BY WYATT ALLISON
“God bless America!” – a jubilant exclamation escapes the lips of our pampered, billionaire offspring, a Russian lad thrumming with exuberance, as he parades through the electric streets of Las Vegas. It all comes on the heels of an impulsive marriage to our enigmatic protagonist, Anora. But herein lies a twist: Anora—who prefers the more intimate, stripped-down moniker of Ani—plummets into the chaotic realm of Headquarters, a steamy Manhattan strip joint where forlorn middle-aged men hurl their paychecks into dances reminiscent of their daughters and where footloose bachelors cling to their last vestiges of freedom.
In the film’s dizzying first half, the audience is whisked away on a rollercoaster of delightful mayhem. Enter Ivan—or Vanya, as he often styles himself—a quintessential Gen Z figure, exuding an almost overwhelming child-like charm. He dabbles in THC vapors and immerses himself in Xbox marathons with the kind of privilege that only a Brooklyn mansion can afford: glass Voss bottles and panoramic balconies. Serendipity strikes one mundane evening when our languid hero encounters Ani—the sole Russian-speaking dancer in a sea of glitzy flesh—dramatically reshaping what begins as a mere lap dance into an affair that would make the fairytale of “Pretty Woman” blush with embarrassment.
The film’s initial hour presents itself as an intoxicating love story—albeit one with transactional undertones. As Ani agrees to see Ivan in private, Bakker—the deft producer, editor, writer, and director—subtly unravels the threads of genuine affection that weave through their increasingly complex relationship. After a lascivious night—dawn?—of debauchery in the decadently designed fiefdom of Ivan’s father, the question arises with a nonchalant charm. “Would you be my girlfriend for a week?” he inquires, while Mikey Madison’s eyes glimmer with untold stories. Ani’s response, a coy gesture evoking the currency of negotiation, culminates in a figure of $15,000—a knowing nod to the legendary Richard Gere-Julia Roberts exchange.
And then? A cascade of partying montages ignited by a pulsating Take That soundtrack, culminating in a riotous, ketamine-soaked escapade aboard a private jet destined for Las Vegas, accompanied by a flamboyant crew of Russian-American friends. Here, Ivan drops to one knee—diamond ring in hand—to propose, sealing their capricious courtship with a fleeting Nevada marriage license. They are riding the crest of euphoria; the highs peak like the exuberant finale of a raucous carnival.
But then—oh, the plot thickens—the narrative pivot begins. The second half embarks on a raucous adventure akin to a madcap chase. Ivan finds himself pursued by his agitated Russian babysitters, unceremoniously flipping the tables as news of his marriage to a sex worker has reached his parents’ ears. Here, Mark Eidelshtein’s portrayal of Ivan is a masterclass in expressive face acting, as he paints the chaotic sentiments of a child caught in the act of spilling milk.
From this junction, Anora morphs into a road trip comedy spiraling through the frothy chaos of Brooklyn’s nightlife. Our merry band of three Russian comrades alongside Ani navigate clubs and restaurants, weaving a tapestry of hilarity until the film’s finale, which boasts a gut-wrenching twist that lays bare the emotional core as credits roll.
Reflecting upon Anora, I cannot help but conjure a portrait of American idealism—an elusive dream tainted with expectations and the mundanity of a 9-5, desperate for glimpses of excitement. Ani’s origins—how she transformed into a “high-class exotic dancer”—remain a mystery steeped in shadow, much like the haunting characters of Sean Baker’s other works. Whether it’s single mothers in the magical fringes of Orlando or blue-collar souls in Texas, Baker leaves us skimming the surface of desperation, yearning to comprehend their plight.
We all harbor our stories, riddled with complexities—financial, moral, or existential. The peaks in Ani’s journey resonate with our understanding of how fleeting moments define not just our narratives but our very selves. One poignant reflection from Ani as she contemplates her honeymoon aspirations—a whimsical desire to revel in Disneyworld’s Cinderella suite—pierces through the rough exterior, subtly encapsulating the essence of longing that permeates our shared human experience.
Yet, isn’t that the slice of life? Youth shape-shifting into adulthood, dreams hanging by a thread, and the ephemeral nature of joy? Anora dances through this emotional tapestry with a fierce authenticity. She’s chaotic, driven by her environment, and yet she extends a warm invitation with every frame. Even peppered with expletives, she commands attention, making audiences root for her—and truly, who among us doesn’t crave that connection?
Beneath the allure of humor and stark critique lies a poignant truth: we face a dizzying farce where meaning eludes us, and solace is found in one another. So, go—indulge in this visceral experience.
Grade: A
