At the end of an edition of Cannes where its eventual winners remained uncertain until the very end – the generally low quality of the competition and a certain scepticism towards this year’s jury, presided by Greta Gerwig, led to expectations that were quite low, but also ample room for surprises – the Palme d’Or went to one of the most honourable titles presented this year: Anora, the new film from indie darling Sean Baker, which marks his third consecutive appearance on the Croisette, following his debut with The Florida Project (Quinzaine des Realisateurs, 2017) and Red Rocket (in competition, 2021).

Catapulted into the stratosphere of contemporary cinema by Tangerine, his 2015 film following a day in the life of a black trans sex worker – and the first (only?) major film to deliver on the promise of the camera phone as a radical means of democratising film production –, Baker brings home the first Palme d’Or for the United States since Tree of Life (dir. Terrence Malick, 2011), ending a decade-long period during which American cinema, despite its constant presence, failed to sufficiently convince the juries and critics at Cannes. (The last time such a long-standing record was broken was in 1970 when Altman won with M.A.S.H.; the previous one had been in 1957: William Wyler’s Friendly Persuasion.)

Who would have imagined this fantastic rags-to-riches story a few years ago, as if taken from the Golden Age playbook, in which a guy with an iPhone and a dream would go on to win one of the most prestigious trophies in cinema? And that his lens is would be one that turns its gaze – an act inspired by both neorealism and the practices of John Cassavetes (it’s no secret that Baker is an avid cinephile) – towards some of the most unfortunate, marginalised, and stigmatised individuals in society, namely, sex workers (to whom the filmmaker dedicated the award during his speech on the Grand Theatre Lumiere stage)? It’s a theme that has preoccupied Baker since 2012, back when he released Starlet – his first film to run in competition at a European A-list festival, Locarno – and one he iterates across a wide palette of genders and identities (sexual and otherwise), specific types of occupations (from pornography to stripping, from the club to the street), individual motivations, and economic circumstances.

A well-deserved Palme d’Or for a film that not only brings a much-needed critique of the Russian oligarchy and its immorality, even infamy, but also has the power to humanise for the general public one of the most misunderstood, vilified, and discriminated against categories of people out there: sex workers.

In a way, Anora crowns all of these efforts: not only due to the often dizzying intensity of the script – the first part is akin to a feverish drunkenness where a few weeks of passion and anarchic excess race on with the speed and vitality of a wild night on the town, while its second act is a rude awakening to reality, unravelling in a single day of existential hangover – but especially for the meticulousness with which it characterises its protagonist and the opulent social milieu that she opportunistically lands in. Namely, the fantastic world of Russian oligarchs’ offspring: where nothing, from orgiastic parties and lavish vacations to luxurious homes and life’s most basic needs, is a problem – or at least, not until mommy and daddy find out their precious boy has married an escort. Because in that case, everything turns into a problem.

There is something extremely endearing in the way Baker portrays the facets of this great character that is Anora (or by her chosen name, Ani – in a key scene, she says she hates her “stupid Uzbek name”). There’s a fundamental ambiguity to this young woman whose past we know little about beyond the fact that she shares an apartment with her sister, or that her grandmother “never learned English” and that’s why she can speak Russian. Which is why the modern prince Ivan (Mark Eidelstein) turns to her when he arrives at the end of a long night at the strip club (which is obviously a front for a brothel) where she works, picking her up and throwing her into the hedonistic whirlwind of his life – but all along their journey driven by carnal impulses, the line between desire, love, and arrangement disappears as quickly as a line of cocaine.

And Mickey Madison’s (known for a brief but substantial appearance in Quentin Tarantino’s Once Upon a Time in Hollywood) masterful performance brings not only fantastic amounts of nerve but also a hidden, incredibly fragile side to this girl accustomed to survival and fun, social masks and the hustle, but especially to the fact that in the world she revolves in, everything is transactional, strategic, duplicitous, or downright violent. The contrast is all the more overwhelming when she comes face to face with someone as sincere (and even a bit naive, considering the context) as Igor (Yura Borisov from Compartment no. 6 and Petrov’s Flu, outstanding), one of the Armenian henchmen sent by Vanya’s family to “fix” the shotgun marriage that was sealed at the Little White Chapel in Las Vegas. And ut’s also an opportunity Baker uses to turn the second act into a great screwball comedy.

The clash between the two – both insiders and outsiders in this suspicious universe, governed by its own laws and rules – is also an opportunity for a delicate exploration of the identity of Eastern-European migrants in the United States. One torn between acclimatisation and assimilation, between stifling one’s own cultural identity in order to “belong” or an incomplete adaptation, where one’s lifestyle and social circles are (pretty much) the same as back home. Therein lies much of Anora’s drama: not so much in her desire to achieve some sort of stability and maturity in an environment that doesn’t seem capable of offering such a thing, but in this identity that she vehemently denies, like so many other things that she turns a blind eye to, so many other things she wants to ignore but always end by catching up with her. A well-deserved Palme d’Or for a film that not only brings a much-needed critique of the Russian oligarchy and its immorality (even infamy), but also has the power to humanise for the general public one of the most misunderstood, vilified, and discriminated against categories of people out there: sex workers.

Flavia Dima

Film critic & journalist. Collaborates with local and international outlets, programs a short film festival - BIEFF, does occasional moderating gigs and is working on a PhD thesis about home movies. At Films in Frame, she writes the monthly editorial - The State of Cinema and is the magazine's main festival reporter.