Let me set the scene: A producer pal of mine — let's call her Amita — asked after the Oscars, furious. "Anora won Best Picture? And Sean Baker bagged THREE Oscars?! For what? A movie where nothing happens?!" she raged. I could imagine her flaying her hands all over in a mix of despair and rage.
As I would discover soon, Amita's meltdown wasn't unique. Twitter was a dumpster fire of hot takes: "Anora better than Nickel Boys? Better than Wicked? Better than The Substance?!" one tweeted. Cue the popcorn emojis.
But here's the kicker: these outrages aren't about Anora being "bad" but their (and Hollywood's) addiction to familiar storytelling. Imagine expecting Oscar bait or a fireworks show only to get a magic act where the rabbit sets the hat on fire. That's Anora for you.
So why did this indie gem, about a sex worker who marries a Russian oligarch's son and triggers a Brooklyn-meets-Vegas meltdown, snag the gold? Let's pull back the curtain.
Blake Snyder's 'Save the Cat" Just Died (And Hollywood Needs Therapy)
Hollywood (even corporatised Bollywood, to an extent) has been affected by Save the Cat. If Aristotle taught us the acts of a story, Snyder's 2005 bible — bless their souls — taught us to "break stories into beats": Inciting Incident on Page 12, Dark Night of the Soul by Page 75, yada yada. But here's the plot twist: It ruined Hollywood.
Executives started treating Snyder's beats like IKEA instructions on every screenplay they read. "Where's the Hero meets quirky sidekick on Page 27? The Misunderstanding at a café on Page 62?" The result? A decade or so of films so predictable, you could time your bathroom breaks by the "All Is Lost' moment. Anora laughs in the face of this formula.
Quentin Tarantino's Hot Take (Or, Why Your Movie Feels Like a PowerPoint)
Let's cue the man himself, Tarantino: "Europe had character or mood-based films. What Hollywood did better than anybody else: we told a really good story. We're the worst at it now. We don't tell stories – we tell a situation. A good majority of movies that come out, you know everything you're going to see by the first 10 or 20 minutes. That’s not a story. A story is something that constantly unfolds."
Mic drop on Snyder's kittens in Hollywood.
Tarantino's right. Modern films, commercial ones and even indies are like GPS routes: "Turn left at the mentor's death. Arriving at climax in 30 minutes." Nothing 'unfolds' anymore but is in service of (baby) formula. But Anora? It's a choose-your-own-adventure book where every page sizzles during reading.
Anora's Magic Trick: The Art of "Unfolding"
Here's the thing: I avoided Anora for months. Why? The logline — "sex worker marries oligarch's son; chaos ensues" — sounded like a great plot to exercise my creative juices on someone else's idea to compare notes eventually. So, I tried drafting my own version. Spoiler: My script was a cliché smoothie. Who knew I was one of Snyder's kittens?
Then I watched Anora.
Act 1 lulls you into thinking you're in formulaic territory: Anora (the fiery escort) and Vanya (the trust-fund himbo) smoke, screw, party, and impulsively wed. Pretty Woman for the 21st century? Undoubtedly. But we're talking Russian oligarch's son, right? So, here we go… Daddy's goons will bust in, annul the marriage, and we'll get a gunfight at the Strip Club Corral.
Wrong.
Act 2 kicks off like a vodka-fuelled fever dream. The oligarch's henchmen do arrive — but not with guns, with negotiation tactics. What follows is a dizzying odyssey through Brooklyn's underbelly and Vegas' neon haze. Every scene swerves like a drunk driver rampaging through Hollywood Boulevard. Will Anora outsmart them? Will Vanya grow a spine? Will that creepy henchman Igor please stop staring at Ani?
You. Have. No. Idea.
"But Where's the Explosion?" (Or, How to Subvert Expectations Without Superheroes)
Let's address Amita's gripe: "Nothing happens!" Wrong. Everything happens — just not the things you expect. No car chases. No secret diary of the sex worker. No speeches about the meaning of life. Just raw, chaotic, unhinged humanity.
Take the Russian fixer, Igor. He's a mountain of silence, muttering "nyet" like a broken robot. Yet, by the end, you'd trust him with your Netflix password. Every one of the other five characters, whether they have two scenes or 20, has more depth than most Marvel villains.
And here's the kicker: Anora does all this without violence (okay, fine, there's a slap, a kick that breaks a nose, and some broken vases). It's all smoke, mirrors, and razor-sharp dialogue. Imagine The Sopranos meets Before Sunrise, directed by a high on absinth Van Gogh.
The Oscars' "Woke" Paradox (And Why Anora Didn't Care)
The Academy loves a message movie. Holocaust drama? Oscar bait. LGBTQ+ tearjerker? Take home the statue already. Feminist manifesto? Cue the confetti.
Anora is feminist. In its own way. But it doesn't wear it like a bumper sticker. Anora isn’t a "strong female lead" — she's a hurricane on heels, making messy, selfish, gloriously human choices. The film doesn't preach; it observes, it shows. And that's why it's revolutionary. It tries to be nothing other than itself and panders to no one but its story.
Screenwriting 101: Surprising + Inevitable = Divided Audience
The secret sauce of great storytelling? Every turn should feel surprising yet inevitable. The Godfather does this. Parasite aces it. Anora? It's a masterclass in the crafting of it.
Tarantino's "really good story... that constantly unfolds" is Anora with a steroid shot in the heart. But the audience? They're divided. Perhaps they were hoping for some message, some pandering to any trope. Surprising inevitability be damned.
Sean Baker: The Walt Disney of Chaos (And Why He's Unstoppable)
Sean Baker has now equalled Walt Disney's most Oscar record. Let that sink in. What Disney achieved over a lifetime was that Sean did it in one night, winning all three Oscars for Anora. But before you think 'overnight success', stop! Anora happened after over two decades of filmmaking expertise and pushing the boundaries in his ways.
He is the man who hit the final nail in the coffin for celluloid films in 2015 after the delectable Tangerine that was shot entirely on iPhones. He's the one behind another of my all-time favourite: The Florida Project.
Baker treats filmmaking like jazz: structured yet spontaneous. He's the guy at the party who turns a potato into a philosophical metaphor. And the best thing: Anora isn't just a movie that 'unfolds', it's also a vibe. A mood piece. A character study where even the background thug has a PhD in existentialism.
So… Should You Watch Anora? (Spoiler: Duh.)
Art is subjective. Every popular film has a hate base; every unpopular one a staunch fanbase. You might hate Anora. You might stan it. But here's the truth: craft matters. Screenwriting, editing, direction — Anora aces them all. It's a reminder that films can be both brainy and bonkers. Scratch that. It's proof that a film that's bonkers can be brainy.
In a world of algorithmic Netflix sludge and superhero fatigue, Anora is a call to rebellion. Much like a stripper's grit. A trust-fund brat's existential crisis. A Russian henchman who says more with "nyet" than most actors do with monologues. Anora is proof that stories don't need explosions — just humanity, chaos, and the guts to unfold.
Those five Oscars aren't just trophies — they're a flare gun shot into Hollywood's night sky. A rallying cry for everyone who dreams of movies that dare to unfold, not just… exist.
