[Editor’s note: The following essay contains major spoilers for “Anora.”]
Why do men do the things they do to women? Why do they offer affection and hope when all they’re really capable of is self-satisfaction? Why do they prop themselves as something they’re not at the expense of the physical and emotional well-beings of others? This is not to say women aren’t guilty of the same cruelties, but in a world where women continue to be persecuted, having their health, financial livelihoods, education, and more subject to legal control while men walk the Earth freely, seemingly bound by only the Darwinian laws of nature, I think it’s fair to say that one gender is granted a much wider latitude over the other. And why is that so? It was these questions that rattled through my brain as I took in every thrilling high and tragic low of Sean Baker‘s Palme d’Or-winning “Anora” and what ultimately drew me back to thinking about Federico Fellini‘s highly influential 1957 drama “Nights of Cabiria.”
Looking at the two films side-by-side, the similarities are pretty evident. Both follow sex workers, one a Roman street-walker played by the quirky and wholesome Giulietta Masina, Fellini’s own wife, the other a Brighton Beach exotic dancer brought to life with salacious vibrance by Mikey Madison. Intertwined in their narratives are themes of hope, wish-fulfillment, romantic fantasy, and skewed power dynamics between classes and genders. Most evidently, the endings of each film have become their defining feature, recontextualizing the series of events that came before, albeit in completely different ways. It’s in this difference where the true divergence between “Anora” and “Nights of Cabiria” starts to form, but before we get there, let’s get in to how one appears to serve as inspiration for the other.
Sex workers have always been a strong component of Baker’s ouevre, from his 2012 San Fernando Valley drama “Starlet,” which follows an adult film actress as she grows closer to a much older woman, to 2021’s “Red Rocket,” starring Simon Rex as a former porn star who tries to use a younger woman to earn a place back in the spotlight. Similarly, Fellini found a place for many a “fallen woman” throughout his filmography, whether in background characters like La Saraghina in “8 1/2” or lead figures like Cabiria, who’s present in both “Nights of Cabiria” and his earlier film “The White Sheik.” These marginalized characters and their often downtrodden background seem to fascinate these filmmakers, but also provide them the perfect distillation to explore greater societal woes.
In “Anora,” Baker commences his tale in the backroom of the gentleman’s club Headquarters, where a line of men sit back in lounge chairs enjoying private dances from a series of barely-clothed or entirely nude women, including Ani, as the song “Greatest Day” by Take That (feat. Calum Scott and reworked by Robin Schulz) plays in the background. Almost immediately we learn that, for an appropriate fee, Ani can make all the dreams of every man who walks through Headquarters’ doors come true and when she’s given the chance to do so for a young, Russian VIP named Ivan (Mark Eydelshteyn), she barely bats a very long eyelash. But when Ivan, or Vanya as he prefers to be called, requests more of Ani’s services and she discovers he’s the son of a powerful oligarch, she quickly starts to realize she’s reeled in a big spender and keeping him on the hook may be her ticket out of her working-girl lifestyle. She takes off New Years to attend his mansion party, accepts his invitation to Vegas when he feels like flying there on a whim, and when the idea is planted that they get married so Ivan can obtain a green card and not have to leave America, Ani feels like a princess who’s just gotten her glass slipper. It’s a dream realized and yet, while both partners have expressed their love for one another, there’s an underpinning of transaction that makes one expectant of the moment their joyous bubble will eventually pop.
Counter to this, in Fellini’s film, the audience is dropped into Cabiria’s story at the moment her dreams are being dashed yet again. While on a spirited stroll near the bank of a river, Cabiria is thrown into the murky water by her lover Giorgio, whose only intention in being with her, she discovers — outside of implied sexual relations — was to steal her money. Tragic as her circumstances may be, Cabiria is saved from drowning and tries to go about her life as it never happened. Her self-delusion is further assisted by the appearance of movie star Alberto Lazzari (Amedeo Nazzari). For a brief moment, she’s given a peek at the high life, but when Lazzari’s girlfriend comes back into the picture, Cabiria is forced to wait in the bathroom as they rekindle their flame. Unlike “Anora,” “Cabiria” plays out in a more circular, episodic fashion, with Massina’s lady of the night having different religious and supernatural experiences that seem to offer her a way out of her fallen status, yet only lead her back to the streets.
Ani is not dissimilar to Cabiria in that both of their dreams have been so suppressed by the harsh standing they’ve been given in society, but while Cabiria displays herself as a clown for most of the film, a subconscious acceptance of these viewpoints, Ani refuses to be seen as anything other than a bright, shining star whose glow you should only be so lucky to be warmed by. She maintains this pride even when her situation with Ivan turns south and a group of bumbling Armenian hoods are sent to get their marriage annulled. But it’s also in this moment that Ani experiences Ivan’s true nature, as rather than keep her safe from these goons, he runs off, leaving her to fend for herself. Again like Cabiria, Ani is forced to accept embarrassment and end the charade then and there or continue to fight for what she feels she’s earned, what she’s willing to still call love in spite of Ivan’s obvious lack of concern for her. Unfortunately, she chooses the latter, sending the film on a nighttime screwball odyssey across New York City as Ani and the henchmen hurry to find Ivan before his parents arrive from Russia the next day.
Cabiria is not averse to believing love can win out in spite of all she’s experienced either. When a man named Oscar (François Périer) conveniently approaches her after a magic show in which she was hypnotized into revealing she wanted to be married to man named Oscar, Cabiria believes fate has intervened and finally set her on the path away from her dire circumstances. She sells her home and takes out all of her money from the bank to offer Oscar as a dowry, but when he takes her on an all-too-familiar walk in the woods, Cabiria recognizes his nefarious intentions and begs him to just kill her to end her suffering. Somewhat ironically, he can’t even oblige her this, instead just taking her purse and leaving her alone on the ground. This second chance at love is echoed in “Anora” with one of the henchman, a Russian named Igor (Yura Borisav), who feels a kinship with Ani and struggles to watch others demean her and knock her down to size, despite at times being physically involved with these actions.
After they manage to find Ivan in the very club he met Ani in, accepting a dance from her sworn enemy, and eventually get the marriage annulled back in Las Vegas, Igor is entrusted with returning Ani to New York. As they spend one last night in Ivan’s family’s mansion — the castle Ani at one point thought she would inhabit for good — Igor admits he’d just spend his birthday dealing with this escapade and tries to offer her solace by sharing with her that her full name, Anora, means “bright” or “light” — fitting for a character whose hair shines throughout most of the film. Google also offers another definition that suits the character’s gritty, yet unfulfilled sense of determination: Honor. Amidst a flurry of snow, Igor drives Ani back to her shabby home in Brighton Beach the next day and after depositing her bags on the stoop, returns to his car to find her still waiting. Perhaps as a belated gift or perhaps because she sees in him a new chance out of a life she’s tired of having to live, Ani engages him in sex, but when he tries to kiss her, she fights against it, as if a wave of disgust has just rushed over, both for his actions and her own. The guard she’s kept up throughout the entire film comes down and we finally meet Anora — a scared girl desperate for a safe place in this world.
It’s a stark ending that upends the wacky humor we’ve been exposed to up until this point and one that contrasts with the message “Cabiria” aims to send with its equally iconic closing moments. Following the loss of every cent to her name, as well as the loss of a future that is now only allowed to exist in the back of her mind, Cabiria returns to town accompanied by a group of young revelers who form a parade in her honor. The smile they form on her face is paired with a single black tear, courtesy of her ruined mascara, cementing her clownish rank for all to see, but also signaling to the audience that Cabiria will go on. She may be a woman of ill-repute who’s had everything taken from her, but she still has her hope and so long as she holds onto that, she’ll be okay. Meanwhile, perhaps the entire underlying message of “Anora” is that hope is only for those who can’t afford reality. In the end, we are not left with the idea that Ani will be okay, but instead come to realize she was never okay to begin with.
Throughout both films, we are drawn towards the plights of characters on the fringes of society and the chances they seize in pursuit of rising above their station. While in centering these figures, both try to acknowledge the worthiness and dignity they should be afforded, the films also expose our own complicity in their shame. Like the audience cackling at the dreams the hypnotist pulls from Cabiria’s mind, we giggle as Ani beats up two men twice her size and endures punishingly brief sexual engagement with Ivan, an act in which her enjoyment proves second to him jizzing as fast as humanly possible. It isn’t until we see Ani break down in the arms of Igor that we realize, perhaps we shouldn’t have been laughing at all. And so we are brought back to the questions initially posed at the top of this piece. Why must women like Cabiria and Anora be made to face such inhumanity? Having watched them not only crawl and fight their way out of dangerous situations, but also emit such beauty into a world that only sees them as sluts and nothing else, can we not grant them some sense of safety or at least some general sensitivity? Ultimately, the real question in the case of both characters: Would they even recognize a truly kind soul if they ever came across one or would they pass them by for fear of being broken once again?
“Anora” is released by Neon and now playing in theaters in New York and Los Angeles.
