Sean Baker is no stranger to exploring marginalized lives with profound intimacy. His previous films, Tangerine and Red Rocket, illuminated the lives of overlooked individuals with humor, vulnerability, and humanity. With Anora, he continues this tradition, placing a sex worker at the heart of the story. In Ani, Baker crafts a character who is both tough and tender, embodying contradictions without reducing her to a stereotype. Her love story with Ivan (Mark Eydelshteyn) feels like a fairy tale, but one for the broken-hearted, tethered unflinchingly to the gritty realities of power, money, and survival.
A key strength of Anora is Baker’s commitment to consulting with sex workers to bring authenticity to Ani’s world. While this has earned praise within the industry, it also raises the question of how much space the film gives to Ani’s own perspective on her work. Her character is layered, but Anora leaves much of her inner world unexplored, focusing more on the external chaos than her personal agency. The film undeniably takes a step forward from classic narratives that frame sex workers solely as individuals in need of saving—think Pretty Woman—but there is still room to push further, particularly in representing a broader range of experiences and voices within the industry.
What makes Anora so compelling is its ability to balance humor and heartache. Baker doesn’t shy away from the absurdities of Ani’s world, but he never mocks her for them. Instead, he shows how humor can become a survival mechanism in a world that often feels hostile and unforgiving. This playful approach adds texture to the film, but it never softens the deeper emotional currents that run through Ani’s journey. By the time we reach the haunting final act, the film doesn't just move us—it disrupts us, reminding us of the devastating toll that so many sex workers face every day.
At the same time, Anora leans into the familiar Hollywood trope of a sex worker facing relentless stigma and punishment, reinforcing the notion that her only path forward is escape. While Ani is given moments of humor and resilience, her depth feels limited compared to the full complexity of real-life sex workers. And notably, most portrayals of sex workers in cinema—whether complex or reductive—center white women. Hollywood has historically failed to uplift diverse sex worker stories, and Anora does little to challenge this pattern, leaving out perspectives from the most vulnerable voices in sex work, particularly women of color.
Anora forces us to confront uncomfortable questions about autonomy, power, and the commodification of desire. Who truly owns their body when economic precarity, stigma, and legal systems dictate the terms? Pleasure is often framed as empowerment, yet for those in the sex industry, it is continually policed, regulated, and weaponized. Baker presents a humanizing portrait of Ani, but the film stops short of fully interrogating how the structures of capitalism and systemic inequalities continue to shape how pleasure is experienced and exploited. Anora opens the door to this conversation, but it’s clear that much more needs to be unpacked.
The conversation about Anora extends beyond the screen, sparking important discussions within the sex work community. Many praise the film for avoiding the usual tropes of victimization or glamorization, instead offering a complex and multifaceted portrayal of Ani’s choices. Mikey Madison’s performance is particularly lauded for capturing the raw charisma and power that many sex workers embody in their daily lives. However, there’s an undeniable tension between the film’s authenticity and the extent to which Ani’s perspective is fully realized. While the film portrays her as a fully realized person—filled with contradictions, desires, and agency—her relationship with her work remains at times secondary to the plot, raising questions about what stories still need to be told.
Some critics argue that Anora misses an opportunity to fully represent the agency and community that many sex workers find within their industry. By focusing heavily on Ani’s struggles, the film overlooks how sex work, for many, is a path to independence, empowerment, and solidarity. While Anora presents a far more nuanced depiction than many of its predecessors, its story remains centered on a familiar narrative of hardship rather than the full spectrum of experiences within the industry.
Adding to the film’s momentum, Anora star Mikey Madison recently took home the Best Actress award at the BAFTAs, a moment that further amplified discussions around sex work representation in cinema. In her acceptance speech, Madison directly addressed the sex worker community, acknowledging their presence, resilience, and the need for greater societal respect. She emphasized her commitment to being an ally, a statement that resonated strongly with many in the industry.
Madison’s win was considered a surprise upset over The Substance star Demi Moore, who had been the frontrunner. With Anora also gaining significant recognition from the Directors Guild and Producers Guild, the film is now positioned as a strong contender for Best Picture at the Oscars. If it wins, it would be the most sexually explicit film to ever take home the top honor, marking a potential shift in how mainstream Hollywood engages with stories about sex work.
Edit note: Mikey Madison later went on to win the Academy Award for Best Actress, sweeping the Oscars with Anora. In her acceptance speech, she honored the sex worker community, stating, “I also just want to again recognize and honor the sex worker community. I will continue to support and be an ally. All of the incredible people, the women that I’ve had the privilege of meeting from that community has been one of the highlights of this entire incredible experience.”
Anora is a beautifully tragic, darkly funny film, offering one of the more thoughtful portrayals of sex work in recent cinema. Baker’s care in crafting Ani’s character shines through, and the film challenges long-standing stereotypes. His consultations with sex workers ensure a level of authenticity that is rare in Hollywood films about the industry. But even in its careful approach, Anora is a reminder that no single film can encapsulate the full complexity of sex work. As the conversation around bodily autonomy, labor rights, and pleasure evolves, there’s still much more to be said—and, more importantly, much more to be done. We need more realistic representation in cinema, especially more nuanced and diverse portrayals of people of color. Sex workers, like all individuals, deserve to see their stories told with complexity and respect, reflecting the diversity and richness of their experiences.