Sean Baker continues to craft a career built on poignant and deeply empathetic portrayals of marginalized communities, particularly sex workers. His breakthrough came with Tangerine (2015), but with each project, his style has become more assured, his audience wider. While The Florida Project (2017) remains his most accomplished work, Anora marks a new level of success, winning the Palme d’Or at Cannes and positioning itself as a frontrunner for Best Picture at the Oscars.
The film presents a modern Cinderella story centered on Ani, a young exotic dancer in New York. Early on, the audience is immersed in her routine, establishing a sense of familiarity with her world before she crosses paths with Vanya, the son of a Russian oligarch, at the club where she works. Because she speaks some Russian, she is assigned to entertain him, and their dynamic quickly escalates beyond a single night. Vanya, isolated from his father’s sphere of influence, invites Ani into his privileged life. Initially impressed, she begins developing genuine feelings for him, and their whirlwind dynamic leads to marriage. The illusion unravels when Vanya’s family in Russia discovers their union.
While Baker’s previous films have all contained comedic moments, Anora fully embraces humor as a core storytelling device. It is by far his funniest film, and more than ever, comedy functions as a way to heighten character dynamics and underscore the absurdity of the situation. Crucially, there is no reliance on caricature—every character operates within their own logic, making their actions feel natural even when they lead to heightened situations. The humor often emerges organically from moments of tension or emotional intensity, resulting in a film that is not just funny but layered in its approach to tone. Some sequences are simultaneously comedic and tragic, a testament to Baker’s ability to balance multiple emotional registers at once. The film’s funniest moments, such as Toros checking his phone during a baptism or Ani delivering her perfectly timed exit line, “Jealousy kills,” are both well-executed gags and extensions of character. Even in moments of heightened absurdity—such as the increasingly desperate attempts of Vanya’s family to contain Ani—the film never feels detached from reality.
Beyond its tonal achievements, Anora is also a significant technical leap for Baker. His signature handheld, documentary-like camerawork remains a key component of his aesthetic, grounding the film in a sense of immediacy. However, there is a new level of formal precision at play. Baker, who also served as the film’s editor, employs long takes and sharp, deliberate cuts that showcase a confidence in pacing and visual storytelling. The film is also impeccably cast, with each performance adding authenticity and texture to the world he builds.
However, despite its many strengths, Anora struggles with a few key issues, the most glaring being its runtime. At 138 minutes, the film begins to overextend itself in the second act. While the length reinforces the intensity of Ani’s rapid transformation over a short period, it also results in moments that feel unnecessarily stretched. The film’s momentum slows when it should be tightening, and while the performances remain compelling, the pacing could have been refined without losing the sense of urgency that defines Ani’s experience.
More significantly, the film’s emotional core is somewhat undermined by the portrayal of Vanya. Baker makes it clear that Vanya does not truly care for Ani, which raises a fundamental issue: why is Ani so convinced that he does? The film asks the audience to invest in Ani’s attachment, yet it does not provide enough material to justify her emotional investment. This dynamic weakens the film’s second half, as Ani’s continued attempts to reach Vanya begin to feel less like a tragic pursuit of something lost and more like a narrative device that does not fully align with her character’s intelligence. The comparison to Killers of the Flower Moon is apt in this regard—both films rely on a central emotional connection that ultimately feels too one-sided to fully resonate. Mikey Madison delivers an excellent performance, particularly in the final scene, but the film does not give her enough support to fully sell the weight of Ani’s choices.
Despite these issues, Anora remains an immensely entertaining and sharply crafted film. It is Baker’s most ambitious work to date, and even if it does not reach the emotional highs it aspires to, it solidifies his place as one of the most exciting filmmakers working today. Had a few scenes been trimmed (like Toros’ car being apprehended or cutting one of the stops Ani makes while searching for Vanya), and Vanya and Anora’s relationship reworked, it could have been something truly extraordinary. As it stands, it is still an exceptional piece of filmmaking—one that showcases Baker’s continued evolution and his ability to turn even the most heightened situations into something deeply human.