'Companion,' 'Anora,' 'Wicked,' and Modern Women Protagonists Eschewing Assimilation

MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR ANORA, COMPANION, AND WICKED FOLLOW

At the end of Companion, robotic girlfriend Iris (Sophie Thatcher) has lived up to her opening sequence narration and killed her boyfriend/owner Josh (Jack Quaid). After solidifying her freedom and autonomy, Iris takes a shower, an act that leads her to look down at her right arm. As part of Josh’s torturous abuse, Iris was forced to hold this arm out over an open flame. The skin covering the mechanical interior of this appendage is now loose enough that it comes off with ease in the shower. After peeling off this skin, Iris beholds this flagrant reminder of her own robotic nature.

After her shower, Iris grabs some clothes for her journey ahead. It’s here that viewers see that Iris has opted to wear her robotic arm out and proud. She’s no longer concealing that she’s a machine, albeit one that’s basically a living breathing human being that can also precisely tell the weather at the drop of a hat. As she drives away, she happily waves to another woman dealing with her own toxic man in a nearby car…using that mechanical arm. It’s a lovely ending to the terrific Companion and not just because that robotic appendage appears on-screen with jagged movements evoking stop-motion animation.

Companion is one of several recent features to conclude with endings about women excitingly rejecting assimilation. These cathartic endings reject the idea that the only happiness for lady protagonists in cinema is in finding their own corner of a toxic system. Instead, features like Companion, Wicked, and Anora conclude with captivating demonstrations of gals tossing off assimilation like a rich woman’s ritzy coat.

What’s Behind This Trend?
“I’m 16. On Nov. 6 the Girls, and the Boys Played Minecraft.” So read a New York Times piece published in the wake of the 2024 Presidential election. As the headline indicated, it concerned adolescents whose responses to the re-election of Donald Trump was firmly divided by gender. Those in marginalized genders were terrified of what the future brought. Men shrugged everything off and continued on like nothing was happening. It’s just one of many examples of how American society operates one way for the privileged and countless different ways for various oppressed groups. Donald Trump’s evil can’t be described as “not who we are as Americans.” He’s just a louder manifestation of a rot that’s always existed in capitalistic societies.

Confronting the way America operates in different ways can inspire many different responses in people. Speaking of recent motion pictures, RaMell Ross’s 2024 masterpiece Nickel Boys effectively depicts this in how various figures in the story respond to how America dehumanizes Black men and boys. Nickel Academy faculty member Mr. Blakeley (Gralen Bryant Banks) has fully embraced assimilation into the system. He encourages the Black youth under his leadership to listen to the Academy’s white superiors while also telling them to embrace their “inevitable” low status in society. “If it falls your lot to be a street sweeper, sweep streets like Michelangelo painted pictures,” he tells protagonist Elwood (Ethan Herisse), contorting Martin Luther King Jr.’s words into an order for obedience.

Lead characters Elwood and Turner (Brandon Wilson), meanwhile, both recognize the impossibility of assimilation for people of color in America. This country founded on genocide and protecting slavery is built to destroy them no matter where they go. They just have different approaches to rejecting assimilation. Elwood wants to drastically change society as a whole, while Turner just sees looking out only for himself as the only rational response. The existence of Nickel Boys shows how much the futility of assimilating into corrupt systems is on the minds of modern audiences and artists. The horrors of the world have always existed; we just have more technology than ever to make it extra inescapable. Inevitably, that theme would manifest in motion pictures, including ones headlined by women.

“That’s not going to work on me anymore, Josh. I’m free. And all it took was a bullet to the head.”

In that dinnertime Companion sequence where Iris burns her arm skin off, Josh rambles and whines about why he feels “entitled” to ownership over Iris. Chiefly, he remarks, “It’s so tough out there for people like me” (read: white men), and he bellyaches about his financial problems. “I don’t even own you,” he remarks to Iris,” you’re just a rental.” Josh, in his own way, sees and feels the limitations of capitalism. His response to that, though, has not been to challenge the status quo but rather to assimilate into America’s gender-based hierarchal structure. He sees salvation in inflicting on Iris an expanded version of the helpless he feels.

Even before he concocts a scheme to frame Iris for murder so he can get lots of money, Josh is comfortable with his lot in life as long as he can feel superior to a woman. That’s the other thing Josh has problems with, ladies. While earlier ranting to friend and murder-scheme conspirator Kat (Megan Suri) about his problems, he remarks that Kat’s “unsavory” actions mean she’s behaving “like every other woman in his life.” There’s clearly an issue here where Josh sees a woman expressing self-identity and autonomy, which makes him furious. He feels entitled to these people. Folks belonging to marginalized genders should do what he says, like a phone or a new piece of technology.

