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Cinematic Adaptations of Anna Karenina

IRINA MAKOVEEVA,
UNIVERSITY OF PITTSBURGH
In the prologue, Tolstoy himself is fleeing from a
pack of wolves. He throws himself into a vast pit and
clutches at a tree root to arrest his fall. There he dangles, midway between the hungry wolves crouching
above and an angry bear waiting below. At the top,
we might infer, are the filmmakers waiting to adapt
his books, at the bottom are the filmmakers waiting to
dramatize his life. . . . Either way, hes in trouble.
John Tibbetts comments on the 1997 film adaptation of Anna Karenina (42).

udging from the number of adaptations and the consistency with which filmmakers returned to the novel for
over a century, Anna Karenina may be considered a favorite in cinematography. Paradoxically, a certain fatal
sign is inscribed in Lumires train, which became a symbol in motion
for cinema, as well as for Tolstoys novel. The first Path version appeared in 1911,1 and the most recent one, made by Bernard Rose, in
1997.2 Meanwhile, numerous other versions were produced: two films
starring Greta Garbo,3 the silent Love (1927), and Clarence Browns
Anna Karenina (1935); two versions starring British actresses, the 1947
version with Vivien Leigh and the television production of 1985 with
Jacqueline Bisset; five Russian adaptations, including two silent films
(one by Vladimir Gardin, starring Vera Kholodnaia in 1914), the
filmed performance of the Malyi Theatre, with Alla Tarasova as Anna
in 1953, Aleksander Zarkhis Anna Karenina (1967), with Tatiana
Samoilova, and the creatively interesting hybrid of 1974: the filmballet with Maiia Plisetskaia.4 My essay defines various methods of
transferring and adapting Anna Karenina to the screen by comparing
the films of 1935, 1947, 1967, and 1997 in terms of how closely the
various plots correspond to one another and to the original text of the
novel.5
Although well-known literary texts have attracted filmmakers from the
very first days of cinema, the relationship between the two arts always
was and still remains ambiguous. On the one hand, literature provides

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the obvious initial source in cinematic literary adaptations. On the

other, in its use of literature cinema inevitably tries to overcome its
precursor, and sometimes achieves uniqueness as an independent art:
postoiannyi sputnik (constant companion) and mesha-iushchii chuzhak
(disabling stranger [Zorkaia 106]). The visual text can hardly exhaust
the verbal text because the two aspire to different ways of looking at
and presenting the same objects, hence creating non-coinciding images. In the case of literary adaptations, this issue leads to two possible
extremes for the filming of a written text: to follow the original texts
approach to the raw material or to suggest a new interpretation based
on the limits of cinema.7 This divergence may explain Iurii Tynianovs
thought,
,

(324; here and throughout, emphasis mine, IM).8
To some extent, any novel is damaged (isporchen) by being
filmed, but not every cinematic adaptation is a damaged film. The visual rendition of the verbal text raises not only the problem of the relationship between cinema and literature, but also the question of viewers expectations for the film based on the novel. For instance, an audience familiar with the original plot reads the film differently than
does an ignorant audience, partly because the former brings with it
preconceived images based on the verbal text.9 The cinematic version
is the secondary one; therefore it initially is at a disadvantage as it
competes with the novels supremacy.10
In her essay The Cinema (1926), Virginia Woolf supports
her assertion that unique cinematic devices remain independent of
other visual and verbal arts. She refers to the silent version of Anna
Karenina as an example of a handicapped visual copy of the literary
text (268-72).11 Woolf bases her opinion on the fact that filmmakers
unimaginatively register with the camera only the external attributes of
the characters and the story. In the film Anna is simply replaced by
black velvet, pearls,12 and teeth. Woolf envisions early cinema as a
predator in its relationship to literature.13
The cinema fell upon its prey with immense rapacity,
and to the moment largely subsists upon the body of
its unfortunate victim. But the results are disastrous to
both. The alliance is unnatural. Eye and brain are torn
asunder ruthlessly as they try vainly to work in cou-

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ples. The eye says Here is Anna Karenina. A voluptuous lady in black velvet wearing pearls comes before
us. But the brain says, That is no more Anna Karenina than it is Queen Victoria. For the brain knows
Anna almost entirely by the inside of her mindher
charm, her passion, her despair. (269-70)
From Woolfs point of view, Annas and Vronskiis flesh can
be animated through adequately visual images (for instance, a black
line on white as equivalent to anger, shadows to signal a state of fear,
etc.); free camera movements can smooth the abrupt switches from
Anna to Levin, which jar in the original text.14 Woolf distinctly separates (and excludes) verbal devices from visual ones, in the conviction
that cinema should avoid everything that is accessible to words alone.
Her opinion may be explained by two different factors. First of all, in
the mid-twenties, when the essay was written, sound was beyond cinematic reality; therefore words could not be articulated on screen. Secondly, Woolf did not believe in the power of words simply transplanted into film. She was correct in her prediction that the appearance of sound would not bridge the gap. Rather, it has become even
larger because now the films narration involves much more than
words.
At the same time, however, cinema did not succeed in separating itself from literature, as it managed to do in the case of theater.
Neia Zorkaia in her article Russkaia shkola ekranizatsii (The Russian School of Adaptation) writes:
. , .
,
(107).15 She suggests three basic types of literary adaptations: lubok, illustration (illiustratsiia), and interpretation
(interpretatsiia). Zorkaia emphasizes that all three ways of filming literature co-exist in cinema at different stages of its development. Although she mainly focuses on film practice in Russia at the beginning
of the last century, her classification is helpful for our analysis.
Kinolubok, first of all, actively erases the authors individuality.
It levels out different sources, transforming them into the same story
(jealousy, love, and murder), and concentrates on it. In general, it is a
cinema that does not rely on cinematic devices. Whereas this kind of
adaptation is aggressive toward the original text, the second one, illustration, is obedient.

