Desire on Screen: Why Cinema Is Embracing Passion in Uncertain Times

There is one trend in cinema that has become increasingly prominent and incessantly discussed this year— the exploration of desire, physical intimacy and all of its drawbacks and complications. What was once doomed to be relegated to subtext, implied or sanitized is now being laid bare— and though some have found the unfiltered trope novel and refreshing, others have deemed it a gratuitous overcorrection.

But whether you personally identify with it or not, it’s proving inescapable. Films like Anora, Nosferatu, and Queer that center on this idea of challenging taboos and illustrating the realities of sex and desire have found massive success at the box office and have been awarded various accolades, with Anora sweeping the Oscars and bagging Best Picture. There’s clearly something about the trope that is drawing us in, casual viewers and critics alike. But Babygirl, the 2024 thriller directed by Halina Rejin that follows a high-powered CEO risking her status and family for an awkward, unassuming man many years her junior, might just be the most pertinent example of this trend and of what it may suggest of us on a wider scale.

What's the allure of intensity and heady drama?

We are currently living through a period of widespread uncertainty— inflation is rampant, employment is scarce, and many of us are suffering financial difficulties. During economic downturns and recessions, major shifts in media consumption and media interests are observed, and this is a phenomenon that has been identified and debated again and again— think the hemline index, the high heel index, or even Ke$ha's 'recession pop'. What these patterns suggest is that when we feel restricted by our reality, we turn to indulgence and escapism. Is the cultural and critical success of these films related to that?

I’d argue that yes, that’s absolutely a part of what’s happening. Babygirl’s protagonist has it all: a high-powered career, a family, and financial success, but she is willing to put it all on the line to indulge in a magnetic attraction. Her recognition that the affair is unwise and unrealistic does nothing to repress its development because in the moment, it’s bigger than anything concrete and tangible in her life. It’s the one loose thread that unravels everything— it totally eclipses her logical mind as we watch her grapple with it. Queer is similar in that Daniel Craig's character has moments of lucidity and flashes of shame for his unrequited fixation, but his obsession constantly trumps his pride to the point he's willing to beg.

How does this trope translate to our real lives?

It's a feeling we'll all no doubt recognize, the tremendous pull of something that we know doesn’t fit into our plans or into our world. These films capture what it is like to exist at the mercy of that longing, and they remind us that we too are not immune. They’re also giving us the chance to consider: What if longing really is bigger? What if the restrained, productivity-obsessed world— the machine we have built up, worshipped as holy, and tied our self-worth to— is muddying our ability to foster genuine connections? If that is the case, no matter how much we single-mindedly chase capitalistic ambitions and perpetuate an immovable public face, many of us will always be just one missed connection away from threatening our composure.

Desire is universal. It doesn’t require our disposable income or stability; it exists outside of financial constraints and social structures. It inspires our art and thought with its dizzying heights and suffocating grief, and it demands our vulnerability. When the world around us feels restrictive and repressive, these on-screen depictions of rational people tumbling headfirst into myopic yearning should remind us that we’re not machines— we’re changeable, impulsive and derive meaning from our rich connections rather than promotions. To me, films like Babygirl and Queer aren't critical of this reality, but instead, ask us to consider honoring it— even when our society may deem it unwise. And in a post-irony world that's afraid of sincerity, confronting our powerlessness in the face of love might be just what we need.