Flourishes & Function: A Deep Dive into Anora & The Brutalist
Written by: Andres Varela Gomez | 8 minute read
It’s a special thing discovering a film that takes on a place in your heart. When in those couple of hours, something clicked. Somewhere along the way, the movie you’re watching becomes something so much more. You’re subsumed by its story. Whatever emotions you may be feeling—joy, suspense, sadness—it's unshakable. You leave the theatre, or your couch, and all you can bring yourself to think about is what just unfolded in front of you. An image. A feeling. You start going through all the people in your head of who you want to show this movie to. I love movies, but I also believe that everyone loves movies. Because everyone has had at least one of these experiences. When a film completely sweeps you off your feet. Though at times indescribable, the feeling is unmistakable. For me, that is the magic of movies. It’s why I love this artform and why I incessantly seek out new films or continuously return to favourites. In a sustained pursuit of that feeling, that magic. I found that magic in 2 of the 31 new releases I caught last year in 2024. Two films that, coincidently, were the biggest winners at the 97th Academy Awards just last week. Anora and The Bruatlist have not only stayed with me since the first time I watched them, but are films I have returned to on multiple occasions in the time since then. Despite my reverence stemming from their full narrative scope and thematic richness, these two films left their mark on me through two pivotal scenes that are perfectly bookended. The opening of The Brutalist and the ending of Anora are more than just standout moments in each respective film; they encapsulate the essence of these films and, for me, are emblematic of how they took on a special place in my heart.
The Brutalist
Director: Brady Corbet, Written by: Brady Corbet & Mona Fastvold
Semi-Spoiler Warning: Will only be discussing at length the opening of the film!
It’s only right to follow the temporal nature of these two scenes and begin with the opening sequence of The Brutalist. I first caught this film in September during its TIFF premiere, knowing close to nothing about it. This is definitely one way to go into a three and a half hour post-WW2, decade-spanning epic about a Hungarian holocaust survivor fleeing Europe in search of a life in America—did I forget to mention its 15 minute intermission between the first and second half? Brady Corbet’s direction not only parallels the film’s scope but injects it with such tenacity that, regardless of your thoughts on the film itself, is truly a sight to behold. The virtuosic nature of the film merely amplifies the journey the script takes us through, resulting in a movie that is a lot of movie. But amidst the overwhelming scale of the film—simply too much to examine in a single post and better left for another day—there is one scene that stands out as a prime example of its brilliance: the opening sequence.
In nearly five minutes of runtime, Corbet takes out nearly every tool in the shed to craft one of the most emotionally affecting openings to a film I’ve ever seen. It’s a scene that is not only a marvel in and of itself, but also a towering statement of intent to the audience about the mode in which the film is operating. It’s the kind of moment in a movie that makes you sit up in your seat, preparing yourself physically and mentally for what’s to come. Whether it’s the weight of the story’s big themes and ideas, immediately and effectively made apparent, or the sheer ferocity of the filmmaking that comes out guns blazing—it’s staging, action, cinematography, blocking, acting, editing, voiceover, and score—all crafted within a three-minute one-shot. In other words, Brady throws the kitchen sink at us and, frankly, does so brilliantly. Because while it's the kind of bold filmmaking that can, at times, feel indulgent and self-aggrandizing, I find it to be a beautifully considered sequence. Its ambition creates a spectacle and emotional tenacity that will remain relevant and tied to the telling of the rest of the story.
