Anora and Sean Baker: Making the Best Movies with the Least Money

I didn’t think I'd find a favorite 2024 film for me until Anora came along. Sure, the film won the Palme d'Or back in May 2024, but it wasn’t until January 2025 that I finally had the chance to watch it. In typical Sean Baker fashion, Anora mixes absurdity, dark humor, and a raw look at the lives of marginalized people, all with a budget so small it might make a studio executive’s head spin. But it’s not just about what’s on screen—it’s about how he makes magic with so little.

You’d think shooting with iPhones or making a movie with $3,000 is impossible—unless you’re Sean Baker. Over the years, he’s proven that low-budget filmmaking doesn’t mean sacrificing creativity or impact. Baker has built his reputation with films like Tangerine and The Florida Project, both of which showcased his unique style: raw, gritty storytelling that dives deep into the lives of people on the margins.

And Anora, with its modest $6 million budget, became Baker’s highest-grossing film to date, pulling in $31 million worldwide. And it’s easy to see why—it combines drama, farce, romance, and even a dash of gangster film elements, all wrapped in the bright, candy-colored packaging that Baker is known for.

The film centers on Anora (Mikey Madison), a stripper and occasional sex worker in Brooklyn who stumbles into a whirlwind romance with Ivan (Mark Eydelshteyn), the young heir to a Russian oligarch’s fortune. Ivan offers her $15,000 to be his girlfriend for a week, and soon, their impulsive romance leads them to Las Vegas for a hasty wedding. Anora, hoping she’s met her "prince," begins to see her Cinderella fantasy come to life. But when her marriage is exposed to Ivan’s family, his parents send three goons to take care of business, and Anora’s fairytale crumbles before her eyes.

Baker’s films often challenge the standard notions of what stories deserve to be told—and Anora is no different. This isn’t your typical Cinderella story. Anora isn’t a naive victim; her relationship with Ivan isn’t about love, but about the possibility of a better life. And Ivan? He’s just a kid, a spoiled brat looking to escape his Russian family’s control by using Anora as a ticket to American citizenship.

But where the fairy tale crumbles, there’s still something else at play—a quiet, unsung form of protection. This is where Igor (played by an incredibly understated actor, Yura Borisov) comes into the picture. Igor is one of the goons sent to bring Anora back to her senses, but what develops between them is a subtle form of empathy and reconciliation. Igor gradually becomes Anora’s unlikely ally, even attempting to give her a kiss in the final moments of the film—though she rejects him. Yet the kiss isn’t the point. It’s the understanding and connection between them—two people from the same struggling background, both aware of the hardships of survival.

That ending—it’s what elevates Anora from a simple deconstruction of a fairy tale into something more profound. If the entire film is about the shattering of a dream, that final moment leaves a lingering sense of hope, even if it's uncertain. It’s a romantic ideal that still hangs in the air, but in a way that doesn’t feel naive. It feels real. At one point, it felt as though the film was saying, "Yes, love and fairytales can be shattered—but that doesn’t mean we stop hoping for something better." The ambiguity of the ending is what makes it so haunting. It’s bittersweet, almost tragic, yet there’s a undercurrent hidden beneath.

To me, without the character of Igor and the brief, subtly charged scene between him and Anora in the car, this film might not have been as striking. I don’t know if you noticed, but it’s precisely from the moment Igor enters—his awkward attempt to stop Anora’s shouting and running away, offering her a scarf on the cold streets, and eventually even demanding that his employer apologize to Anora—that we begin to feel sympathy, affection, and a sense of protection for her. Without showing how he sees the girl, Anora would be more of a disagreeable protagonist. In other words, Igor is the embodiment of the director’s empathy for the marginalized.

This conclusion might make you wonder whether Baker had the ending planned from the very start. I’m not implying anything negative at all. In fact, I write my own novels in the same way. I tend to start with a breathtaking, jaw-dropping conclusion that grips me and work backward from there. I believe it’s a fantastic creative method, as long as the ending holds an inherent beauty and tremendous power, and, crucially, that you have the skill to execute it properly.

What makes Sean Baker’s films so powerful is not just his storytelling, but his ability to bring humanity to the most marginalized people. He’s a director who works with the fewest resources and ends up making some of the most daring, creative films in modern cinema. Anora is yet another testament to that talent.