Sean Baker turns "Anora" into one of those movies that seem to glide effortlessly, driven by a chaotic, almost comedic energy, but slowly peel back layers of pain, loneliness, and social brutality. He has this rare ability to balance the mundane and the extraordinary, the funny and the devastating, and here he delivers a film that refuses to be just a comedy of errors or a socially conscious drama. The movie pulses with the rhythm of New York, but not the postcard-perfect version-the cold, indifferent city where dreams crumble in dimly lit alleys and cramped apartments. Baker throws us right into this whirlwind, following Anora (Mikey Madison), a character who could have easily been reduced to a stereotype but instead comes alive with an impressive depth and force.
From the very start, Anora isn't framed as a victim or a heroine. She's just a young woman trying to get by, working as a stripper and escort without any grand illusions that her life is about to change dramatically. Baker constructs her routine with precision, pulling us into a world where every little detail matters-the sharp humor between coworkers, the annoying clients, the way she navigates these interactions with a mix of wit and resignation. And then Ivan (Mark Eydelshteyn) shows up-the Russian playboy who offers the promise of a sudden shift. He's not exactly a Prince Charming-he talks too much, seems lost in his own privilege, and acts like a tourist in his own life-but for Anora, he represents something different, maybe a glimpse of stability. When he proposes, the film swerves away from the obvious, treating it neither as a fairytale nor as a well-planned scheme, but as an inevitable accident, an impulsive decision that spirals into unexpected consequences.
Baker is a filmmaker deeply interested in class dynamics, and Anora plays almost like a study of how wealth shapes (and destroys) relationships. What starts as an improbable romance quickly turns into a lopsided power struggle when Ivan's family finds out about the marriage and does everything in their power to erase it. That's when we meet the clumsy enforcers sent to remove Anora from the equation-tragicomic figures who, just like her, are nothing more than disposable pieces in a bigger game. Karren Karagulian, Vache Tovmasyan, and Yura Borisov play this trio brilliantly, swinging between brutality and buffoonery, like they walked straight out of a modern-day Coen brothers' film. But it's in the relationship between Anora and Igor (Borisov) that the film unexpectedly finds its heart. He enters her life as a threat but slowly recognizes something in her that connects them. Baker's direction lets us feel this shift without hammering it in, allowing the characters' evolution to unfold organically.
Drew Daniels' cinematography captures this version of New York in a raw, atmospheric way, evoking a kind of urban cinema that feels like it belongs to a different era-wet streets, hazy neon lights, a texture that's almost tangible. The city isn't just a backdrop; it's a silent character, a space that suffocates and spits out those who can't bend to its ruthless rules. The use of analog film adds another layer of realism, making each scene feel more immediate, like we're peeking into these lives without any filters.
But what truly makes Anora special is Mikey Madison's central performance. She delivers one of the most mesmerizing performances of the year, capturing every nuance of a character who swings between toughness and vulnerability. Madison builds Anora with precise physicality-she moves through the world with the confidence of someone who's learned to protect herself, but there are moments when her body betrays her exhaustion, showing cracks in her armor. The script lets her explore this complexity without falling into clichés, resulting in a protagonist who's never reduced to a symbol or a narrative function.
Overall, Anora is the kind of film that sneaks up on you. It starts as a fast-paced, borderline absurd comedy but gradually morphs into something more melancholic, more human. The violence in the story is never sensationalized but instead lingers in the background, in the way people are discarded and in choices made not out of ambition but out of necessity. By the time we reach the final moment-a blunt, inevitable gut punch that somehow isn't devoid of hope-we realize Baker has taken us somewhere few filmmakers can. He made us laugh, he made us feel the rush of the chase, but more than anything, he made us see the beauty and tragedy in a quiet, invisible struggle that plays out every day in the least glamorous corners of a city that never sleeps.
