massive budgets. Yet, profit motive aside, such movies exude the kind of monumental grandeur that has come to be seen as the pinnacle of filmmaking craft, a perfect blend of art and entertainment that represents Hollywood at its finest and most iconic. It only makes sense that the people whose life is devoted to making movies would want to celebrate something that lives up to that ideal, especially when it also seems to reflect the cultural climate of its time.

That’s good news for “The Brutalist,” which has been buzzed – for months now – as the front-runner for all the Best Picture awards and seems to have proven its inevitability with its win of the Best Motion Picture Drama prize at this week’s Golden Globes. It meets all the requirements for an epic prestige picture: a sweeping plot, containing a nebula of currently relevant thematic ideas, but with an iconic historical period as its backdrop; monumental settings, spectacular locations, and impeccably designed costumes; an acclaimed actor giving a tour-de-force performance at the head of a proverbial “cast of thousands” and a runtime long enough to necessitate an intermission. Add the fact that it comes with an array of already-bestowed prizes from some of the most prestigious film festivals in the world, not to mention high placement on most of the year’s prominent “10 best” lists, and its predicted victory charge through the rest of the awards gauntlet looks likely to be a sure bet.

That assessment might seem glib, even cynical, but it’s no reflection on the movie. On the contrary, “The Brutalist” stands out above the rest of the crop not because of the hype, but because of its cinematic excellence, and that is precisely what has made it such an attractive awards candidate.

Spanning several decades across the mid-20th century, it’s the saga of László Tóth (Adrien Brody), a Hungarian Jewish refugee – once a young rising star on the European architecture scene – who seeks a new life in America after being liberated from a Nazi concentration camp. Reuniting with his already-Americanized cousin (Alessandro Nivola), who now owns a furniture business in New York, he offers his Bauhaus-educated expertise in exchange for a place to stay, leading to a fortuitous connection with wealthy industrialist Harrison Lee Van Buren (Guy Pearce), who becomes enamored with his work. The resulting commission not only allows him to design and begin construction on a spectacular new masterpiece, but to facilitate the emigration of his beloved wife Erzsébet (Felicity Jones) – from whom he had been separated during the war – and his orphaned niece Zsófia (Raffey Cassidy).

Things are never easy for an immigrant, however, and unanticipated setbacks on the ambitious project for his mercurial new patron – possibly connected to a “functional” heroin habit that has grown increasingly difficult to balance with his professional life – soon lead to one reversal of fortune after another. It will take years before László is finally given the chance to complete his dream project, but even then the volatile affections of Van Buren threaten to thwart his ambitions before they can reach fruition.

It’s difficult to offer a synopsis that effectively sums up the powers of this film’s singular combination of pseudo-historical gravitas (the “pseudo” in this case means “fictionalized,” not “untruthful”) and coldly aloof observational commentary about the truth behind the so-called “American Dream”; director Brady Corbet unfolds his boldly countercultural narrative, in which the wealth and power of a privileged class that holds sway over the destiny of immigrants and outsiders is allegorically portrayed through the relationship between a visionary artist and the oligarch who ultimately wants nothing more than to exploit him. It’s an unmistakably political perspective that shines through that lens, and one that feels eerily apt in a time when even the greatest expressions of our humanity are granted value only so far as they serve the interests – and feed the egos – of the ruling power elite, and marginalized outsiders are “tolerated” only as long as they are useful.

In the intricately woven screenplay by Corbet and writing partner Mona Fastvold, these ideas run throughout the story of László’s American experience like the streaks of color in a slab of fine marble, turning “The Brutalist” into an anti-fascist parable through the personal stories of its characters. The portrait it paints of American classism, racism, anti-Semitism and sexism – all perhaps most boldly personified by Van Buren’s arrogantly boorish son (Joe Alwyn) – is not an attractive one; and though it grants us historical distance to make its observations, it is impossible not to see both the ominous connections that can be made to our current era and the true character of an American history in which “greatness” only existed for those with the money to buy it. The result is an eloquent piece of filmmaking that manages to “speak truth to power” through the details of its narrative without lofty speeches (mostly) or other contrivances to highlight its arguments – though admittedly, the broad strokes with which it crafts some of its more unpleasant characters occasionally feel like not-so-subtle Hollywood-style manipulation.