Revolutionary future tech in Companion, much like in our world, is used to demean marginalized lives rather than unite everyone tighter. Workers from the outfit Empathix (the company behind Iris and other Companion bots) nonchalantly talk to Jack about how he can “control” Iris once he first gets this automaton. Just treating women as “objects” you can adjust to your own whim is baked into the DNA of Empathix, just like how Mark Zuckerberg’s entire career was built on a site meant to demean women. The oppression of women (and especially people of color belonging to marginalized genders) through modern technology is not an unfortunate side effect. It’s part and parcel of the purpose of Silicon Valley dudes who, despite all their power and money, still need to feel like victims.

No wonder that this is a world Iris does not want to just conform to. After all, Kat’s reward for “going along with” all of Josh’s actions and trying to put down another woman (Iris) was getting shot and killed by male Companion bot Patrick (Lukas Gage). She happily co-operated with the face-eating leopards instead of helping out another woman and, naturally, her face got ripped clean off. That’s the price of assimilation in Companion, which echoes all those staunchly anti-DEI white women who suddenly realized diversity policies also gave them job security.

After depicting a villain echoing the likes of Elon Musk and a society where the oppression of women is not just limited to one guy, Companion ends on a hopeful note. Iris drives away, happily eschewing conforming to society’s “norms.” To be normal is to be like Josh, but who wants that? The only path to self-fulfillment for Iris is in rejecting assimilation, which ensures Companion concludes in a dynamite fashion.

“It’s Time to Trust My Instincts, Close my Eyes…and Leap.”
Gregory Maguire’s novel Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West was first published in 1995. The Broadway musical adaptation started becoming “popular” in 2003. Jon M. Chu’s 2024 feature film version, Wicked, draws from stories and characters that date back even further than Maguire’s text (L. Frank Baum’s Oz books were published in the early 1900s). Elphaba (here portrayed by Cynthia Erivo) has been “defying gravity” and becoming a villain through her refusal to conform to Oz societal norms for decades now. Yet Wicked the movie still came out at a time with so many other features focusing on ladies who refuse to conform.

More importantly, this iteration of Wicked (thanks to this musical being split across two films) does not end like the Broadway musical with the more complicated, sentimental emotions of “For Good.” Instead, it concludes with Elphaba extending a gigantic green middle finger to the Wizard of Oz (Jeff Goldblum) and all those who judged her with “Defying Gravity.” The movie version of this iconic song includes new flourishes from Chu and screenwriters Winnie Holzman and Dana Fox really meant to heighten the emotional catharsis of this sequence. Chiefly, there’s now a brief segment where Elphaba is temporarily falling down to Oz’s harsh ground. Here, various hurtful othering comments tossed at her from all corners of the world race into her head until she finally comes to peace with her inner child and soars back into the sky on a flying broom.

The earlier Wicked song “The Wizard and I” demonstrated Elphaba’s desire to “finally make good” by using her supernatural powers to meet the Wizard of Oz. Maybe now “this weird quirk I’ve tried to suppress or hide” can get her to the most powerful man in the land. The prospect of working with an influential institutional figure and possibly having him “de-greenify” her fills with her excitement. In this “Defying Gravity” segment, though, all the normalized hatred Elphaba’s experienced is distilled into her brain. Peace only comes after caring for that wounded inner child whose always been ostracized.

Happiness for Wicked’s protagonist comes not from conforming. Instead, it’s uncovered in declaring to all the powerful that “if I’m flying solo, at least I’m flying free.” Elphaba’s very existence and joy in being herself rebukes institutions and people that once suppressed her. The first half of Wicked on film (like the Broadway show’s first act) concludes with a stirring depiction of eschewing assimilation that would make Iris proud. There is no way to redeem a system as rotten as Oz. The only way marginalized groups can “defy gravity” and find joy is in fully rebuking oppressive systems, not assimilating into them.

“There, go get your little scarf, sweetie.”
Companion and Wicked provide exciting cathartic genre film depictions of women eschewing conventional societal norms. Those stories are important. We need narratives that provide hope. But we also need ones cognizant of grimy uncomfortable reality. Writer/director extraordinaire Sean Baker has become quite skilled at such projects thanks to masterpieces like Tangerine, Take-Out, and The Florida Project. His 2024 film, Anora, fits comfortably alongside Companion and Wicked in depicting a woman protagonist refusing to assimilate. The film’s titular lead is Anora “Ani” Mikheeva (Mikey Madison), a working-class stripper residing in Brooklyn. She and client Vanya (Mark Eydelshteyn) begin growing closer and closer, which eventually results in the duo marrying in Las Vegas.

Vanya’s ultra-wealthy family is determined to break up this marriage (since Ani’s a sex worker) and sends some goons led by Toros (Karren Karagulian) to break up the duo. This leads to a darkly comic journey through New York as Toros and his henchmen, with Ani in tow, try to track down Vanya, who fled at the first sign of trouble. As this saga unfolded, I found myself on the edge of my seat, utterly captivated with conviction that any minute now, Ani would find some “reverse Uno” card that allowed her to stay with Vanya. She wouldn’t have to abandon this life of financial security just because Vanya’s parents are disgustingly judgmental of sex workers and people in lower economic brackets.