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Illiustratsiia follows the literary text and also fills it with cinematic analogues. Unlike lubok, it strives to recreate byt. As an example
of this type, Zorkaia names Gardins Anna Karenina. She praises the
external resemblance of actress Maria Germanova to Tolstoys Anna
as an important sign of respect for the author, which is characteristic
for this kind of adaptation (116).
Interpretatsiia crucially differs from both lubochnaia adaptation
and dependent illiustratsiia. It consists of the cinematic embodiment of
a literary work, an interpretation of the authors style, and a conception of the original to be achieved through cinematic means. This is a
creative interpretation oriented toward the original source, of which
the first example is Vsevolod Meyerholds Picture of Dorian Gray (1915),
a work that anticipated auteur cinema.
Geoffrey Wagner includes one more type, absent in Zorkaias
classification,16 that of analogy.17 The three possible categories of literary adaptation he distinguishes are based on the degree to which a director revises the original source (219-31). Transposition renders the
novel to the screen with a minimum of interference. Commentary purposely or inadvertently re-emphasizes the original. The last category,
analogy, intentionally violates the original for the sake of creating another work of art through cinema. Its aggressive aspirations may be
compared to kinolubok, though the latter has a leveling effect, while
analogy can achieve artistic heights.18
Brian McFarlane redefines some issues regarding film adaptations and suggests a new approach, which dwells on the centrality of
narrative instead of on fidelity to the written text (1-37). He makes a
distinction between narrative, i.e., that which may be transferred, and
enunciation, which requires adaptation.19 The critic uses Roland
Barthess opposition of distributional and integrational narrative functions.20 The distributional functions divide further into cardinal functions, hinge-points of narrative, and catalyzers, which root the cardinal
functions in a particular reality. Together they constitute the formal content of narrative, independent of language, and hence transferable to
film. Faithful adaptations seek to preserve the cardinal functions of
the source. The integrational functions consist of indices proper and informants. The latter (such data as the names, ages, professions of the
characters, etc.) may be transferred, whereas the former (concepts of
character and atmosphere) remain more open to adaptation than to a
direct translation into another medium.
Thus, McFarlane investigates the actual transposition proc-

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esswhich for him consists of transferring and adaptingrather than

the result of it. In this respect his approach rationalizes and to some
degree explains the classifications described above. For instance, kinolubok (transposition) adapts everything from the original, even cardinal
functions and informants;21 illiustratsiia transfers whatever is possible and
sets the elements resistant to it aside, e.g. inner transformations of the
characters;22 interpretatsiia (commentary, and partial analogy) transfers
the most, and modestly adapts those elements that call for it; analogy
adapts the original and transfers the least.
Among the Anna Karenina films in circulation I recognize examples of kinolubok (1935), illustration (1947), interpretationcommentary (1967, 1985), and interpretation-analogy (1975, 1997) adaptations.23 Commentary adaptation goes further than illustration in
interpreting the conception of the novel, but never violates it, as kinolubok and analogy do.
In this essay I trace the ways in which the story and plot24 of
the novel Anna Karenina reappear in the films of the same title. In theory, the film, to some extent, can duplicate the same story of the original. Its stable elements, such as the sequence of events, do not resist
transfer. However,
, (Tynianov 324),25 not only because
of objective differences between the two media, but also because of
subjective ones. As I show by comparing several Anna Karenina films,
the strategies of selecting and arranging events differ from writer to
screenwriter, and from one film to another.
Reasons for directors choices may vary. Why would an episode be transferred or adapted in some versions and eliminated in
others? Take Annas labor and the birth of her second child, for example. The omission of this scene from the 1935 version of Anna
Karenina is due to censorship.26 David Selznick, the producer, realized
that elimination of the episode negated an important aspect of the
plot. This decision was so heart-rending, he alleged, that we were
sorely tempted to abandon the whole project (Swenson 331). The
versions of 1947 and 1997 include only part of the episode, when
Anna asks for Karenins forgiveness.27 In his film of 1967, Aleksander
Zarkhi follows the source as closely as possible. This fidelity, along
with the excellent acting and camera work, makes the scene one of the
turning points in the film plot.28 The 1985 version totally reverses the
original meaning of the scene. Anna resentfully declares to Karenin
that she loves Vronskii and will not die despite Karenins wishing her