Ultimately, of course, what gives Corbet’s movie its real power is its size. Like the architectural style embraced by its title character, “The Brutalist” is monumental, a construction of high ceilings and ornate furnishings that is somehow streamlined into a minimalist, functional whole. Superbly shot by cinematographer Lol Crawley in a nostalgic VistaVision screen ratio that demands viewing on the big screen, it boasts a bold visual aesthetic rarely attempted by modern films, further suiting the scale of the statement it makes.

Finally, though, it’s Brody’s outstanding performance that drives the film, a master class in understated emotional expression that reveals a complex landscape of pain and passion through nuance rather than bombast. Jones is also superb as his wife, every bit his intellectual equal and exuding strength despite being wheelchair bound, and Pearce delivers a career-highlight turn as Van Buren, capturing both his confident charisma and terrifying rage while still giving glimpses of the hidden passions that lurk below them – though to say more about that might constitute a spoiler.

There’s no denying that “The Brutalist” is a superb movie, and one that feels as capable of standing the test of time as one of its protagonist’s structures. Make no mistake, though, it’s no crowd-pleaser; non-cinema buffs may be daunted by its combination of extreme length and leisurely pace, and while it has its moments of uplift, it never veers too far from the grim melancholy that lurks beneath them. For those with the stamina for it, however, it’s a movie that enfolds you completely, and holds your interest for each of its 200 minutes.

It’s time again for the Blade’s annual round-up of our favorite films of the year – and as always, we’re keeping our focus queer. We’ve loved movies like “Anora” and “The Brutalist,” and we appreciate the queer talent in inclusive titles like “Sing Sing,” “Emilia Perez,” and “Wicked,” but we’re limiting our choices to films that speak more directly to queer experience – which means most of the titles on our list are smaller movies that might have slipped under your radar.

Fortunately, we’re here to fill you in on the ones you missed.

#10 Cora Bora. Landing at No. 10on the list is a comedy-of-awkwardness, this time focused on a bisexual musician (Meg Stalter) whose faltering bid for success in Los Angeles prompts her to return to her native Portland and attempt to reconcile with the longtime girlfriend she left behind. Stalter infuses the clueless self-absorption of her character with a subtext that wins our hearts before we even know the backstory which illuminates it, and the overall tone of compassion that director Hannah Pearl Utt drives home a healing sense of “meeting people where they are” that makes us think twice about judging even the most insufferable among us.

#9 Big Boys. Equal parts bittersweet coming-of-age story and uncomfortable-yet-endearing comedy, this festival-circuit fave from filmmaker Corey Sherman strikes gold with an eminently relatable narrative about the awkwardness of burgeoning sexuality and a winning performance from young star Isaac Krasner, as a plus-size young teen who develops a crush on his female cousin’s hunky-and-bearish new boyfriend (David Johnson III) during a camping trip. Funny, poignant, and yes, heartwarming, it’s a much-needed look at the difficulties of navigating the transition to adulthood while also struggling with issues of body-positivity and sexual identity.

#8 National Anthem. Though it garnered little attention during its brief theatrical release, this indie debut feature from Luke Gilford deserves due attention for its remarkably jubilant story of a young day laborer (Charlie Plummer) who takes on a job at a ranch run by queer rodeo performers, including Sky (Eve Lindley), a captivating trans girl who stirs feelings he’s kept hidden at home. An open-hearted coming-of-age story, with an optimistic attitude toward acceptance, love, and finding one’s “people,” it’s a welcome must-see in a time marked by conflict and divisive thinking.

#7 Love Lies Bleeding. A throwback to ‘90s lesbian neo-noir, this stylized thriller from director Rose Glass stars Kristen Stewart as the estranged daughter of a small-town crime boss (Ed Harris) whose romance with an aspiring female bodybuilder puts them both in her ruthless daddy’s crosshairs. Pulpy, violent, and unapologetically amoral, it’s both an exercise in neon-tinged period style and a loopy-but-suspenseful thrill ride that keeps you on the edge of your seat even through its most absurd moments.

