Staff Writer Ruby Muscroft takes a look at the already acclaimed ‘Anora’ movie, asking whether fairytales can really happen in the harsh realities of today’s world.
‘Anora’, the newest achievement of director Sean Baker, was released in the UK on 1 November this year after winning the Palmde d’Or at the Cannes Film Festival. A classic Cinderella tale, it indulges the audience’s desires for romance and debauchery. Yet, the film refuses to allow us to sit comfortably, ultimately turning our actions back at us.
Our Cinderella Ani, played by Mikey Madison, is an exotic dancer and sex worker in Brooklyn. Her full name is Anora, but she chooses to hide her heritage and Russian speaking skills. Ironically it is this fact that leads her to servicing Ivan (Mark Eydelshteyn), who we later find out to be the son of a Russian oligarch. The meeting puts in place the fantastical events to come. After paying for a session outside the club, he asks her to be his “horny girlfriend for the week” in exchange for $15,000 (although he admits he would have done it for $30,000).
Perhaps unlike the typical narrative where the love is clearly one-sided, Ani takes a liking to Ivan. She is seemingly swept up by his extravagant lifestyle and cavalier attitude, something which can only be found in the young or uber rich – and Ivan is at the centre of that Venn diagram.
The film is enthralling and enrapturing from the opening sequence inventively soundtracked to a club remix of Take That’s ‘Greatest Day’. The immediate visuals are equally bawdy, with a neon palette reminiscent of ‘Euphoria’. However, where Levison’s work seems to be aesthetic above all else, Baker instead uses the visual element to lead the audience into the world of escorts, clubs and the hedonism of Ivan and his friends.
The unique and captivating soundtrack and visuals are supported by an incredibly funny and electrifying screenplay. Strong parallels can be made with the Screwball Comedy Genre emergent during the 1930 Great Depression, which remained popular and loved well into the 1950s. As a subgenre of romance, it typically satirises and subverts the traditional romantic narratives. Often, visual sequences and set pieces make veiled references to sex and desire which the audience is able to recognise and decode, such as in Howard Hawk’s 1938 film ‘Bringing Up Baby’ starring Katherine Hepburn and Cary Grant.
In his writing, Baker attempts something very similar whilst injecting his signature sense of realism. At the same time, of course, sexuality is overt rather than coded. Each piece of dialogue is rooted in reality yet feels heightened and Baker succeeds in capturing the cadence and slang of Gen Z (notoriously difficult). Madison and Eydelshteyn deliver their lines with apparent ease, the interactions simultaneously conveying youthful awkwardness and charged with intense chemistry.
Looking beyond the protagonists, each performance is interesting and instinctive. Still, Yuriy Borisov’s Igor takes the crown. The subtle shifts in his character from introduction to the ending add the necessary depth to the narrative, allowing the audience to witness the situation through a detached figure’s eyes.
The film suddenly shifts in tone after the first half which has been criticised as shallow and slow paced. While not untrue, Baker consciously crafted the narrative in this way. The tonal and visual changes, epitomised in the slapstick fight scene halfway, allow the director to experiment with this fairytale. He uses the same principles as ‘Cinderella’, a story that has been told numerous times and in numerous ways, yet, crucially, manages to effectively create a destabilising, provocative experience within this framework.
After two hours full of action and dark humour, we feel as exhausted as Ani. The audience demands a resolution, a way to tie up the loose ends so that we can leave satisfied. Baker, however, resists this. Instead, he pivots the focus onto the viewers themselves.
The ending is stark, emotional and realistic; suddenly, we are faced with our actions. Whilst we have been laughing and revelling in this story, Ani is left with the remnants of her life, desperate to find solace and comfort. We have forgotten that our entertainment is someone else’s tragedy.
When the film concluded, the cinema was quiet. We walked out in silence. No one even whispered to the companions, a far cry from the laughter and gasps which had filled the theatre at the beginning. A feeling of complicity and even guilt seemed to settle upon us.
‘Anora’ reveals the often exploitative aspect of filmaking. Baker creates a world dripping with intrigue, sensuality and humour. Like Ani, we dare to forget the real consequences, too caught up in the story.
Maybe more of a fable than a fairytale then? Either way, ‘Anora’ is a stark reminder of power-dynamics and class divides. Of course, the audience is entertained – but at what cost? What we are left with is a cutting social critique on the exploitation of young women. Beneath the surface of the selacious visuals lies a deeply troubling reality.
