‘Anora’ Nails the Banality and Trauma of Sex Work
Image: Neon
Anora (2024) is a movie about an escort and sometimes sex worker, Anora “Ani” Mikheeva (Mikey Madison), “lucking” into a wealthy client, Ivan “Vanya” Zakharov (Mark Eydelshteyn), who promises to take her away from the day-to-day hustle. Ani quickly finds herself at the center of this rich fuck boy’s family drama, forcing her to fight for the dream of being able to put sex work aside.
Some have called Anora a modern-day Pretty Woman (1990), but I don’t think that parallel is apt. This is not only because the film eschews a fairy tale ending but also because of its emotionally realistic portrayal of this industry. Anora rejects the heart of gold and disposal sex worker tropes so familiar in media for a three-dimensional character struggling with both the insecurity and banality of this industry.
I am writing this review from some experience. Many in the trans community are no strangers to sex work, mainly because society treats us like shit, and so sex work tends to be one of the few options many in my community have. I will not go over the specifics because I don’t think the Internet is owed that information, but yes, I know people in the industry — yes, they talk — and yes, I have some idea how the whole process works.
I go on this tangent because I want you to hear me when I say that something Anora does well is capturing how boring and awkward sex work can be.
It depicts it like the insecure freelance job it mostly is.
The banality and danger of sex work
There is a tendency to glamorize the hustle of sex work — to portray sex workers as badasses that embody some of the best elements of capitalism — but sex work involves the same banalities of every other service job. Most of your day is caught in a nonstop grind as you attempt to meet your daily numbers while balancing your customers’ needs.
We see this right from the film’s start when Ani is at the club Headquarters—the exotic dance club she operates out of—pitching various men for her services. Her goal is to bring clients to a backroom, where she will give them a more intimate lapdance for a higher cost. Her tactics—flattery, upselling, and unapologetic directness—are similar to those of any existing salesperson.
It’s just that instead of selling a subscription plan or a mortgage, she is selling access to her body.
Headquarters is not glamorized. It’s a depressing service job. Ani eats her food in the backroom — a simple meal in a Tupperware because she doesn’t have time to go outside the club. She breaks up the monotony of the job with a cigarette break with one of her work besties and is constantly butting heads with her boss so he doesn’t take advantage of her. As she tells her boss about taking a week off:
“[Schedules]. Jesus Christ, Jimmy, once you give me health insurance, workers’ comp, and a fucking 401(k), then you can tell me when I work and not work.”
Another element of this mundanity Anora depicts well is to show how awkward sex work can be. The job entails giving access to your body to people who you would not usually be attracted to sexually or romantically, so there is a significant amount of emotional labor involved. We see this in how Ani pretends to be invested in her clients, smiling and laughing, even as she is deeply uncomfortable.
My favorite example of this involves how the rich fuckboy Vanya treats her while he is playing video games after they have sex. She is cuddled in his arms, bouncing uncomfortably around as he aggressively spams the controller, and she has to sit there passively, waiting for him to finish. It’s a great little nod to the amount of emotional labor Ani constantly does for her clients.
Again, sex work is, well, work.
It suffers from the same drawbacks as most service jobs, with the added wrinkle of mainly being illegal and, therefore, not having the same protections (as little as they are in America) as more legalized endeavors. Ani is not allowed to officially make or accept solicitations for sex work at Headquarters. She directs Vanya to her phone when he asks to see her outside the club, and she is cautious about how she goes about it.
It is this lack of safety that hangs in the backdrop of the film because sex work’s criminalization prevents her from relying on the law at any point. When employees of Vanya’s family arrive to force her out of a relationship with Vanya, they tie her down, and although she struggles, there is little that can be done about it. She may tell them to “fuck off” as a moment of catharsis, but ultimately, she goes along with their instructions to track down Vanya to get a divorce because she does not see a way to fight it.
There is one chilling moment where Ani tells a judge that she is being coerced into an annulment against her will, and he does nothing. He dismisses the cases on a technicality (they need to get divorced in Nevada, not New York), allowing her family to drag her to another court.
Later, Ani tells Vanya’s mother (Darya Ekamasova) that she’s going to fight the divorce, and the mother shrugs the claim off, chillingly telling Ani how fucked she’ll be if she tries:
“Do that, and you'll lose everything. Any money you may have, although I doubt you have much, will be gone. Do you have a house? Do you have a car? All gone. Your life and the lives of your family and friends, everything will be destroyed.”
This is the other side of the coin Anora depicts so well. Sex work may be work, but it is devalued work not respected by our society, and that makes the hustle not just hard but traumatizing.
A working conclusion
Anora ends in a car. Igor (Yura Borisov), one of the family’s henchmen, has shown Ani some kindness, and she turns it into a transaction. She initiates sex, probably because, after such a traumatic week, it’s a frame of reference that is psychologically safe to her. When he attempts to kiss her, Ani hits him, unable to maintain the distance of it being an exchange. She then collapses in his arms and cries, weeping over all the fucked up shit that has happened to her.
I have been that friend to people, holding someone in my arms after a client so thoroughly treats them like shit. My friends have been beaten. They have been stalked. A love-bombing client has made them think that they will be married, only for them to ghost after months of contact, never to be heard of again.
There is a paternalistic tendency for people to want to ban sex work to “protect” my friends, and I am so frustrated by this because sex work is illegal now. They are already getting hurt, and it is because their male clients (and it is mostly men) are allowed to treat them as disposable. Trying to ban an activity as old as sex work doesn’t mean it ceases to exist, especially since it is a skill that’s very important to our society. It just means that my friends have to avoid the state alongside the other men trying to hurt them.
Sex work is vital but devalued work in our society, and with Anora, it’s refreshing to see that tension reflected on the silver screen.