The Cost of Care in Anora

Before I watched Anora, I couldn’t escape the buzz - especially those hilarious interviews with Mark Eidelshtein stumbling through Hollywood like he wandered onto the wrong set and decided to roll with it. But nothing could have prepared me for that final scene. It’s raw, messy, and leaves you staring at the screen in confusion.

The more I sat with it, the more I realised how deeply the movie twists the ideas of ‘care’ and ‘fun’ in relationships. So familiar yet fraught, these two forces are like opposing currents that my generation seems to be constantly navigating (and let’s be honest, struggling with). We’re not all living Ani’s chaotic life, but Anora captures something universal: that messy, uncomfortable space between shallow fun and genuine, vulnerable connection. Beneath that, though, lies an even deeper question: how do class, identity, and cultural background shape the way we give, and receive, care?

Vanya: The Careless Heir

Ani’s relationship with Vanya is a whirlwind of indulgence and excess. It thrusts her into a world of privilege so foreign to her that every interaction feels like a reminder she doesn’t belong. For Ani, Vanya represents escape - a chance to reinvent herself in a world of wealth and privilege. But beneath the surface, their relationship isn’t romantic; it’s hollow, transactional, and emotionally disconnected.

Vanya’s world is one of surface-level charm and shallow fun, but it’s built on emotional neglect. Groomed from a young age to inherit his family’s business, Vanya has been robbed of the luxury of self-discovery. He’s never been asked who he is or what he wants; his life has always been dictated by expectations. As a result, he equates care with material gestures like money, gifts and expensive parties, because that’s the only language of care he’s ever known.

This becomes painfully clear in his interactions with Ani. He doesn’t see her; he sees what she represents. To him, she’s an accessory to his lifestyle, a reflection of his desires rather than a person with complexities. It’s not that he doesn’t try - he asks about her parents, and tries to integrate her into his world, but it’s all surface-level. He doesn’t dig deeper because he doesn’t know how.

On The Outside Looking In

Vanya’s friends mock Ani at the New Year's Eve party, referring to her as “the hooker Vanya is sleeping with.” It’s a cruel, degrading moment, but the irony is impossible to ignore: many of Vanya’s friends are working-class themselves - waiters, bartenders, sweet-shop employees. And yet, they ridicule Ani for her profession, which likely earns her more money and arguably more autonomy than they have. 

This moment highlights the impossibility of Ani fully assimilating into Vanya’s world. She’s tolerated as a novelty, but she’ll never be accepted. And in a way, this proves Vanya’s worldview: he’s bought friends before, so why wouldn’t the same tactic work with a girlfriend?

There’s an added layer here: cultural connection. Vanya and his friends share a Russian background that Ani can’t fully access, as the film subtly shows her gravitating more toward the American side of her identity. She changes her name to Ani, hesitates to speak Russian, and even seems uncomfortable when Vanya’s friends tease her in their shared language. For Vanya and his friends, their Russian heritage is a source of connection and belonging, a shorthand that ties them together despite any class differences. Ani, meanwhile, remains on the periphery, her place in Vanya’s world as fragile and uncertain as their relationship itself.

The Illusion of Fun

For Ani, Vanya’s version of fun initially feels like stability - or at least the illusion of it. After years of gruelling hours and creepy customers, she’s suddenly sleeping in a huge bed, eating regular meals, and socialising without the constant weight of survival looming over her. For a brief moment, she gets to experience something close to normalcy.

But fun without care is brittle, and it starts to crack under pressure. Vanya’s detachment becomes increasingly frustrating, for both Ani and the audience. He’s there but not present - a man-child whose distractions (booze, drugs, excess) keep him from ever engaging meaningfully with the people around him.

This dynamic culminates when Ani snaps at Vanya’s mother, Galina, after enduring days of ridicule. Vanya, drunk and amused, laughs it off, treating Ani’s outburst as entertainment rather than a genuine expression of frustration. This moment clarifies everything: Vanya’s world is one where fun reigns and care is a fictional concept.

What makes Vanya’s lack of care so devastating is that Ani doesn’t want his money or his lifestyle; she wants connection. She wants to meet his parents, and his friends, and feel part of his world in a way that goes beyond surface-level gestures. Vanya’s half-hearted attempts to understand her always fall short, leaving Ani even more isolated.

Igor: The Burden of Intense Care

In contrast to Vanya’s shallow fun, Igor’s care is raw, intense, and deeply personal - so much so that it unsettles Ani. From the moment Igor enters her life, he becomes a force of disruption, challenging Ani’s independence and forcing her to confront emotions she’s long suppressed. His care is expressed through quiet, deliberate gestures: wrapping a scarf around her neck, covering her with a blanket, or stepping in to shield her when she’s in danger. Unlike Vanya, Igor doesn’t treat Ani as an accessory to his lifestyle - he truly sees her. This kind of care is so different from what Ani is used to and feels more like a burden than a comfort.

Care or Control?

Igor’s care is complicated by his contradictions. While his actions often come from a place of genuine concern, they are also marked by a roughness that makes Ani resistant to him. Early in the film, Igor physically restrains Ani, and his initial attempts to intervene in her life feel more like control than care. In one scene, he prevents her from leaving a volatile situation, an act that Ani perceives as stripping her of her autonomy. This dynamic - where Igor’s care teeters on the edge of dominance - mirrors Ani’s struggle to accept vulnerability. She has spent her life surviving through independence and self-reliance, and Igor’s overwhelming presence forces her to confront parts of herself she’s tried to bury.