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death. The film demonstrates a total misunderstanding of Annas motivation at that moment and also of Tolstoys intentions regarding the
meaning of the event in the novel.
In terms of the novels development, this episode is extremely
important for several reasons. It marks the last attempt by all involved
to escape the triangle: Anna through death, Karenin through forgiveness, Vronskii through suicide. This is the only time in the novel that
Anna, Karenin, and Vronskii are so strongly united, both physically (in
isolated space) and morally (by the newborn baby, Vronskii and
Annas daughter, who is almost immediately accepted by Karenin as
his child). All three of them are distanced from the worlds vanities in
the face of birth-death.
In the novel Annas split between the two Alekseis, her embodied halves, who, not by accident, share the same name, becomes
palpable. She longs for reconciliation between Karenin and Vronskii,
whereby she may regain her inner unity and erase her sin. She confesses to her husband: ,
. . . (412).29 The whole scene is reminiscent of an act
of exorcism30 without priest.
(413),31 but no one calls a priest to the dying Anna, while
those around the dying Nikolai Levin prichastili i soborovali (496).32 I interpret this as a meaningful sign of the authors moral judgment: Anna
does not deserve absolution ( , ).33 The epigraph thus becomes more personal here than Boris Eikhenbaum suggests in his book on Tolstoy (160-73).
Karenin reaches such a high spiritual plane in his forgiveness
that it completely changes the relationships and roles in the triangle.
His spiritual nobility destroys Vronskii, who no longer knows how to
behave and, as a result of the situation, attempts to commit suicide.
, ,
.
,
(414).34
The significance of Annas labor may be deduced from the
fact that Tolstoy includes Kittys labor in the parallel line of Levins
story. As Sydney Schultze demonstrates in her book, The Structure of
Anna Karenina, the major contrasts in the novel emerge in the Anna
and Levin plot lines, which develop as a series of juxtapositions.
Another reason for a certain selectivity in the adaptations of
classic literature is the myth that surrounds it. Filmmakers and actors

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rest under the pressure of former masterpieces, especially those

considered classics, unless they consciously have overcome that pressure by the outset of the project. What is the myth of the novel Anna
Karenina? The answer may be found in an article by William Magretta
on Rainer Werner Fassbinders film Effi Briest: It has often been
compared with Madame Bovary and Anna Karenina, chiefly because of
its basic subject matter: the story of a young woman who violates the
rigid social code of her class and era through an adulterous affair (249).
The few words from the TV blurb announcing Julien Duviviers Anna
Karenina add several features to this image of Anna: Vivien Leigh is
fine as the hapless, adulterous Anna; and her quandary as an outcast wife
and mother builds steadily to that doom (Thompson 6). A critic reviewing the version with Jacqueline Bisset finds it wrong that the betrayed husband ends up being more sympathetic than the suffering
heroine. He wishes for a different Anna, not the one in the film, because her image does not correlate with the myth or with his reading
of the novel.
Whats left is Anna, uncontrollably in love, and then
plagued by doubt and regret, drifting into drugs and
paranoia. With her Vronsky something of a cipher,
Miss Bissets Anna becomes tiresome. Contemplating
suicide, she asks herself, Is there anyone I havent
hurt? Even the most sympathetic viewer will have
trouble coming up with a comforting answer.
(OConnor 18)
A film version of a literary text may be influenced not only by
the literary source or its mythical image, but also by previous adaptations, which filmmakers sometimes know better than the original literary text. In such a case, they often try to displace and hide the cinematic source of their own imaginative effort, unless the film in question is an openly acknowledged remake.35 In the cinematic history of
Anna Karenina, Greta Garbos film of 1935 was the most influential,
mostly because of the mesmerizing Garbo (Menashe 64) herself.
Anne Edwards writes that from the start Vivien Leigh worried about
being compared to Garbos Anna in the film made twelve years earlier
(157-58). By now critics compare any version of Anna Karenina to that
one, and I am not going to break this pattern, though purely for reasons of temporal succession. It is the first sound adaptation of Tol-

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stoys novel.
The story of its production shows how the film, unlike its literary source, necessitates the interaction of various forces that were
sometimes hostile to one another. The first director of Garbos film,
George Cukor, left the project because he couldnt face all the suffering, agony and rat-killing of the original story (Swenson 331). Fredric
March considered the project a mistake, and was anxious to make a
modern picture instead of a costume drama. The producer himself,
tired of the endless Production Code office instructions regarding the
script, insisted on doing another film.36 However, since Garbo was
unwilling to alter her schedule in any way, work on the film Anna Karenina, with the newly assigned director, Clarence Brown, started.
One of the first things that needs to be acknowledged is that
the films primary goal was to shoot the stars, not the novel. This approach inevitably affected the structure of the film. In many respects
this adaptation corresponds to kinolubok. As in most films, the novel is
reduced to the Anna-Vronskii, or more accurately, Garbo-March,
line.37 Karenin plays only a subsidiary role, very much reduced for the
purpose of making his wifes love story romantically doomed. Phrases
and words such as I love you, no escape, doomed to unimaginable despair or unimaginable bliss, Heaven on Earth, darling,
guilty, will be punished, forgiven, etc., simply frame yet one
more Hollywood adulterous love story of the 1930s. According to the
rules of that genre, the story of Kitty and Levin happily transforms
into the unbearable lightness of being. Even the Stiva-Dolly relationship looks more complex and true to the book.38 The AnnaVronskii line also has to be changed and presented with no ugly fights;
no misunderstandings without an obvious reason (such as Vronskiis
desire to join the war); no opium; no disoriented last day. Accordingly,
Vronskii leaves without a kind farewell, Anna cannot bring herself to
approach the train car because his mother and Countess Sorokina are
there, stays at the station till night, and, finally, rather surprisingly,
throws herself under the train. Why does she do so?39 That is not an
appropriate question for lubok, for the main concern of this literary
adaptation is what, not why or how (Zorkaia 109).
The unquestioned Russianness40 of the film also fits lubok
standards for exotica. The opening scene, masterfully composed, depicts a huge bowl of caviar on ice, officers greedily eating and drinking, while the portrait of the Russian Emperor, plus Russian flags, behind the table signal Russia. Then a slow tracking-out shot opens a

