I'm over sixty, and it took that long to get access to seeing all of Garbo's films. This begins quite well, but quickly devolves into an attempt at "epic" film-making, and we lose the intimacy Anna gains with Vronsky which she didn't find with her husband, although her cold, stifled marriage is successfully conveyed with a terrific Basil Rathbone as Karenin.
In the previous silent version that Garbo sizzled with John Gilbert (in the role of Vronsky) in the 1927 "Love," more attention is given to the lovemaking. This 1935 version is well directed by Clarence Brown, but transitional scenes feel truncated at the expense of large set pieces (a ball, the opera, etc.).
Garbo remains imposing however, not only as a physical presence, but also as a woman whose choices will never make her happy. I found myself watching her hands as much as that gorgeous face.
Vronsky is given short shrift here. Neither his revelry which attracts a stifled Anna, nor his restlessness are ever developed. He's here and gone and she's under the tracks before we have much time to care one way or the other. The final scene with a mourning Count makes no impression (on us the audience or seemingly Frederick March the actor).
As a relic of David O. Selznick's famous lavish detailed productions, it's memorable.
In the previous silent version that Garbo sizzled with John Gilbert (in the role of Vronsky) in the 1927 "Love," more attention is given to the lovemaking. This 1935 version is well directed by Clarence Brown, but transitional scenes feel truncated at the expense of large set pieces (a ball, the opera, etc.).
Garbo remains imposing however, not only as a physical presence, but also as a woman whose choices will never make her happy. I found myself watching her hands as much as that gorgeous face.
Vronsky is given short shrift here. Neither his revelry which attracts a stifled Anna, nor his restlessness are ever developed. He's here and gone and she's under the tracks before we have much time to care one way or the other. The final scene with a mourning Count makes no impression (on us the audience or seemingly Frederick March the actor).
As a relic of David O. Selznick's famous lavish detailed productions, it's memorable.