Drama • 14A • 96 Minutes • 2025
Ever ask yourself who’s behind the screen in all those risqué Instagram posts? Women posing with one arm across their chest — the only obstacle between one million followers and a banned account. And who are they doing it for? Men? Women? Sponsorships? Perhaps it’s all of the above. But something we haven’t asked ourselves is, what if they are doing it for themselves? What if, through a lifetime of objectification, they believed the only vehicle to affection and being loved is validation through online platforms where they show a bit of skin? Sweet Angel Baby balances these questions as an after-school special that attempts to answer them before withdrawing from them completely.
Being no stranger to complicated relationships, Eliza hides a secret part of herself behind a social media account where she posts nude and semi-nude photos of herself as validation and expression of her body. When her secret persona is shattered and her close-knit religious community in Newfoundland learns of the photos, people around her judge and ostracize her as she tries to pick up the pieces of her broken self-esteem, all while trying to navigate a relationship with another woman, Toni.
There is a fine line between artistic expression and exploitation, and it’s not always easy to tell which is which. Writer/director Melanie Oates’s Sweet Angel Baby presents a strong vision for Eliza (Michaela Kurimsky), a woman who uploads erotic and artistic photos of herself online. It’s her choice, and it’s her body — that’s evidently clear… or is it? Then the film flips. Eliza’s photography seems to be an expression of her artistry, and right when you’re comfortable, Oates pulls the sheet back, revealing the expression is really self-objectification. It leaves you questioning your own ambivalence toward the male gaze and sexual empowerment — the question being: Can validation from others be used for artistic expression, or is it the validation itself exploitative? Oates plays with the gaze as the erotic photos draw you in with the style of a semi-professional photographer as Eliza mixes nature and landscape nudism. Oates teases gaze and objectification without fully committing to either, opening the door to other unanswered questions, like whether there is a personal responsibility for what you put out in the world.
Yet, when it comes to her community exposing her private online persona, the film drops its interesting ideas in exchange for a shallow Hallmark drama about a small-minded religious community taking offence at Eliza’s photography. Tackling some of its mean-girl bully antics felt uninspired and plucked right out of a WB drama from thirty years ago where teen-drama and soap-opera merged. These reminiscent WB aspects of Sweet Angel Baby converge at a dancehall when Eliza is confronted by the mean girls in what can only be explained as a missing episode from a late-nineties YA show — have I mentioned everyone is around thirty years old? It’s an out-of-place concept that felt settled upon rather than thought-out. It’s Eliza’s breaking point, and it throws you back in time when popular girls reigned supreme. The only thing missing was the diamond tiara.
Two standouts in the film, however, are Michaela Kurimsky as Eliza and Elle-Máijá Tailfeathers as Toni, who push past the familiar tropes of a close-knit community with expired values and stale conflict to its own little domestic drama that almost acts as a film within a film. Kurimsky can go from shy with low self-esteem to confident in her own body in a split second without using a single word. Her eyes won’t stray, and her body will straighten up with subtleties that show the struggle between both worlds. Tailfeathers, on the other hand, adds complexity to a film littered with so many basic characters. Her character has the harder part of managing the town’s disgust at Eliza and processing Eliza’s struggles around them. Fighting for Eliza’s right to anonymity while simultaneously battling over their own relationship was an endeavour I was not expecting her character to rise to. Tailfeathers acts as a buffer between the world and all the characters, but never as a device. She is someone who is critical of Eliza, there for her, and is the only voice of reason.
Bolstered by interesting ideas of the right to privacy, art and objectification, and two strong lead performances, Sweet Angel Baby is a story stuck between two extremes. While not enough time is made to develop the complexities it builds toward, it loses out as it turns into a Hallmark melodrama. Where Sweet Angel Baby sits is a film not bad enough to forget but good enough to leave you wanting more from its premise.
Where to Watch
Sweet Angel Baby was viewed on Crave.
Also worth checking: CBC Gem (often carries Canadian titles not listed elsewhere).
about the author
Merrick Gajdics is founder, publisher and editor of The Canadian Film Reviewer.