Sean Baker’s twisted Cinderella story unearths the inequalities at the heart of our modern world
This article contains light spoilers for the movie.
There’s a contradiction at the heart of Sean Baker’s Anora that I’ve been thinking about since I saw it. Throughout the movie, Ani, our protagonist played by Mikey Madison, frequently objects to being referred to as a sex worker. I lost count of how many times she denounced someone calling her a “whore” or a “hooker”, but even the milder, less derogatory term “escort” has the ability to unlock her rage.
Now, maybe Ani’s fury at the terms I mentioned comes from the fact that she is primarily an exotic dancer, but the inciting incident of the movie happens when Ani begins a transactional relationship with Vanya (Mark Eydelshteyn), accepting payment for sex—a process in which she seems entirely comfortable and confident.
Of course, we only see Ani’s ire provoked in this manner after eloping with Vanya, who is the son of a rich Russian oligarch whom she meets at the strip club where she works. So, when she vehemently declares that she’s not a sex worker, does she really mean that she’s not a sex worker anymore? It’s a little strange—she’d only given up her old life for a few days before everything started falling apart.
If you haven’t seen Anora yet, you at least might’ve seen various articles online praising the movie’s attempts to destigmatise sex work. Although I do believe that the movie achieves this by exploring the character of Ani in a complex and humanised way, the movie is also deeply sad and, I think, not the celebration of sex work that many might think it to be. The eagerness with which Ani is willing to drop her identity as a sex worker, along with any pride she might have had in her job, is simply too deliberate.
The "Gentleman's" Club
Much can be written about the contradictions and conflicts inherent in the existence of strip clubs in modern society. Is a payslip enough recompense for the self-othering and emotional labour that comes with being objectified for someone else’s viewing pleasure? Are these women empowered? Or is the girlbossification of sex work a harmful aesthetic that creates nothing but the illusion of power where there isn’t really any? I am not the one to expound on these issues, but the fact that Anora got me thinking these questions speaks to the film’s success.
All of this is to say that we can at least agree that Ani comes from a world with deep roots in the patriarchy, and she leaps at the first opportunity to free herself from it. I first thought Ani to be a bit naïve in how quickly she agreed to marry Vanya—there was so much about this man she didn’t know, and the venture seemed destined to fail. But now, it’s easy to see that Ani viewed the apparent wealth that came with the marriage as an escape.
In doing this, though, Ani didn’t simply swap out the trappings of sex work for the luxuries of capitalism but exposed herself to the one-two punch of pinning her authentic self to these worlds in a way she hadn’t before. The emotional damage done to Ani over the course of the movie is a result of her misplaced trust in a relationship that she thought would save her. Who can blame her? Vanya was two things: a man, and a man with money. When Ani quits her job, many of the dancers she worked with congratulate her on hitting the jackpot.
But Vanya was never going to be Ani’s way out. Marriage and money can only do so much when the foundation is unstable, and in the case of Vanya, the foundation was non-existent.
Van Life
Ani isn’t the only one ruined by this society we’ve created for ourselves. While the patriarchy is certainly more overtly harmful to women—especially physically—the patriarchy isn’t some universal benefit for men, either. The patriarchy creates social pressures and expectations that can be incredibly harmful for men, which can be seen in how Anora reveals the lives of its various male characters.
Vanya is a glaring examination of the ideals that can take hold in wayward young men. Despite his wealth and charm, Vanya never manages to see past Ani’s looks to the person underneath them, viewing her as little more than the pretty thing that he can show off to his friends and studiously ignore while playing video games.
I was worried, for a while, that Sean Baker actually wanted me to like this guy. After all, Anora does, and his glaring flaws hadn’t had time to gestate into real issues. Then his true spinelessness is revealed, and the rest of the movie unfolds in the only way it could have, really. Vanya is the predictable result of the communion between despicable wealth and male entitlement.
Nobody could call his lifestyle healthy, or even truly enjoyable, despite the multitudes that would aspire to it. The man abuses alcohol and drugs to avoid his feelings and has no real relationships in his life. There’s been some discourse lately about the ‘male loneliness epidemic’. More and more men report having no close friends. The factors for this rise are countless, no doubt, but I’d be surprised if one of them wasn’t a recently renewed acceptability to view women as less-than.
But is this who Vanya really is, or is this what he was made to be? The fear in his eyes that surfaces whenever somebody mentions his parents suggests the latter. Just one glimpse into the world he came from allows us view Vanya with a shred of empathy. What chance did he stand, after all?
Igor To Please
Vanya is, in many ways, the polar opposite of Igor, everybody’s favourite Russian henchman. On the surface, Igor is a brute. Literally the first thing we learn about him is that he’s only here to be the muscle. From there, he becomes a quiet scene-stealer with his monosyllabic tendencies and the respect he shows Ani despite their tense introduction. It is no coincidence that one of the few things we learn of his personal life is that he lives with his grandmother—a women that makes him smile when he’s speaking about her.
Not only is Igor a refutation of the casual misogyny that has ensnared so many of the other male characters, he also seems possessed by a sense of justice lost on many of the narrative’s more powerful players, and is willing to attempt to enforce it, even to his own detriment. Of course, all of this is what also makes him the most tragic character as, much like Ani, he seems destined to work in world that prioritises his physicality and ignores the humanity underneath.
Anora is, at times, a genuinely hilarious movie, but what makes it so special is that despite this, it manages to deliver nuanced critiques on important issues and incredibly human characters. The movie is filled with broken people, all seemingly ruined by circumstance. In shining a light on the life of a sex worker, Sean Baker is also illuminating these circumstances, and asking us to consider our role in perpetuating them.
Thanks for reading my review. If you liked it, consider checking out my wishlist or buying me a cup of coffee at https://ko-fi.com/kieranobrien or below.
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