Anora: A Bold Twist on Cinderella Driven by Chaos and Volatility

17/11/2024

Kate Mulraney (she/her) untangles the dark fairytale of Anora

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By Kate Mulraney

Anora (2024) is a dazzling whirlwind of dreams, grounded in a deeply humane perspective, where every moment of genuine laughter is subtly interrupted by moments of realism, fleeting doubts and a hint of dread.

Anora premiered at the Cannes Film Festival this year, going on to win the coveted Palme d’Or. Exploring themes of adult independence and the pursuit of success, the film offers a thought-provoking critique of the American Dream. Tense, vibrant, and deeply endearing, it seamlessly blends moments of uproarious laughter with a jaw-dropping conclusion.

The bold and brassy 23-year-old Russian-American stripper, Anora (Mikey Madison) – preferring to be called ‘Ani’ – shares a modest home in Brighton Beach with her sister. In stark contrast, 21-year-old Ivan (Mark Eydelshteyn), or ‘Vanya’, the son of a wealthy Moscow billionaire, enjoys the comforts of his father’s mansion on the far side of Brooklyn; he’d happily spend every day in New York if given the chance. At the Manhattan strip club where Ani works seven nights a week, she is the only one who speaks Russian. Meanwhile, Ivan’s life has been marked by privilege, with little indication that he’s ever lifted a finger to work.

These two wildly different people who meet over a lap dance and ‘fall in love’ after Ivan pays Ani $15,000 to be his girlfriend for a week may make for a lively romantic comedy, reminiscent of Pretty Woman (1990). On a spontaneous trip to Las Vegas, the two impulsively marry. However, as soon as the news reaches Russia, his parents rush to New York to have the marriage annulled, threatening to shatter her fairy-tale dream. We are fortunate that Sean Baker, who has spent the majority of his career de-stigmatising sex workers in frenzied, raw, and thrilling films like Tangerine (2015) and Red Rocket (2021), would never let these characters settle for less than an unauthentic story.

Sean Baker has devoted his career to exploring the complex intersections of love and sex work, avoiding simplistic portrayals or sweeping generalisations about the emotional realities of the latter. Rather than shaming Ani for her own self-deceptions, Baker allows her story to unfold with empathy and nuance. Anora is primarily about working-class grief – an aching, almost invisible sorrow that has little to do with romance. This quiet, heartbreaking emotional undercurrent is brought to life by Mikey Madison’s commanding lead performance, donning the thickest Coney Island accent she could conjure.

Since a significant portion of the story depends on her extreme naivety, the spectator is aware that the “Ani” character she adopts at work is a farce and only a protective mask. Perhaps she thinks she and Ivan are going to be married for life since they appear to be in love (it’s unclear at times). I could argue that Ani perceives in him an innocence she’s never been able to experience, even if his presence is occasionally irritating — but I won’t. What they share is less a romantic connection and more a recognition of mutual benefit. Vanya gets a green card and a new method to annoy his parents, while Ani gets financial stability and sex with someone she likes.

It’s obvious that Ani is tougher and sharper than she gives her clients credit for. However, she is a mess; muddled and torn, just like the environment in which she lives. Her need for stability and comfort is likely a stronger motivator than she’d care to admit, and this is reflected deeply in her later relationship with Igor (Yura Borisov). She yearns for connection, and at times, she finds herself turning to the person nearest to her, even if that person did literally tie her up earlier in the film. What's particularly noteworthy, however, is that Igor is virtually the only character in the film who doesn't treat Ani in a purely transactional way. He seems to genuinely care for her, a sentiment that is subtly conveyed through his expressions and actions throughout the film.

The final act of the film does lose some momentum, and by that point, some viewers might start to tire of the constant shouting (I’ll admit, I left the theater with a bit of a headache). Additionally, the film’s comedic moments occasionally diminish Ani’s role in the story, making it feel as though the audience is meant to mock her in some way. Yet, Baker consistently manages to weave together heartbreak and humor. He doesn’t try to fix his characters’ struggles; instead, he lets them play out as they smoke, screw, and stumble toward the inescapable reality of their lives. Ivan, for all his wealth, has always bought his happiness, leaving him a spoiled brat, while Ani, a hard worker, has never had the luxury of even considering how much happiness might cost.

In the end, while Baker makes a deliberate attempt to evoke empathy for Ani, we ultimately still exploit her, left with nothing more than pity for a woman who must fight for respect at every turn. The final scene between Ani and Igor marks the first moment in the entire film where we see her truly let her guard down, and it's a heartbreaking moment to witness. Anora grows darker with each passing moment, offering a stark and violent counterpoint to the sanitised narratives of Hollywood fairy tales. If the film’s conclusion leaves you feeling uneasy, that discomfort is by design. Baker seems to argue that the relationship between a film and its audience is, at its core, a cheap transaction – one that hinges on surface-level engagement rather than genuine understanding.

Baker leaves us to consider the unsettling question: how can you tell the difference between what you do for pleasure and what you do for survival, when the only thing that seems to matter is having money?