Such salvation never comes. That’s not how reality operates. The bourgeois do as they please without consequence in both real life and Baker’s neo-realistic works. Ani can be as nice and polite to Vanya’s mother, Galina (Darya Ekamasova), as she wants. It won’t change this rich woman’s contempt for the working class, nor will it alter her view of people like Vanya as just objects to shuffle around. Like Parasite’s ending, Anora’s third act shows that upward mobility is a myth in capitalism. This Baker film also depicts how cruelty and dehumanization of others are common among the upper crust that American society deems “the best.” There is no room for Ani in such a barbaric system. There’s a reason some of the only genuine tender human kindness expressed in Anora comes between Ani and fellow stripper Lulu (Luna Sofía Miranda) as they prepare to enter a New Year’s Eve party. Only with other working-class people can solace and support be uncovered.

After she’s forced to sign the divorce papers, Vanya and his family, like so many
rich individuals (hi Musk and Trump!), refuse to apologize for their cruelty towards normal people like Ani. This leads to the film’s hero spewing a spree of deeply cathartic and true bile at Vanya’s family. Mikey Madison’s delivery of these words isn’t just masterfully compelling; it’s also a depiction of Ani explicitly eschewing the conformity and quietness that defines “proper” bourgeois members. To be a “good” rich person, you follow orders like Toros and Vanya. You never challenge your bosses; you certainly never swear! Ani firmly rebukes that notion as she tosses Galina her scarf and coat. To assimilate into the 1% would mean losing all humanity, and Ani could never do that.

After this sequence, Anora’s final scene depicts Ani being driven to her apartment by Igor (Yura Borisov), one of Toros’ henchmen. After a moment (which includes Igor giving Ani back her wedding ring), they begin to have sex. Once Igor starts kissing her, Ani begins sobbing. I absolutely love how ambiguous this final moment is, a reflection of how American society’s inequality leaves us all with more questions than answers. Ani’s tears could reflect a joyful expression of somebody wanting to be intimate with her in this vulnerable moment. Perhaps those tears have a bleaker significance, though. Maybe they reflect her exhaustion with existence, or her realizing just how poorly she’s been treated over the last 24 hours after experiencing some tenderness.

Whatever you make of Ani’s tears, Anora’s devastating final scene sends audiences out on a note highly reminiscent of our own world. Unlike Iris and Elphaba, Ani does not get to ride off into the sunset with some security in carving out her own world. She’s back to struggling to make rent payments. Eschewing assimilation was the right choice. However, the real-world corruption that makes people like Josh, the Wizard of Oz, or Vanya and his family possible is so expansive. It will continue to inflict pain on Ani, as it does to all working-class Americans.

Yet, there is hope. In this case, hope manifests through Ani’s refusal to assimilate not only to the wishes of Vanya’s family but various standards for how women are “supposed” to behave. Ani appears on-screen with an unwavering commitment to being her messy, loud, and unfiltered self. Women in general aren’t “supposed” to act like her. Sex workers in cinema, meanwhile, are supposed to be either silent corpses on the floor or equally mute background figures gyrating for male gazey pleasure. They aren’t supposed to be morally complicated individuals that make anyone who bristles at women swearing faint. But that’s just who Baker and Madison masterfully realize Ani as. She’s an aggressive multi-faceted creation eschewing the idea that women characters in film should assimilate to one “proper” docile personality type.

Companion, Wicked, and Anora being released in North American theaters in close succession to one another was not planned. Their fascinatingly parallel endings are also a total coincidence. However, the existence of these conclusions at this point in history does say something about our culture. Folks belonging to marginalized genders are tired of being told that becoming “a girlboss” or complicit in the systems that once oppressed them are the only routes to happiness. We yearn to leave these crushing societies saying that our unique qualities are intrinsically “evil”, not just occupy a higher place in them.

Within the conclusions of these three features, a trio of women get a chance to do just that. These characters all take the qualities that general society tells them must be erased and revel in their idiosyncrasies. Why conform when you can wear your robot arm in public, soar to the sky, or profanely tell off rich people? Even a more brutal yarn like Anora , fully aware that rejecting assimilation doesn’t solve all your problems, indicates this route is still ideal. No matter how much you “change,” societal oppressors and capitalism will never truly accept you. Oppressive hardships will inevitably lead you to spill tears like Ani’s. If that “thick black cloud covering everything” leaving everyone “stumbling around directionless” Iris talks about in Companion is inescapable, why not enter that cloud unabashedly you? Why not wave your robotic arm around, swear to the heavens, or belt out a high note as acts of defiance? Iris, Elphaba, and Ani defy boyfriends, gravity, and the rich, respectively, in their endlessly entertaining roads to rejecting assimilation. In the process, they crystallize a new modern fantasy for moviegoers everywhere.