Anora’s Chaotic Blend of Farce and Heart
A man in a diner chastises a group of young teenagers or twenty somethings. Does he know them? No, but that doesn’t stop him from railing in a public display of judgment. “I’m so sick of your generation,” he blurts. It’s an accusation against all of them, but it’s also an indictment of his own generation and its paternalism.
Sean Baker’s Anora is full of such moments: cringe-inducing, chaotic, yet sly and critical. Anora is interested in how these generational distinctions play into and against class divisions. Mikey Madison’s protagonist (who prefers Ani) works at a strip club, dancing and flirting with whichever man walks through the door with money. The opening twenty minutes or so is largely set here, depicting the revolving door of customers and the constant hustling of Ani and the other women. The lascivious setting quickly becomes rote, which is the point. The drudgery of work is further calcified by the incessant objectification of leering men. The camera isn’t shy, bluntly depicting the bodies of the women and their customers. It’s a complicated choice that lands somewhere between an effort to emphasize humanity and inviting voyeurism.
At some point the young Russian Ivan (Mark Eydelshteyn) stumbles in, connecting with Ani. Ivan’s parents are wildly wealthy, which means that he is wildly wealthy, and which means that he is accustomed to using wealth as a shortcut to his desires. He’s little more than a rich, sex obsessed dork coddled into an If You Give a Mouse a Cookie fantasy: If he can pay for a dance, why can’t he also pay to have a girlfriend? And then, what’s to stop him from buying a wife? He takes Ani on a whirlwind tour through his lavish life, whisking her away to “his” mansion and then to Las Vegas. Baker instrumentalizes a club aesthetic that goes beyond the locales—rapid cutting between scenes, loud and arbitrary conversations that strain against the noise, and jumps between time. No matter the cut, the context is always partying: drugs, alcohol, sex, dancing, goofing around, stealing candy.
Eventually Ivan proposes to Ani, who rebuffs him in disbelief. “I am serious,” he insists, but his actions betray his words. Can a serious life come from this? For Ivan and his friends, there seems to be little interest in anything resembling a serious life. Ani, however, doesn’t have the escape of wealth. She understands what is required to get by, that the seriousness of life is forced upon those of the working class. Ani sees this as her ticket out, but she’s wary of wealth’s ability to be a fence or a crowbar—separating the unwanted, prying someone away from a better life.
Her fears are instantly justified, because Ivan’s parents freak out on hearing that their son has married Ani, and they immediately start working to annul the marriage. At this point Anora becomes cunning and more classically entertaining. The film announces its transition to absurdist, screwball comedy with a scene of piercing irony: Toros (Karen Karagulian), who works for Ivan’s parents, receives an alarming call during a child’s baptism. The juxtaposition and cross cutting is not dissimilar to The Godfather’s—though to very different ends. Here, too, is a comment on the intrusion of wealth. Toros (representative of a more middle class than Ani) is forced to surrender the cherished, powerful moments of his life to go run errands for his employers. His life means little to them.
The screwball truly heightens thanks to Toros’ fellow henchmen, Garnick (Vache Tovmasyan) and Igor (Yura Borisov). What starts as an annoyed errand turns into Garnick’s terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Let’s just say it involves a broken nose, getting kicked through a table, and vomiting all over himself in Toros’ car, all while he whimpers and asks for sympathy (in inevitable futility). Yura Borisov, meanwhile, is the film’s understated MVP as the awkwardly stoic Igor, turning a pause and a simple “No” into a punchline multiple times throughout the ensuing action.
This section is Howard Hawks screwball by way of Uncut Gems, and while it’s kinetic and delightful, it reveals a narrative weakening. What made Uncut Gems captivating was how Adam Sandler’s Howard could never stop himself from upping the ante; he was always the force driving the plot forward and the stakes higher. In this section of Anora, Ani is merely along for the ride, stuck in this nauseating car. It reduces the story and her character for much of the film.
Anora transforms once more upon the arrival of Ivan’s parents. The humor gradually slips away as reality crashes down upon everyone. At the same time, Baker furtively shifts the audience’s perspective on one of the side characters, bringing them into focus and giving them a more central role. The film reveals its hand and its ultimate concern, though without a shred of didacticism. Anora’s heart hinges on what the giving of a ring can mean. Baker unexpectedly turns an earlier moment on its head, supplanting flippancy with real pathos. It catalyzes a sudden and shattering ending that will surely persist as the film’s lasting image.
Bouncing between hedonistic chaos, farce, and fierce commentary, there are many ingredients that make Anora a potent cocktail. The proportions, however, feel imbalanced. Its entertainment and significance are notes rarely tasted together, and the film’s critiques aren’t quite sufficient to balance out the voyeurism of its first act.