The opening encounter between Zsófia and a military officer in occupied Hungary is a truly gripping cold open. It’s a harrowing sequence that is so visceral with the combination of Raffey Cassidy’s (silent) performance as Zsófia and the brash Hungarian dialogue coming from off-screen. It’s a simply constructed yet striking scene that perfectly communicates the time and world the film is set in, immediately juxtaposed with a cut to our protagonist’s journey to America. Woken up in the bowels of a freighter ship, we follow László in an arresting three-minute one-shot as he squeezes his way through hundreds of other immigrants toward the deck, all puncuated by the film's blaring score. It's a grand flourish for a film's opening, one that reminded me of Paul Thomas Anderson’s iconic introductory sequence in Boogie Nights. It’s hard not to think Corbet was, whether consciously or not, influenced by Anderson’s own three-minute one-shot: one which sweeps through the outside of a 70s nightclub and into the dance floor, similarly accompanied by an irresistible needle drop—in this case, The Emotions’ 'Best of My Love.' But praise is all I have for Corbet, whose inspiration is overshadowed by his talent as a filmmaker.
Similarly to Zsófia’s military confrontation just prior, László’s journey to the deck is accompanied by a captivating off-screen Hungarian voice. We listen to a reading of a letter from his wife—who we learn has been long separated from him due to the war. Again, what seems like a slight decision is one that adds so much complexity and emotionality to the scene. Read by Erzsébét herself, it is a tragic, yet hopeful reading that imbues László’s journey with so much emotional weight. Felicity Jones’ dialogue possesses so much conviction and sincerity, written with such thoughtful prose that captures both the passion and despair of someone ravaged by war but sensing her near salvation. Placed side-by-side with this particular scene, it provides a powerful contrast to László who by the end of the scene has reached his own salvation. Emerging from the boat’s darkness, he opens the doors to reveal the New York City skyline. In this climactic set piece, patiently constructed and earned with its visual and auditory buildup, Corbet captures at once both the wide-eyed innocence of the immigrant experience and the promise of the American dream with this visual (and musical) crescendo. “Go to America, and I will follow you,” the last words we hear from Erzsébét, as the camera veers upward to the indelible image of a turned upside-down statue of liberty. László has arrived, just as Corbet and his film do to the audience in these short few minutes. Indulgent? Perhaps. Breathtaking? No question.
Anora
Director: Sean Baker, Written by: Sean Baker
SPOILER WARNING: Will be discussing at length the ending of the film!
Anora is the eighth feature-film from indie writer/director Sean Baker. It follows Ani (played by Mikey Madison, fresh off her Academy Award win for Best Actress), a sex worker who reluctantly enters a relationship with the son of a prominent Russian oligarch. As Ani eventually revels in all the wealth and luxury of her new boyfriend, it’s not long before things take an unexpected turn when the Russian family learns of this relationship. I had very little expectations walking into this film, knowing only just about the mini-synopsis I just wrote out above. So upon seeing the film, as those of you who have seen it can surely attest, I was blown away by it in more ways than one. To label Anora with a single genre would be reductive of the nuance of Baker’s achievement. Over its two hour and twenty minute runtime, Baker crafts a story that is a genuine whirlwind sensory experience; no single genre can pin down the nature of this film. Is Anora the funniest film I saw in 2024? Is it the most exhilarating film I saw in 2024? Is it the most emotionally profound film I saw in 2024? Lots of questions with only one answer, yes.
From the very first watch, I was left in complete awe of the depth of Baker's screenplay. At first glance, the film presents a clear, linear narrative: a loud, zany, and thrilling odyssey that doubles as a screwball romantic comedy—easily the most fun I had in a theatre all of 2024. Each act is marked by distinct tonal shifts that reflect Ani's evolving character and position in the narrative, almost feeling like three separate short films. Baker—the film's writer, director, and editor—employs so many different filmmaking techniques throughout them all that the film's energy, rhythm, and structure are constantly shifting. Each act is so well crafted in its own unique way and infectious as a viewer that every departure and transition from one to the next is tantalizing, resulting in a true spellbinding experience. And what I find so engrossing about the film is that every shift in tone, though effective, is not just for effect. It’s deliberate, necessary, and in service of the entire narrative arc. Make no mistake: Baker is first and foremost interested in telling this story. Apart from the clear emotional elasticity of its three-act structure, even the smaller, quieter decisions in the film can come off as disorienting. But as the story rolls along going from high to low, the film’s true intentions behind all these decisions slowly begin to bubble up to the surface.