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panoramic view of an incredibly long, gorgeously set table; the officers

standing along it sing a Russian folk song (Vo kuznitse). The next
scene, which continues the display of the officers entertainment,
now shows them enjoying the company of gypsy singers. The film
continues to supply the viewers with such treats as a Russian steambath, a mazurka at the ball, a sleigh instead of carriage, a Russian cure
for a hangover, a beautifully shot wedding in an Orthodox church,
accompanied by an Old Church Slavonic chant, lines from a Pushkin
poem, etc.
Another characteristic feature of early kinolubokthe primitive way of gluing shots to one anotherbecomes more complicated
in the film, but still recalls the graphic principle of early cinema: one
plot block simply added to another. The Anna Karenina of 1935 looks
like a digest in the way it mimics the key episodes of the story.41 Every
scene is completed as an independent episode, and may be easily separated from the others. For the sake of brevity I quickly summarize the
main blocks of the plot, leaving aside its overture (the first three
scenes with a Russian flavor mentioned above): Train station in
Moscow; Anna and Stiva on their way home; Anna talks to Dolly;
Anna discusses Vronskii with Kitty; ball; Anna reads in the car; Anna
meets Vronskii in Bologoe; train station in St.Petersburg; Anna and
Serezha; croquet; Karenin warns Anna; Vronskiis mother talks with
him about Anna; Vronskii and Iashvin talk about Anna; Vronskii visits Anna in the Karenins country house; races; Annas confession to
Karenin; Anna and Vronskii in his house; Kittys wedding; Italy;
Karenin calms Serezha; Vronskii in the regiment; Anna and Vronskii
in a hotel room; opera; Anna visits Serezha on his birthday; Vronskii
reads the letter from Iashvin in Annas presence; Anna visits Dolly,
Stiva, Kitty, and Levin; train station; Vronskii and Iashvin talk about
Anna.
An analysis of the twenty-eight blocks that comprise the plot
demonstrates how strongly the film focuses on the Anna line. The
only scene devoted totally to Kitty and Levintheir weddingseems
to be included only for the sake of its Russianness. Although Anna
does not appear physically in the last five scene-blocks, they nonetheless relate to her, for she is either mentioned or talked about. As is
typical of kinolubok, nothing takes the viewers mind off her story, and
all distracting moments are reduced or eliminated; even Annas social ostracism as the main reason for her suicide evokes doubts. Regardless of its flaws, this adaptation was well received by both critics

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and the public. Faithfulness to Tolstoys novel was not an issue at the
time.
In contrast, the British 1947 version emphasizes its connection with the literary text from the very first shot. A page from the
novel projected on the screen opens the film (All happy families resemble one another, every unhappy family is unhappy after its own
fashion. . . .), and another page ends it (And the light by which she
had been reading the book of life . . . went out forever). This verbal
framing of the book accords with the basic method of adaptation used
in this production: transferring as much as possible from the original
text (cardinal functions, catalyzers, and informants).42 Occasionally, however, the film strives for a genuinely cinematic adaptation of Tolstoys
text. For instance, its circular textual composition not only takes the
audience back to the beginning of the novel, but, with the last cut,
also to its epigraph.43 At films end we see Anna walking along the
platform in Klin in the rain, then in front of an immobile train, just as
another train moves in the opposite direction; when it is gone, the
train behind Anna starts moving. It advances toward the audience and
Anna, whose disordered mind recreates the snowstorm of long ago.
We then see Anna under the train, which proceeds to leave the frame.
Tolstoys written text appears on the screen as the camera moves
from above, approaching Annas lonely body on the railroad tracks in
the darkness: , . Although it is one of the best
cinematic interpretations of Annas last moments, as a whole, the film
of 1947 is an example of illustration rather than interpretation.
In the first script Jean Anouilh and Julien Duvivier transposed the story to France, but producer Aleksander Korda, with the
help of Guy Morgan, returned the story to its original Russian setting
(Edwards 158). The film nonetheless has more European flavor than
any other adaptation of Anna Karenina. In comparison to the previous
version, this film does not strive for much Russianness. The wonderful European-style costumes by Cecil Beaton add visual charm to the
British film, which, surprisingly, did not receive much response from
critics.
The film, like the novel, is structured around two stories:
those of Anna and Vronskii, and of Kitty and Levin. They not only
develop parallel to each other, but also beautifully intersect in the
wedding scene. While Kitty and Levin are getting married in church,
Anna is packing to leave for Italy with Vronskii. This climactic moment defines the couples destinies: Levin becomes a husband and po-

