Secretary

Steven Shainberg’s “Secretary” (2002) is not just an erotic romance; it’s a darkly funny, unsettling, and deeply introspective look at desire, control, and the way society polices the complexities of human relationships. 

Marketed as an indie cult film, it sidesteps the conventional love story to dive into something more twisted - more true.

At first, the film’s visuals deceive us. The world we step into is bright, almost dollhouse-like, with saturated colours that could belong in a Barbie movie.

Within this artificial happiness, Lee Holloway (Maggie Gyllenhaal) is a walking contradiction. She is quiet yet intense, delicate yet burdened with self-harm tendencies, struggling to fit into a world that demands a pretence of normalcy. Her family, her routine, her mere existence - it all seems suffocating.

Then, everything shifts. Enter Mr. Grey (James Spader) - a man whose very name feels like a cruel coincidence given what pop culture would later do with it.

His office is a stark contrast to the saturated world outside: dark, old-fashioned, a claustrophobic mess of leather-bound books and rigid expectations. It’s a visual representation of his own insecurities, his need for control, and his inability to function in the same world that stifles Lee. 

But where others see a broken man, Lee sees an opportunity. And what begins as a strict, borderline absurd employer-employee dynamic spirals into something far more dangerous - an intricate dance of submission and dominance that neither of them, fully understands but can’t resist.

What makes “Secretary” so compelling, even horrifying, is how unapologetic it is. In a time where every romantic or sexual dynamic is scrutinized for its appropriateness, this film dares to go deeper, pushing the boundaries of what we define as consent, pleasure, and power. 

Lee doesn’t stumble into this role by accident. She craves it, she owns it. Unlike the watered-down, fairy-tale version of this dynamic in “Fifty Shades of Grey,” “Secretary” doesn’t pretend this is about wealth, charm, or a man’s ability to “fix” a woman. There is no fantasy here - no luxury, no grand gestures - just raw, messy, psychological need turned into something oddly beautiful.

A more recent film that tried (and failed) to tap into this forbidden space is “Baby Girl.” While the films share the theme of a woman’s hidden desire for submission, “Baby Girl” ultimately loses itself in confusion, never fully committing to its premise. 

“Secretary,” on the other hand, thrives in its discomfort. It understands that Lee is not a victim - she is in control, even as she relinquishes it. Her pleasure, her pain, her choices - she dictates them all.

But “Secretary” isn’t really about sex or even about power. It’s about the cages society forces us to live in - moral, emotional, and psychological. 

It’s about the terrifying realization that happiness, for some, does not come in the form of traditional love or societal approval but in something darker, more private, more real. And that, perhaps, is what makes it so unsettling…because it forces us to ask: How much of ourselves do we hide just to fit in?