The final 37 minutes of Anora unfold in stark contrast to the first two acts. The loud, emphatic film we’ve come to know quickly, and rather fascinatingly, becomes something much quieter. Baker’s hip-hop needle drops, brash editing style, and chaotic energy have come and gone. Even dialogue is seldom used in the final fifteen minutes. As a first-time viewer, the effect is somewhat puzzling. It’s unclear what the story is building toward. So much so that when the film finally cuts to black, I was left stunned with my jaw genuinely dropped to the floor. Not since Gone Girl in 2014 have I experienced such a shock in the theater—feeling like the rug had been pulled out from under me. Talk about magic. But herein lies the greatest act of Baker’s showmanship: this is no cheap trick. This decision to end the film on such an abrupt note, though shocking in the moment, was only further deepened by the meaningful thought and reexamination it prompted after leaving the theater—not just about the ending itself, but about how it recontextualizes everything that came before it.
Iger’s subtle gesture of handing Ani the ring is deeply touching, carrying immense emotional weight and significance. It’s an unexpected reveal, but one that feels logical and true to Iger’s character because of the way in which Baker treats him throughout the picture. Ani’s inability to process this gesture, as surprising for her as it is for us, is symbolic of her inability to process everything she's just been through. What does she see when she looks at this ring? The marriage she’s now lost? The promised wealth? An incapacity to ever be able to share true intimacy with someone? Or, perhaps for the first time in years, a genuine act of kindness towards her? Someone who cares for her, nothing more. It’s a brilliantly staged sequence and her subsequent response and fallout is, simply put, devsastating. Whatever suspicions you might have about its conclusion are immediately answered in crushing fashion. The cut to black, as we hear the windshield wipers along with the idleness of the car’s engine is at once shocking and powerfully poignant. Because upon revisiting the film, these same questions are just as relevant throughout the first two acts. The pure euphoria of the first act, rapturously entertaining and fun as it unfolds, is now put into question. When things start to go awry, what was once a hilarious and shocking second act now reveals so much subtextual tension with Ani’s place in the narrative. What is she really after? What is she so desperate to hold onto? Does she even know? There is, of course, no one right answer. I believe Baker is exploring a lot of ideas between these characters within the film’s narrative, while examining its greater themes and ramifications on what it all pertains to on a societal level. With so many potential readings of the film, there is one thing I can say with certainty. Anora’s ending is one of the most emotionally profound sequences I’ve ever witnessed, a moment of magic in the theatre I’ll keep with me for the rest of my life.
If you’ve come this far and I haven't already made it clear: I recommend you watch these films! Anora and The Brutalist may appear worlds apart in tone and style, but it is in their execution that they share the same essence of why I admire them. Though both brimming with bold artistic flourishes, it is in their level of intentionality rooted within that ambition that makes them such memorable pieces of work. Their decision making as directors are fully informed by their work as writers, handing themselves the baton to bring home the vision they set out to create. The exuberance behind the camera is not merely a spectacle, it's in service of the story; breathing life into narratives that act as a vehicle to actualize these deeply personal ideas from their creators. As László Toth believes in The Brutalist, the beauty of a building lies not only in its aesthetic appeal, but in its function within the larger structure. Similarly, in Anora, we see how the pursuit of wealth, status, and love, though seemingly glamorous, is ultimately hollow without the grounding of deeper emotional truths. It is not in the execution of these scenes alone that I am left so awestruck, but their significance and importance within the larger narrative that renders them so impactful. These films are not just exercises of style or technical prowess; they are emotionally resonant, deeply personal reflections of the human condition and society at large. And that, for me, is the magic of cinema. It's a medium that, when approached with desire and care, can connect us to something universal—something larger than ourselves. Film is, of course, intended to entertain. But when at its best, it has the power to provoke thought, stir emotion, and linger in our minds long after the credits roll.
