I have to write everything so quickly these days, that nothing that comes out of me is very good. But I’ve been meaning to write about Anna Karenina since I saw it last week, and want to get it out before the harpy that is the first season of The Good Wife traps me with its siren song, emitted from my Apple TV.
I’ve read not Anna Karenina, but rather an abridged version of Anna Karenina that my mother got me from the swap bin at the library. I assume that the abridged version must have cut out all of the nonsense about good religious men and peasants, or else I never would have gotten through it. Still, it was many years ago I read it, and I had forgotten what Anna Karenina’s fate was meant to be.
On second thought, I also saw the 1935 version of Anna Karenina starring Greta Garbo, and remember many scenes, but not the final one. For some reason, my mind must have blocked out Anna’s fate, either for its own posterity, or because, like most romantics, I refuse to believe in anything but happy endings.
I viewed 1956 version of War and Peace the other night, the one that starred Audrey Hepburn and Henry Fonda.
Whatever you do, do not watch it.
If you’re going to watch a Hollywood butchering of a Russian novel, I would definitely recommend Anna Karenina with Greta Garbo, if only for the overabundance of creepy moustaches: