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Anna Karenina:
Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer,
August 30, 1935
New York Times, August 31, 1935
Greta Garbo as the Star of a New
Screen Version of 'Anna Karenina' – 'Two for
Tonight.'
By ANDRE SENNWALD
Miss Garbo, the first lady of the screen, sins,
suffers and perishes illustriously in the new, ably
produced and comparatively mature version of the
Tolstoy classic at the Capitol Theatre. Having put
on a couple of mental years since the 1927 version
of "Anna Karenina," which called itself "Love" and
meant it, the cinema now is able to stab tentatively
below the surface of Tolstoy's passion tales and
hint at the social criticism which is implicit in
them. Samuel Goldwyn's screen edition of
"Resurrection" last year discussed Tolstoy's
theories of social reform, and now "Anna Karenina"
widens the iris of the camera so as to link the
plight of the lovers to the decadent and
hypocritical society which doomed them. The
photoplay is a dignified and effective drama which
becomes significant because of that tragic, lonely
and glamorous blend which is the Garbo personality.
The producers shrewdly relieve the sober drama of
Anna's ill-starred romance with the dashing Count
Vronsky by including one episode of hearty
merriment. The officers of Vronsky's regiment, about
to embark on one of their imperial orgies, begin the
evening by playing an alcoholic variation of follow
the leader. Standing at attention at the banquet
board, they drain three glasses in rapid succession,
march to the bead of the table, crawl under it to
the foot, then snap back to attention again and
repeat the process until only one man is left
standing. Fredric March, the Vronsky of the
photoplay, wins the contest handsomely.
Familiar as "Anna Karenina" is in outline, it is
freshly touching in its description of a great
romance which is slain by the very elements which
give it birth. Anna, devotedly attached to her son
and serenely resigned to a loveless marriage
bargain, finds her great romance after eight years
of married life when she meets Vronsky. It sweeps
everything else away: "Not to think, only to live,
only to feel." Her husband, subscribing to the code
of exterior respectability which governs Muscovite
society, is content to let her engage in an illicit
amour. But when the affair becomes an open scandal
he bars Anna from his home.
She has sensed the dark shadow from the beginning
and is willing to make the sacrifice. But Vronsky,
more impetuous, less mature, only grasps the penalty
of their sin when it is upon them, and soon rebels
against the social exile to which he and Anna are
condemned. Anna, herself, having given and lost
everything for a love which was too fragile to
survive the cruelty of society, finds the end of the
way under the wheels of a locomotive.
Miss Garbo, always superbly the apex of the drama,
suggests the inevitability of her doom from the
beginning, streaking her first happiness with
undertones of anguish, later trying futilely to mend
the broken pieces, and at last standing regally
alone as she approaches the end. Bouncing with less
determination than is his custom, Mr. Marsh gets by
handsomely as Vronsky. "Anna Karenina," in fact,
suffers in performance only at the hands of young
David Bartholomew, the child star of "David
Copperfield." The lad renders the part of Anna's son
with a terrifying and assured maturity that makes
his emotional scenes with Miss Garbo seem helplessly
phony. Basil Rathbone is excellent as the husband
and there are good performances by Reginald Owen,
Maureen O'Sullivan and Phoebe Foster.
Anna Karenina:
Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer,
August 30, 1935 |
