“Anora” has taken the film world by storm, winning five Academy Awards, including Best Picture, Best Director for Sean Baker, and Best Actress for Mikey Madison’s portrayal of the titular protagonist. Made on a modest $6 million budget with a 40 person crew, the film’s raw, naturalistic style pulls viewers into a courageous exploration of freedom, agency and vulnerability.

At its center is Ani, a 23-year-old stripper and escort who seizes a chance at upward mobility by marrying Vanya, the 21-year-old son of a Russian oligarch, shortly after meeting him as a client. She holds onto this means of escaping her working class life long after the red flags have become obvious to everyone else.

Her desperation does not seem to stem primarily from an urgent desire to flee sex work or trauma related to it—indeed, her clients are depicted as more pitiable than threatening—but rather from dreams of fairytale romance and luxury.

Vanya, meanwhile, is escaping an entirely different reality. As the privileged yet infantilized son of a Russian oligarch, he has unlimited money but no real autonomy. His days blur together in an endless cycle of partying, video games, drugs and sex—less out of rebellion than an avoidance of his looming responsibilities.

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Marrying Ani is his misguided attempt to claim independence and avoid the fate his parents have dictated for him: returning to Russia to work for his father. But unlike Ani, who fights relentlessly for her future, Vanya lacks the willpower to truly break free.

His defining flaw isn’t malice but cowardice, and that weakness ultimately leads him to betray Ani. When his parents discover the marriage, they send their henchmen to force an annulment. Rather than stand by his wife, Vanya abandons her, allowing her to be discarded like an inconvenient mistake. In the film’s devastating final act, Ani—after clinging so desperately to the belief that her marriage is worth fighting for—is finally forced to confront the gutlessness of the man she married.

Following the annulment, Ani returns to Vanya’s mansion to collect her belongings, accompanied by Igor, one of Vanya’s reluctant handlers. Throughout the film, Igor has developed a growing respect, and even a quiet infatuation, for Ani. He treats her with kindness, but she meets it with insults, her words oscillating between genuine anger and flirtatious provocation.

In the final scene, Igor returns Ani’s engagement ring—a small yet meaningful gesture of respect after everything she has endured. Uncertain how to process this act of genuine kindness, Ani first insults his car, then initiates sex.

When Igor leans in to kiss her, offering real affection rather than transactional intimacy, Ani recoils. She strikes him in frustration before collapsing into his arms, sobbing.

She doesn’t want to like Igor—after all, he played a key role in her marriage crumbling —and he has no reason to like her, given how cold and cutting she has been toward him. And yet, they find themselves drawn to each other. For the first time, Ani is truly vulnerable.

“Anora” is a film that revels in moral ambiguity, exploring the complexities and limitations of agency. Indeed, Vanya’s handlers, the men tasked with abducting Ani, are portrayed not as violent brutes but as sheepish pawns terrified of his parents.

Vanya himself, though easy to despise—thanks in large part to Mark Eydelshteyn’s fantastic performance—is ultimately a pitiable figure, trapped under the weight of his family’s expectations. Even his father, who appears to be the ultimate authority, is acting primarily at the behest of his wife—who is herself depicted as enslaved to public opinion.

Ani, too, defies easy categorization. She doesn’t fit neatly into the trope of either the empowered sex worker or the victimized prostitute; instead, she is a fully realized character making choices that are both transactional and deeply emotional.

The final scene is so powerful because it marks Ani’s final reckoning—not just with the illusion of her marriage, but with herself. Throughout the film, she has fought to maintain control, clinging to carefully crafted, self-interested fantasies of love and security. But when Igor tries to kiss her, she is confronted with a truth she has long resisted: real connection requires surrender.