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tential father, and Anna definitively separates herself from her son by
openly becoming Vronskiis mistress. To show Annas final breakup
with the family, the filmmakers betray their otherwise strict fidelity to
the text by sending Karenin and Serezha to Kittys wedding, while the
still sick Anna remains at home.44
The film depicts Moscow and St. Petersburg aristocratic circles, Karenins professional meetings, Levins life in the country, etc.
The audience learns more about the Shcherbatskii family and Kitty
from this film than from any other.45 Society becomes a live force
here, not only applying pressure on Anna, but exposing the rigid rules
of its game. Karenin teaches Anna how to behave in public; Betsy
refers to the example of Liza Merkalova, who masterfully coordinates
husband and lover; Serpukhovskoi explains to Vronskii the importance of marriage to a successful professional life; etc. The main characters are no longer, as in the Garbo film, isolated from one another
and the rest of the world. They become a part of the social community: in most of the scenes they appear either in a crowd, or juxtaposed to a group. The film, however, mostly represents characters
external lives. Levins spiritual search is not an issue in the film, although his life is carefully traced. The Stiva-Dolly line loses its encompassing function. Vronskii looks more like a moving and talking prop
than Tolstoys character. The film is most successful at tracking
Karenin and his relationship with Anna. He, at least, acquires independence as a character.
A prominent statesman and caring husband, he, unfortunately, is capable only of a love for Anna that she finds insufficient
after experiencing passion with Vronskii. One of the most penetrating
scenes in the film shows Karenin grabbing her love letters and pushing her away. The moment he sees her on the floor, Karenin becomes
afraid of how violent the situation has made him, and he offers Anna
his hand, but she refuses. Later, when she starts blaming him for
never having loved her properly, he helplessly and sincerely answers
that he does not understand her. The visual key to the psychology of
this scene is Karenins extended hand, a gesture that signals his usual
politeness, his regret, and still live desire to reconcile with Anna. The
detail becomes as capacious as the cigar that Anna removes from
Stivas mouth before he enters Dollys room. Karenins violence in
this episode, which he does not manifest in Tolstoys novel, reveals
Karenins feelings visually through gesture (whereas Tolstoy achieves
a similar effect verbally). Karenins lack of control casts him in a more

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sympathetic light than we see in the novel.

!
,
, ,
,
,
,
.?
, , ,
! (364)46
, ,
, ,
. ,
, . . . . . . .
(365)47
With this film, cinema begins to reconceptualize Karenin and
his function in the plot. A comparison of the arrangement of the same
scene in the versions of 1935 and 1947 clearly illustrates this revision.
Anna visits Sergei on his birthday, and on her way out of the house
meets her husband. In both films, the staircase acts as a sign of separation and ostracism between Anna and Karenin. But while in
Browns adaptation Karenin, from upstairs, shouts at the departing
Anna, in Duviviers film he waits for her downstairs as she descends
the staircase.48 This scene shows how Karenins various placements in
the plot physically place him in different positions and locations.
The 1947 film also establishes an interesting connection between Anna and Stiva, one not explicitly articulated in the novel. The
day after the ball, Stiva comes home to take Anna to the train station;
after praising her dancing of the previous night, he asks her whether
she remembers their old days.49 This reference to a flirtatious past,
though not reprised later in the film, coincides with Gary Morsons
claim: The key to understanding Anna is that she is Stivas sister,
Anna Oblonskaia. It is a truism that Tolstoy had the special ability to
create families that were not mere collections of individuals but a sort
of small cultural unit of their own (7).
Thus, Duviviers film of 1947 may be considered an illustration-adaptation, which carefully follows the literary source, finding
cinematic equivalents for some textual elements. At the same time, the

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lack of a structural and conceptual dominanta in the film prevents it

from becoming an independent artistic work. As Anne Edwards notes
about this version, The film was beautifully mounted and magnificently produced, even within the limitations that black and white film
imposed, but unfortunately it seemed never to come alive (160).50
A Russian version of Anna Karenina, with highly successful
casting, appeared in 1967. Tatiana Samoilova superbly plays the main
role, and in stressing Annas spiritual rather than physical charms and
disappointments, Samoilova again51 demonstrates enormous range
without compare (Vinson 555). The music by Rodion Shchedrin52 is
a key component in the film, and, along with a mobile camera, helps
to dramatize the plot. Like the 1947 version, the film begins with the
first page of the novel,53 and, more than any other filmic version of
the novel, relies on Tolstoys text.
In this version, the Stiva-Dolly line becomes as significant as
the Anna-Karenin-Vronskii story. Stiva actually functions as a key link
in the film. From the very beginning, the narration goes through him:
he wakes up, gets the telegram from Anna, walks through the house,
filled with his unsupervised children, to Dollys room, speaks with her,
at the train station meets Levin, then Vronskii, and, finally, Anna.
Annas conversation with Dolly about Stiva is nicely juxtaposed with
Dolly and Karenins talk about Anna.
Stiva very often leads us to Levin, who, once again, receives
less attention than in the novel. Still, the audience learns about his attachment to country life, his work there, and some of his thoughts.
Levin, unlike the other characters, is shown mostly in open spaces, his
closer connection to nature, an important characteristic for Tolstoy,
underscored through mise en scne. An ugly fight with Kitty after
Levins visit to Anna adds complexity to the simple opposition of
happy-unhappy marriage, beyond which other screen versions of
Anna Karenina do not venture.
For the first time in Anna Karenina films, Betsy Tverskaia becomes an influential figure in the development of the plot. She outgrows her capacity as an individual character, functioning, rather, as a
model of aristocratic behavior.54 Betsy consistently pushes Anna towards Vronskii, like a cat playing dangerous games with mice before
eating them. For the first time in cinema Lidia Ivanovna appears as a
spiritual friend of Karenins who contributes substantially to his decision to isolate Anna from her son. Whereas the British film version
depicts society as a faceless social power, the Russian film cinemati-

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cally individualizes society.

