By Aidan Cox
Photo: NEON
If you’ve seen any ads for “Anora,” you’re likely well aware of the premise: a hedonistic sex worker marries an immature Russian oligarch, her life changes and the family does not approve.
This is a film that continually tricks you. In the first act, you expect a twisted rom com, love prevailing in all the lusty, capitalistic places. The camera follows Anora, played by Mikey Madison, closely as she works, then as she enters a life with Ivan, played by Mark Eydelshteyn. His line delivery is sporadic and charismatic, his character nieve, unserious. She feels as though, because of her work and beauty, she has the upper hand. He charms her, pays her and they get married in Vegas, joyously showing off the ring before settling into a domestic routine in his lavish mansion. Anora is angling for money, but she’s also full of desire for a perfect future, so much so that she convinces herself of their stability. Along with her, the viewer is also hoping for ease.
In the second act, this reality falters in an intense turn of events. Vanya’s parents get wind of the marriage and send a genuine Russian goon squad after them. Anora cycles through a series of emotions as the movie progresses: confusion, anger, hatred, defeat. She learns that Vanya depends entirely on his parents, that he is hollow and reckless. She realizes that he was never dependent on her, only enamored by the fun of their situation. She put her trust in his naivete, not realizing it was actually frivolity. The tragedy is balanced by indulgent, amplified comedy. All of the goons are fleshed out characters, unwillingly following the orders of the larger than life Zakharov family. A series of faltering, hilarious, high strung events ensue, the action winding down when Anora finally meets the family.
Anora is never alone. She is always with her coworkers, or Ivan, or a rotating cast of various characters. The audience is carried along with her through this confusing, distracting and deceitful world, smiling with her joy and laughing at her expense. At the end of the movie, she faces away from the camera, staring out at the falling snow, finally by herself. The final scene is a punch in the face cushioned by the swollen bruises of past acts. In the silence of a car with one of the goons, while being dropped off at her old house, she uses her body again in the only way she knows how. When he tries to kiss her, a rare moment of affection, she pulls away and begins to sob. The audience understands the dissociation and hope she has carried throughout these events, the terror, the helplessness, her ways of grasping for autonomy. When she cries, we recognize the reality of her situation, the interiority she had kept hidden throughout the film. She is a whole character only revealed at the end, and this moment recontextualizes the whole film, reminding the audience that they, too, were laughing at her tragedy.
There is a common myth of sex workers using and abusing their clients for money. Anora teaches us that actually these men are taking advantage of women by using an analogy of marriage rather than sex. No matter how much money men might spend, they will still return to their fun, rich, uncaring lives, while women who depend wholly on them and perhaps see a glimmer of hope in their empty promises must return to their own lives alone.
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