#6 The People’s Joker. Trans filmmaker Vera Drew wrote, directed, and stars in this off-the-beaten-path triumph that amusingly asserts itself as a parody in no way associated with any “official” comic book franchise – even though it takes place in an alternate, dystopian America where Batman is the president, comedy is regulated by the government, and a trans comedian named “Joker” is attempting to disrupt the system by organizing a band of outsider comics into an illegal comedy troupe. Ingeniously creative with its low-budget resources, it inverts all the revered comic book tropes and spoofs them through a radical trans/feminist lens — which may explain why it never played at your local multiplex — in a way that manages to be as hilarious as it is militant. 

#5 Problemista. If there’s any queer creative talent that’s exerted a unique mark on the contemporary cultural landscape, it’s that of Julio Torres; this oddly conceived riff on the “buddy comedy” – his feature filmmaking debut – is a quintessential example of its fey magic. Centered on a young Salvadoran immigrant (Torres) with dreams of becoming a toy designer and his unlikely alliance with an art-world outcast trying to manage the estate of her cryogenically frozen husband (Tilda Swinton), it’s a “Devil Wears Prada” style coming-of-age tale about mentorship that simultaneously skewers the lunacies of modern American society and encourages us to look beyond each others’ surfaces to discover who we really are – a delicate balancing act which Torres pulls off perfectly, with invaluable help from a deliciously over-the-top performance by co-star Swinton.

#4 Femme. This sexy revenge fantasy from the UK, helmed by first-time feature directors Sam H. Freeman and Ng Choon Ping, centers on a London drag queen (Nathan Stewart-Jarrett) who undertakes a dangerous plot to “out” his attacker in a gay bashing incident (George MacKay) after encountering him in a gay sauna – only to find himself becoming entangled in a secretive relationship with him. With a title that hints at the pressures of “passing” in a homophobic world, and a convincing pair of performances to sell its premise, it’s an unexpectedly powerful (and transgressively romantic) thriller about the conflict between empathy and hate.

#3 Housekeeping for Beginners. Our third spot goes to this rich ensemble piece from the Republic of North Macedonia and rising filmmaker Goran Stolevski, which explores and celebrates the true meaning of “family” through the saga of a lesbian who agrees to adopt her terminally ill partner’s teen children, and then has to make good on the promise with the help of a household full of disparate outsiders she has collected around her. It transcends genre, blending social commentary with slice-of-life intimacy for a multi-faceted tale of queer resilience, and scores extra points for examining prejudicial attitudes around the “other-ized” Romani community in Central Europe.

#2 I Saw the TV Glow. Nonbinary writer/director Jane Schoenbrun takes an even more surrealistic approach with this unsettling horror tale in which a sensitive teen boy bonds with an older lesbian classmate over a bizarre late-night TV series – “The Pink Opaque,” about a pair of psychic twins who fight monsters together from opposite sides of the world, which goes on to have an unexpected impact on their lives. It’s difficult to explain the plot, really, but that scarcely matters; in the eerie, dream-like world it inhabits, memory, perception, and reality are interchangeable enough that it somehow all makes sense – and a metaphoric subtext emerges to build an obvious allegory about the mind-altering influence of pop media, the erasure of Queer history, and the crippling impact of cultural transphobia. The ending will haunt you forever.

#1 Queer. Topping our list is Luca Guadagnino’s lush big screen adaptation of William S. Burroughs’s semi-autobiographical novella, in which Daniel Craig is flawless as an American expatriate falling hard for a much younger man in the hedonistic haze of 1950s Mexico City. Raw and impressionistic, with frequent flourishes of surrealism and an overall tone of melancholy, it’s hardly a crowd-pleaser. But its fearless intensity and unwavering authenticity are palpable enough to burn – and we’re not just talking about the much-publicized sex scenes between Craig and co-star Drew Starkey, who also turns in an excellent performance. It’s a film of sheer cinematic beauty, a hallucinatory journey that touches human experience at its most intimate and essential level, with a career-defining star turn to anchor it.