Igor’s aggression isn’t born out of malice. Rather, it reflects his internal conflict between duty and desire. As an enforcer for Vanya’s family, Igor is trapped in a role that demands strength, violence, and emotional detachment - does that sound familiar? Yet, with Ani, his façade begins to crack. His care for her is real, and it pushes him to act against the very power structures he’s meant to uphold.

This tension becomes clear during the annulment scene, where Igor, unlike Vanya’s mother Galina, insists that Vanya take responsibility and apologize to Ani. It’s one of the film’s most striking moments: while Galina enables Vanya’s behaviour, Igor becomes Ani’s unlikely advocate, challenging the toxic dynamics that have humiliated her. In doing so, Igor risks his standing within the family, revealing the depth of his care and his willingness to act on Ani’s behalf.

Cultural Connection and Contrast

Igor’s care is also deeply rooted in his cultural identity, which adds another layer of complexity to his relationship with Ani. While Ani distances herself from her Russian heritage, Igor is firmly rooted in it. For Ani, her Russian identity may be tied to loss and vulnerability—especially the grief of losing her grandmother, who seems to have been the only stable source of care in her life. By rejecting her heritage, Ani is rejecting the pain and fragility that come with it.

Igor, on the other hand, embraces his Russian roots unapologetically. His gestures of care - like the scarf and blanket—are not just practical acts of kindness; they are steeped in a cultural framework that prioritises protection, responsibility, and family. These small but significant actions reflect Igor’s understanding of Ani’s struggles in a way she isn’t ready to confront. His care is not performative or transactional; it’s grounded in a sense of duty and genuine affection, even if Ani doesn’t recognise it as such.

Igor reflects on the meaning of their names. He explains that his name is rooted in strength and tradition, while Ani’s name - shortened from Anora - means “grace” or “lightness.” This exchange isn’t just about their cultural differences; it’s Igor’s way of acknowledging Ani’s inner conflict. He sees her as someone who carries the weight of survival and self-preservation while yearning for the freedom and lightness her name suggests.

Ani’s reaction to this moment is telling. Instead of showing gratitude or acknowledgement, she resists Igor’s insight. For Ani, it feels like an intrusion, as though Igor is peeling back the layers of the persona she’s carefully constructed to survive. However, for Igor, this is an act of care - a way of showing Ani that he understands her in ways others, including Vanya, never could.

What Does the Ending Mean?

The ending of Anora is as ambiguous as it is powerful, tied to Ani’s relationships, her survival instincts, and her internal conflict between performance and authenticity. It’s not a neat resolution but a quiet implosion.

Take the moment when Igor mentions that the car they’re sitting in used to belong to his grandmother. On the surface, it’s a throwaway line but Anora is a film so attuned to subtext. For Ani who’s spent her life surrounded by men who treat women as disposable, this detail evokes something rare: legacy, continuity, and a version of care that isn’t transactional. It signals that Igor might be different. Not just in how he treats her, but in how he views women in general. He doesn’t brag about his grandmother or make it sentimental; he just mentions her, as if her existence matters without needing to be justified.

That subtlety matters. It’s not that Igor explicitly shows care at this moment - it’s that he reveals he’s capable of it which is enough to shift something for Ani. It’s immediately after this line that she initiates physical intimacy with him. On one level, it’s instinctual - a performance she’s perfected over years of surviving through seduction and submission, though there’s something messier underneath. The mention of his grandmother taps into a deeper yearning: the kind of unconditional care she once experienced with her own grandmother and the kind she hasn’t felt since. For a flickering moment, Ani seems to be asking: Is this real? Can I trust it?

Then there’s the ring. When Igor gives Ani the wedding ring, heavy with symbolism, tradition, and permanence, it feels like both a gesture of love and a cold, transactional exchange. Historically, a ring has represented a promise: of care,

loyalty, of stability. But for Ani, it represents something more primal-survival. She’s acutely aware of its monetary value. Accepting it isn’t about accepting Igor - it’s about securing a future she’s never been able to count on. There’s no grand proposal, no sweeping romance. Just quiet tension and a lingering sense that Ani’s still not sure whether she’s being saved or bought.

Her reaction is a reflex - a deeply ingrained habit of giving something in return for what she’s been offered. This time it’s laced with hesitation. Unlike with Vanya, where the fun was hollow and the care nonexistent, Igor’s presence is overwhelming in its sincerity. That’s what makes it so suffocating. He means it. He sees her. And Ani doesn’t know what to do with that.

In many ways, Igor’s care is just as destabilising as Vanya’s neglect. With Vanya, Ani knew where she stood - on the outside, tolerated but never truly seen. With Igor, she’s being invited in, but the cost might be her independence, her carefully constructed emotional armour. The ambiguity of the ending lies in this tension: Ani is caught between wanting to believe in the possibility of real care and fearing what it might demand of her.

And maybe that’s the point. The film doesn’t answer whether Ani stays with Igor out of love or necessity - because Ani herself doesn’t know. What it does show is a woman grappling with the idea that care, especially from a man, might not always be violent or performative.

It might be quiet. It might be real. But even then, it’s never simple.