In Sean Baker’s new film Anora, it’s Mikey Madison's brassy, audacious, star-making performance that hits you first. But equally impressive is its tonal complexity—a mix of beats both familiar and new, combined with subversive twists both classical and modern.

Pitched as Pretty Woman by way of the Safdie Brothers, there’s something to that comparison, as Anora sprints down a more volatile path than the 1990 Richard Gere, Julia Roberts film. Whereas Pretty Woman told a neat Cinderella story, Anora flirts with and then mocks that idea. In fact, the film’s been marketed with Variety’s pull quote: "makes Pretty Woman look like a Disney movie."

There’s an undeniable fairytale quality to Anora, but it’s spiked with a volatile sense of danger and unpredictability. The film thrums with electricity, keeping you on your toes while also pulling you deeper into the lead character’s tumultuous journey. Madison’s portrayal of Anora, a sex worker trying to navigate the chaos that engulfs her life, makes you root for her as she loses terra firma and spirals out of control. This intoxicating, uneasy balance between dreamlike fantasy and gritty realism helps Anora find its edge.

How Anora deftly navigates its tonal shifts—feeling like five movies in one—without losing its core identity is remarkable. The first act plays like a sex-positive rom-com, as Anora is swept off her feet for a Vegas-set whirlwind romance. It’s too ideal, too dazzling, and this false sense of security leads to manic whiplash as the bill comes due, and we downshift from carefree romance to farcical crime thriller. Here, Sean Baker channels the absurdity and dark humor of the Coen brothers, laced with outer-borough NYC rawness.

That energy carries over to Anora’s next evolution, into a one-crazy-night-in-New York caper in the vein of classics like Martin Scorsese’s After Hours or Spike Lee’s 25th Hour. Gradually, Anora is changing before our eyes. No longer the wide-eyed dreamer, but a woman slowly hardening to her circumstances and the inevitable crush of power.

This is a smart, deliberate evolution, as Anora begins to align more with her gangsters than with the naive lover she initially fell for. Baker pushes the film past the standard tropes of these kinds of narratives, refusing to flatten Anora into a stereotype or an object of pity.

Just as we finally think we know who Anora is—a bawdy firecracker, a hopeful dreamer, a rebel, a victim of circumstance—the film shifts again, and we get perhaps our truest understanding of the character. The final act embraces a melancholic wistfulness and sense of longing reminiscent of Wong Kar-wai. The manic energy of earlier scenes gives way to a slower, more meditative pace, allowing the emotional weight of the experience to hit us like a ton of bricks.

Sean Baker’s oeuvre is known for emotional devastation, and Anora is no exception. Yet, the feeling here is tinged with hope. The ambiguous ending leaves us wondering what the future holds for Anora, but her resilience is undeniable. Despite (or even because of) everything that’s transpired, you know Anora will live to fight another day. Her moxie, her steel, and her sense of self are all strengthened.

In this sense, Anora most closely evokes Federico Fellini’s 1957 film Nights of Cabiria, starring his eternal love, the unforgettable Giulietta Masina. Like Anora, Masina’s Cabiria contends with the best and worst of humanity, but her perseverance carries her ever onward. Both characters endure betrayals and hardships, yet their resilience and determination make them indelible figures.