Karenin is a cog in this powerful machine, and the film consistently analogizes him with mechanisms. He is a small machine himself. More than any other, the Russian version reads Karenin as an
extremely boring, monotonous, and even dangerous figurean
automaton, deprived of human feelings. His cinematic image consistently relies on auditory means. Viewers hear Karenins rhythmic steps
throughout the film, their horrifying effect comparable to the fateful
steps of the Commandore approaching Donna Anna and her lover.
His mechanical, clock-like speech is devoid of meaning, a deficiency
most obvious during the race scene, when his voice drones on and on
until it transforms into pure noise. Sounds Karenin produces acquire
threatening omnipotence because they leave his body and spatially
occupy the whole screen, overwhelming all other images.55 In the critical discourse of Michel Chion, Karenins initially visualized voice reincarnates into acousmtre, an unidentified and non-localized
monster (24).
The films point of view on Karenin completely coincides
with Annas. The character is built based on her assumptions, suggesting that he is the main cause of her unhappiness. Throughout the film
long shots distance him from both Anna and the viewers. The Russian
version offers the most severe portrait of Karenin, who appears as a
punishing machine even with Serezha during the boys lesson.56
Thus, all characters shown in the film are linked to one another directly and indirectly, and collectively they form the powerful
force that throws Anna under the train. This idea structures the plot
of the 1967 film, which uses visual metaphors so consistently that
they become the organizing principle of this adaptation. The repetition of symbols embraces the whole film and predetermines the development of the events and Annas doom.
For example, Zarkhi frames the film in metaphoric candlelight, unambiguously connected to the light that goes out when the
book of Annas life closes. The audience sees candlelight reflected in
the mirror when Vronskii visits Stiva in order to meet Anna again,
glowing at the opera when Vronskii openly declares his love for her,
in Annas bedroom when she recalls Vronskii and herself making love,
and in Annas hands when she approaches Vronskiis bed to kiss him
before leaving forever. The film continually emphasizes the inevitability of Annas doom from the moment of the accident at the train station in Moscow.

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125

The races scene, unlike in other versions, plays the central

role in the plot of the film. Zarkhi equates Annas life with FrouFrous race through alternating close-ups of Anna and the horse. The
last low-angle shot of the blue sky and Vronskii above the horse,
threatening it with a whip, cements the equation. Both Anna and
Frou-Frou are mastered by Vronskii, both of them are watched with
excitement, broken by the end of the race because of a wrong move
by Vronskii, and finally killed (though not directly) by him. Even
Karenins voice-over, lecturing on the stupidity and unhealthiness of
such entertainment, works for the benefit of this identification.
Some of the unique visual metaphors in Zarkhis film resulted
from an accurate and attentive reading of the literary source. During
her first talk with Kitty at Dollys house, Anna says:
, ,
. ,
e , , ,
, ,
,
. . . . (76)57
Anna pictures an enfilade as the end of childhood and the
beginning of adult life, which at that moment she still associates with
happiness. The film interprets this metaphor as entrapment for
grown-ups in their unhappy lives, and uses it throughout the film. Circular walking through the enfilade of open or opening doors becomes
repetitive for such characters as Stiva (during the first scene in his
house), Karenin (as he waits for Anna late at home), and Anna (in
Karenins house). Interestingly enough, Serezha enters this metaphoricized spatial world after Anna leaves the Karenin home on the morning of his birthday: his childhood is over, and he runs after his mother
through the enfilade, where possibilities shrink and happiness disappears.58
Zarkhis film is distinguished by its accurate and respectful
reading of the novel. It interprets the conception of the original
source via cinematic devices without violating it. As a literary adaptation, the Russian version of Anna Karenina belongs to interpretationcommentary.
By contrast, the most recent adaptation, that of 1997, by Ber-

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nard Rose, makes an effort to restructure the concept of the novel and
hence sooner belongs to interpretation-analogy. For the first time in
the history of Anna Karenina adaptations, Levins philosophical quests
occupy a privileged position in the plot. He transforms into the narrator (the audience hears his voice-over reading from Tolstoys diary in
the films opening scene) and even into Tolstoy himself by the end of
film. The narration ends in Iasnaia Poliana, and Levin-Tolstoy signs
the last page of the novel, projected onto the screen, as Lev Tolstoy. Thus, the structure of the film is a series of concentric circles
(embracing the lives of the individual characters), the largest being
Tolstoys. His story encompasses and merges with that of Levin, who
tells Annas story, which is the innermost of the three circles. This
type of construction eliminates the initial parallelism of the Anna and
Levin lines in the novel. But keeping the visual text within the limits
of the literary text was not the directors concern: breaking them
down was his goal. Roses original attempt to include the Anna Karenina story within Tolstoys own life story, however, produces a double
effect. On the one hand, it broadens the content of the film, but, on
the other, it narrows Annas story. Its universal value dissolves by being tied to the life of a concrete individual, Lev Nikolaevich Tolstoy,
and Annas story becomes an embedded narrative instead of the narrative itself.
Since this encompassing structure of the film exists simultaneously with the structure of the novel, the film becomes a rather
eclectic mixture of all previous adaptations and new episodes from the
novel.59 Roses confusing device may be explained by the filmmakers
intention to overcome the anxiety of influence of all previous versions by going beyond them. What results is the inclusion of several
new, interesting episodes (Levins argument with Princess Nordston
and Vronskii about spirits, Nikolai Levins story preceding his death,
Kittys labor, the happy life of the Levin-Shcherbatskii family in the
countryside, Annas last vision of herself jumping into water as a little
girl, etc.) and the omission of some scenes commonly repeated in the
older versions (Stiva waking up and remembering his fight with Dolly,
Anna and Kittys talk about the ball on the day of Annas arrival to
Moscow, etc.). By eliminating these scenes, Rose closes off story lines
present both in the novel and in other screen versions, above all the
Stiva-Dolly and the Kitty-Anna lines.
At the same time, the film rather arbitrarily expands upon
some moments in the novel. For instance, the film strongly empha-

