Ani

 Anora

Director: Sean Baker

Writer: Sean Baker

2024, R, 2h 19m

Rating: 7.3

Sean Baker’s “Anora”: A Gritty, Glittery Rollercoaster Through New York’s Underbelly (With a Side of Feels)

Is the Oscars aligning itself toward the Grammys? In other words, is its authority and voice in the world of cinema on the brink of downfall? The question arises: Is Anora, Sean Baker’s latest indie gem, the target of such undercurrents of criticism? A film crafted by the quirky, familiar mind of Baker, Anora undeniably embodies a successful picture with its glamorous yet chilling portrayal of life on New York’s margins. A condensed, cohesive work of art—framed within a seemingly flimsy narrative structure—it invites both skepticism and admiration.

New York City can be an icy place even without freezing temperatures. Colder still if you lack the basic privileges to survive its harsh edges. On the surface, Baker’s vibrant, spirited, and rollicking Anora unfolds with a comedic flair through impeccably orchestrated, high-energy set pieces laced with wisecracking troublemakers. Yet beneath that shine lurks a bone-deep New York chill, even as the film’s steamy surface distracts you. What Baker conjures here is pure movie magic: his smartly interwoven urban tales make you laugh and weep, sometimes simultaneously, while keeping you acutely aware of the sorrow simmering beneath.

In short, Anora pulses with the vitality that defines Baker’s filmography, cementing him among today’s most humanistic auteurs. Joy intertwines with sadness; comedy nestles inside tragedy. Baker, ever compassionate toward marginalized voices, has explored sex work before, but Anora—centered on the eponymous escort—strikes a different chord. Its pitch-perfect emotional crescendo catches viewers off guard, even as the signs of its heartrending trajectory loom throughout.

When we meet Mikey Madison’s vivacious Russian-American Ani (short for Anora), her work as an exotic dancer and escort is treated as mundane routine. Living modestly, she isn’t waiting for a knight in shining armor to rescue her. She navigates her clients and rivalries with pragmatic resolve. Yet this is, in part, a Cinderella story—so enter Ivan (Mark Eydelshteyn), the wayward son of a Russian oligarch. After hiring Ani’s services, the pair connect despite Ivan’s scattered, motormouthed demeanor (hinting at deeper instability). Ani becomes his “American fantasy” (“God Bless America!” he groans in one scene), and he becomes her lavish benefactor, whisking her to his sterile Brooklyn mansion for New Year’s Eve parties. The home, meticulously designed by Stephen Phelps, mirrors Ivan’s family: opulent yet cold, more fortress than sanctuary. Their transactional relationship escalates rapidly, culminating in a Vegas marriage proposal.

The film’s earnest heart emerges post-wedding, as Ivan’s family dispatches Toros (Karren Karagulian), a local priest, to annul the union. His bumbling enforcers—Garnick (Vache Tovmasyan) and Igor (Yura Borisov)—are no match for Ani’s ferocity. Madison, a revelation in the title role, channels the fiery intensity of her Once Upon a Time in Hollywood turn but layers it with vulnerability. Her Ani is fierce yet fragile, a duality Baker unveils masterfully, particularly in a tense, darkly comic home-invasion sequence where Igor glimpses her hidden fragility.

Anora or Ani?

The name “Ani” hints at her fractured identity: a Russian-American estranged from her roots (embodied by a grandmother who never learned English), clawing toward autonomy. She’s the American Dream incarnate—hardworking, prideful, and unyielding. She haggles with Ivan over holiday rates, stifles laughs at his juvenile antics, and rages when his “love” proves hollow.

Baker’s class consciousness permeates the film. Ani’s adversaries—Toros’ hired hands—are fellow laborers exploited by oligarchic whims. Their quiet solidarity, born of shared struggle, lends the film its soul. Drew Daniels’ grainy, textured cinematography captures Brooklyn and Manhattan’s wintry grit, evoking 1970s New York cinema.

The marital “bliss” crumbles predictably—how could it not with Ivan’s wealth and caprice? Yet Anora thrills and devastates in equal measure. Its ending lands like a gut-punch, but Baker, ever the humanist, leaves room for hope. Tenderness and meticulous detail suffuse every frame, reflecting his deep care for these characters.

Anora is a miracle of a film—a riotous, heart-shattering ode to resilience. In Baker’s hands, even the coldest corners of New York glow with humanity.