Anora was presented as the71st Palme d’Or at the Cannes Film Festival, plunging us into the neon lights of strip clubs and the cold of New York. This Palme d’Or offered us the chance to see a pop film that made us laugh heartily, yet left a bitter aftertaste as we walked out. This film had all the ingredients for success and comes at just the right time in our society. The choice of this Palme d’Or may have come as a surprise, but it is nonetheless a blessing for generations to come.
This isn’t the first time Sean Baker has delved into the world of sex workers; in 2022’s *Red Rocket*, he told the story of a porn actor returning to his hometown. Here, the story centers on Anora, a 23-year-old stripper who falls in love with the son of a very wealthy Russian family. More specifically, this isn’t a love story—it’s a far cry from a romantic comedy. *Anora* is a true social drama, featuring a proposal in the first half of the film and a complete plot twist leading to a second proposal that is more satirical and, to be honest, touching.
Head in the Clouds
From a cinematographic standpoint, *Anora* was shot on 35mm film, just like the director’s other films; he has a particular fondness for working with film. As with his other films, Sean Baker carefully crafts his visual style, giving *Anora* a very distinctive visual texture.
At first, the film’s cinematography is soft, with contrasts consistently muted. The sensuality of the imagery envelops the characters in a cozy, dreamlike atmosphere—one that aligns more closely with the film’s trailers than with the film itself. For while the film is marketed as a romantic comedy, the truth of its message is quite different. And the cinematography plays a major role in the impression the film leaves us with as we leave the theater. Anora, in finding love, also finds a wild opportunity for financial freedom; the whole world will fall at her feet thanks to this sudden love, and she knows it. Drew Daniels’ cinematography draws us in; Anora’s world is idyllic, but while she may think she has the world at her feet during the first half of the film thanks to her beloved partner, what follows—spoiler alert—reveals that she is the one who may end up at the feet of the world. While the cinematography and the interplay of film and light remain consistent—soft, low-contrast, and colorful in most of the settings—they can come across as quite cold and white in others.
In this regard, colors are also used as indicators of emotion and action. The strip club scenes—obviously bathed in the neon glow of a nightclub—are not there merely to introduce us to the club itself, but also to the protagonist’s original world. It is this same world she leaves behind when she meets Vanya (the Russian son). This visual sequence—presented with great energy at the beginning of the film through an opening lateral tracking shot that sweeps across the dancers’ glitter-covered, bare bodies, accompanied by pop music, and ultimately focuses on Anora—is both girly and, to be honest, a little unsettling. It’s not Sean Baker who creates this sense of unease—quite the opposite, in fact. The young woman is completely in her element; she thrives in her work. As is typical of the nightlife scene, the breasts and silver thongs are filmed with great tenderness. When she leaves her strip club to be with Vanya, the neon lights fade away, since she is no longer working. Conversely, the colors grow paler; the white sky of New York during the cold seasons fills the house with light. A few golden shots cast the warm glow of sunlight onto the protagonists’ skin during their first lovemaking scenes, and the scenes in Las Vegas do the same.
And so, Anora left the world of the night to blossom into her new life in the light of day. Yet that divine white of the sky turns into the icy white of the wind off the New York coast when the character’s life takes a turn. It is at that moment that, finally, we miss the neon lights. The red glow of the strip club haunts us like a distant memory. And meanwhile, the cinematography remains unchanged. The softness of the contrasts pulls us in, shifting us from Anora’s gentle world to the gentle world of those who do not suffer. But she does.
The editing and camera movements also play a major role here. As mentioned earlier, the opening shot is a slow-motion lateral tracking shot from right to left, introducing the dancers’ naked, timeless bodies one by one, and ending with a close-up of Anora, who does not look at the camera even though she is facing it. She is in her own world, in her own moment, and she is clearly enjoying herself. But in the second half of the film, a second lateral tracking shot—this one from left to right—follows her and the other characters as they pursue Vanya after his escape. This time, the framing is no longer at the characters’ eye level; they are shown from the waist down, farther back in the frame, moving in the opposite direction of the opening tracking shot, against a cold, white background. These two tracking shots draw on the conventions of each and invert them respectively—in the direction of the camera movement, in color—one is in slow motion, the other is not…
Beyond the direction, there’s the message Baker conveys. As already mentioned, he films his TDS characters with a certain tenderness and great respect. The impression given is that he truly went out to meet his characters; he found just the right words in their dialogue to bring the girls at the club to life. With lines like “Yasss girl” and “What do ya mean??,” they come across as real, authentic, and full of character—as their environment dictates—but with an obvious femininity, not to mention their outfits. The nightlife scene is a world to which some people belong; the atmosphere there is very different from that of those who get up at 6 a.m. to go to the office. But when Sean Baker goes there, we go with him—for real.
The only character in the film who comes across as slightly caricatured is Vanya’s mother, Galina, who is too contemptuous to be believable. And that’s precisely why she hits the mark: her thick Russian accent and the look of hatred in her eyes directed at Anora are truly repulsive.
In this film, Sean Baker offers us his own reflection on a world that extends beyond that of the night and sex workers. He invites us to reflect on self-sacrifice, on female sexuality, but also—and above all—on the divide between dream and reality. There have been many ways to portray characters caught up in their naivety when faced with the promise of a dream come true, but Anora tugs at our heartstrings with her failure—even though, by the end of the film, nothing destines her to remain in that state. Anora is a well-rounded character; she is beautiful, she is young, and at 23 she stands her ground in a world that is dystopian to some and a fantasy to others. She has the accent of girls who work hard—those who take charge, those who demand their due, those who don’t step up to do everyone else’s work. She has the accent of girls who fight. And yet, her naivety lets her down and becomes her greatest adversary—even stronger than Vanya, who shows nothing but cowardice. But perhaps more than naivety, it is simply her ability to dream big, her will to exist, and her drive to move forward that carry Anora along—before life reminds her of her place. Of course, if Sean Baker’s message ended there, the film would lose all its appeal. In the end, by the film’s conclusion, Anora’s thirst for life proves to have been justified. She may have fallen a few stories, but life keeps its doors wide open for her.
Female sexuality is also at the heart of the film—but not where you might expect. Sex, as we come to understand it by the end of the film, isn’t found in the striptease scenes. Nor is it found in the sex scenes themselves. It lies in self-forgiveness, in the permission Anora grants herself not to live through her sexuality—as she has surely always done—but to listen to it. The film’s final scene sums this up well: allowing herself penetration but not a kiss, turning the problem on its head, and realizing that tenderness isn’t just a matter of comfort—it’s a matter of respect.