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127

sizes Annas use of opium, which, according to the novel, influences

her state of mind, but which none of the films, except the British version of 1985, includes. Unfortunately, the effects of opium on Annas
behavior are exaggerated by Roses screenwriter to such a degree that
they justify including an ugly scene of Anna feeding a doll as a substitute for her dead daughter (sic). A reductive interpretation of the
novel also motivates Roses decision to show Vronskii shooting the
horse himself. As noted above, Zarkhis film features Tolstoys parallel between Annas and Frou-Frous deaths, but ensures that, though
Vronskii leads both to their doom, it is not he who kills them. The
1997 film destroys the subtlety of this distinction. A similarly heavy
hand is applied to Vronskiis unsuccessful suicide attempt. The film
laudably takes time to depict Vronskiis inner confusion after he leaves
Karenins house following the deathbed scene with Anna. Yet, his
suicide attempt is cast in the unexpected and trivial form of playing.
Here, as elsewhere, Rose also exploits Russian stereotypes, as did
Brown: the post-race binge with gypsies and drunken officers, who by
morning lie unconscious on the floor, is a tribute to the version of
1935. From this version, the film of 1997 also borrows the episodes of
Annas first appearance cast in a romantic mist (train steam) and servants whispering about Annas kindness during her unexpected visit
to Sergei.60 Rose relies not only on Brown, but also on Zarkhi, specifically for the image of Anna and Vronskii talking through the mirror in
the last scenes, which nearly cause dizziness through excess.
However unintentionally, the last version of Anna Karenina
continues the trend of exploiting its precursors. Western cinematic
adaptations not only engage Tolstoys novel, but also remake the films
of Anna Karenina. By contrast, the Russian film is completely independent of earlier (Western) versions.61 Various visual symbols, absent
in the literary source, travel from one film to another. One of them is
Stivas cigar, taken from him by Anna, as he is about to enter Dollys
room.62 Even the British film of 1947, with its conscious attempt at
creative adaptation, uses this detail, introduced in the Garbo version.
Filmmakers also repeatedly have used a staircase as a metaphor for
isolation in the scene of Annas departure from Karenins house.63 To
a certain extent, visual texts interact with one another, independently
of the literary source. Robert Stam suggests considering earlier filmic
adaptations as a cumulative hypotext for a later one, hypertext,
which transforms previous ones, with no clear point of origin [in the literary work] (66). In the case of Anna Karenina films, despite their dialo-

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gism, the last adaptation clearly illuminates its inseparability from the
literary source.
The long history of cinematic transformations of Anna Karenina gives examples of such adapting methods as kinolubok, illustration,
interpretation-commentary, and interpretation-analogy. Analysis of
different versions reveals a certain progressive linearity in the process
of transferring Tolstoys novel to the screen. While each film brings
cinema closer to the literary source, it also increasingly relies on the
first extant cinematic reading of it. Each adaptation adds new episodes
and new visual images to the generic visual text of the novel, which
absorbs them, without, however, necessarily reproducing them in subsequent films. The hypotext stays closed only until a new
hypertext appears and reopens its predecessors. However, the 1997
film shows how susceptible the literary source and the visual text of
previous adaptations still are to further exploration. Although the
1997 film is an awkward attempt to restructure the visual text of Anna
Karenina, it succeeds in undermining the inner stability of the text inherited from all previous films (its hypotext). It challenged the established range of episodes employed by earlier versions. One can
only hope that future cinematic adaptations of Anna Karenina will try
to rectify the imbalance this restructuring has created in the visual corpus by giving equal weight to Annas and Levins stories, as does Tolstoys novel.

Notes

1. This film, which began the history of the numerous cinematic adaptations
of Tolstoys works in world cinema, has not survived.
2. Domashniaia sinemateka (Home Cinema Library) mentions sixteen cinematic adaptations of Tolstoys novel by 1967 (21). I was unable to trace all
of these versions.
3. She received the Best Actress Award of the New York Film Critics for
playing Anna in the film of 1935.
4. Plisetskaia was both the choreographer and the main dancer in this production. In Zarkhis film she appears as Betsy Tverskaia.
5. In her dissertation, Beata Jurkowska-Krupa compares setting, plot, characters, point of view, and use of literary tropes in the 1935 film and the TV
version of 1985. She analyzes how the structures of film and television influence the choice of rhetorical devices used in the stories they tell. I disagree with some of her conclusions: for example, the statement that television adaptations follow the narrative devices of the literary texts more
closely than do film adaptations. In the case of Anna Karenina versions, she

