There I was watching Vanya frantically pushing his front door to stop a couple of hired gophers from getting into his parents’ magnificent Brooklyn mansion where he’s living the life of Riley with his exotic dancer married in Las Vegas wife Ani, when a woman in my aisle about five seats away was suddenly standing hands on hips right in front of me. I moved my head to the left and I could still read the subtitles as this huffing and puffing stranger in a bulky anorak asked again and again, “Are you going to stop rustling?” She was referring to the popcorn bag that I’d been as quietly as possible eating from; because after all there was only four of us in the cinema.
Before marching to the space in front of me (picture an Everyman where legroom is a-plenty) this woman had tried a different tactic – shouting from her seat a sentence that began – “Oi you!” But I didn’t even turn my head. Besides, Vanya and Ani’s romance was more compelling than being disrespected by a random stranger. After what felt like a very long minute of her blocking the screen, my assailant arrived at her punchline – “You do know it’s illegal to bring your own popcorn?” I replied by crunching louder. Threatening to call in the heavies (not her words,) she headed to the manager in the foyer.
Meanwhile the two Russian gophers are now inside and attempting to constrain Ani who is showing admirable fearlessness and strength. I can feel Ani’s anguish but a constant comic undercurrent and a fascinating blend of plausibility and absurdity which characterises Anora keeps me amused. Later in a scene towards the end of the movie I’ll have a gut response which takes me back to this moment with Ani raging against the Russian bullies, whilst Vanya hoofed it. And I’d say this ability to create visceral emotional response is the skill of Anora creator Sam Baker. Like the kind of feeling you get when you wake up and look out the window and would you believe it’s snowing.
My IRL gopher returns from the foyer. I still don’t know her facial features – yep Everyman make their cinemas dark enough – but she’s got nothing more to say and goes past me back to her seat next to a man, presumably her husband. By now we’re in familiar filmic territory – a night time scene, someone being searched for, confusion, thuggery, angry banter. I’m loving the well-rounded, complex characters expertly acted, but the genius is also in the details – a meal at a diner with real eating, a proffered scarf for that crazy cold night on the Coney Island boardwalk. And Sam Baker leaves enough left unsaid for me to know more than the characters whom I shall witness imperceptibly being changed by the chain of events.
With an occasional side eye on the disgruntled woman to my right, I’m thinking that maybe my cinema neighbour thinks that when the movie ends and the darkness disappears, she’ll confront me again. But I’m there to escape reality and not to be verbally slapped, so as the credits roll, I make a swift exit. Back home, in reflection, I put myself in her shoes. I can imagine being in the cinema and desperately trying not to hear the irritating noise of a packet being rustled (maybe that’s why in-house popcorn comes in cartons.)
Perhaps I’d be so bothered that I’d bravely go over to the offending rustler and say something like – “Excuse me…Can you help me here…I can’t relax with the noise of that bag.” And because I’m British I might have used the word ‘sorry’ and thrown in a couple of complimentary ‘thanks’ ahead of achieving my aim to stop the rustling. And if approached like that, I reckon, moi the noisy criminal, would have stopped munching. Gentleness inspiring humility (and visa versa,) not aggression igniting f*** you. For the tough no-nonsense Ani, a pivotal turning point is when, in one of my favourite scenes, she is shown true kindness and respect which then leads to a wildly creative powerfully poignant credible ending to this movie.