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129

is misled by her focus on the 1935 film, for a comparison with the Russian
version of 1967 could have given opposite results.
6. John Orr uses the peculiar term picture-book as a substitute for literary adaptation.
7. Consequently, the two prisms through which we usually judge the products of this particular film genre. In what respect do we recognize the visual substitute as successful? Literary adaptations appear on the edge of the
two different planes. They are always surrogates doomed from the very
moment of conception to inadequacy in one form or another.
8. Until the question of the relation between literature and cinema is reconsidered, even the best kind of script will still be somewhere between a
damaged novel and an unfinished play.
9. At the same time, the ratings of the different Anna Karenina films, which
combine opinions of both critics and audience, show that viewers, professional or non-professional, do not privilege the films faithfulness to the
literary source. Brian McFarlane writes, There are many kinds of relations
which may exist between film and literature, and fidelity is only oneand
rarely the most exciting (11).
10. Film critics openly argue this prejudice. Thus Imelda Whelehan, for example, declares that the aim of her book is to offer an extension of the debate on literary adaptations, but one which further destabilizes the tendency to believe that the original text is of primary importance (3).
11. Presumably, she had in mind one of the silent Russian filmsPaths
(1911) or Gardins (1914).
12. The detail of Annas wearing pearls will be repeated only in the version of
1935.
13. Swedish director Ingmar Bergman shares this view, but about the devouring power of literature. He completely separates literature and cinema:
Film has nothing to do with literature; the character and the substance of
the two art forms are usually in conflict. . . . We should avoid making films
out of books. The irrational dimension of a literary work, the germ of its
existence, is often untranslatable into visual termsand it, in turn, destroys
the special, irrational dimensions of the film (quoted in Wagner 29).
14. Virginia Woolf herself avoids the awkward cinematic switches in the text.
Very often in Mrs. Dalloway the authors eye travels from one object to another like the moving camera that so fascinated the writer (Mikhalkovich
28).
15. Pure cinema turned out to be a myth. Anti-literary cinema without
plot is a particular case. The rule is a unity of literature and film art, word
and picture.
16. Probably, because literary adaptation does not enter her scheme of things.
17. Iurii Tynianov uses the same definition in a broader sense:
(324; Cinema in
its own sphere can create an analogue to literary style).

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18. For instance, Akira Kurosawas adaptations.

19. By enunciation, the term substituted for narration, McFarlane means the
whole expressive apparatus that governs the presentationand receptionof the narrative (20).
20. Barthes classification, in its turn, is partly based on Propps notion of
functions.
21. In the 1935 version Dolly has three children and Lidiia Ivanovna somehow coincides with Betsy Tverskaia and Princess Miagkaia, etc.
22. In most Anna Karenina films Levins spiritual search disappears from the
plot.
23. These terms exclude an evaluative factor.
24. The distinction between story and plot corresponds to the Russian Formalists differentiation between fabula and siuzhet (see Tomashevskii 660).
25. Not all, but only some, peculiarities of a literary story enter a film.
26. For the same reason the illegitimate daughter is not included in the film
story.
27. In both films the baby is born dead, though in the novel she lives and
thrives.
28. Zorkaia describes Annas labor scene in the silent Gardin version (1914)
as an example of psychological elaboration.
29. [B]ut there is another in me as well, and I am afraid of her. She fell in
love with that other one. . . . (411).
30. Aspects of this scene correspond to Catherine Clments description of
the hysterics and the sorceress performances. Anna here plays both roles.
These women . . . chose to suffer spectacularly before an audience of men.
This attack is also a festival, a celebration of their guilt used as a
weapon (Cixous 44).
31. The end was expected every moment (412).
32. the patient received Communion and Extreme Unction (497).
33. Vengeance is mine; I will repay.
34. He felt ashamed, humiliated, guilty, and deprived of the possibility of
cleansing himself from his degradation. He felt himself knocked quite out
of the rut along which he had hitherto trodden so proudly and so
lightly (413).
35. Mikhail Iampolskii in his interesting analysis of D. W. Griffiths films
suggests that a work of art is the negation of precursors rather than their
continuation (according to Harold Bloom). There are always two sources:
, -
. ,
, ,
- .
, , (100; One, the most pertinent
for the successors text, is displaced and becomes the object of aggression.

ANNA KARENINA ON PAGE AND SCREEN

131

The second, less pertinent for the artist, since the connection with it lacks
profundity, shifts the first text-precursor to the level of a text-displacer.
The connection with the first text is disguised by the declaration of a connection to the second, safe, text). This intriguing theory cannot be directly
applied to our research because the initial source is openly declared. However, the idea of the complex tangle of various influences is helpful for an
analysis of literary adaptations.
36. The studios main concern was that the picture could be accused of setting up a double moral standard. The administration even recommended
avoiding the scenes displaying intimate contact between Anna and Vronskii. Selznick wrote in response, I am distressed because your comments
come too late to do anything but give us the alternative of making a completely vitiated and emasculated adaptation of Tolstoys famous classic (Swenson 335). He realized that any substantive changes would lead to
a loss of the story, but he had to agree to some compromise.
37. Gary Morson thinks that the novel consists of the three, equally important, lines: Popular renditions of Anna Karenina, like the Garbo film or the
BBC production, usually dramatize only the Anna plot, and we properly
fault them for including only one story out of two. But I think that most
critical readings which tell us that these are two foci are also leaving one
out (5). Although in the film of 1935 all three plots are transformed according to the laws of lubok-adaptation, the Stiva-Dolly line emerges more
recognizably than does the Levin-Kitty line.
38. The screenwriters found an excellent economical way of portraying Stiva
by having him endlessly flirt with all the women he encounters, while repeating what a wonderful woman his wife is.
39. Curiously, at the beginning of their collaboration on the films screenplay,
Clemence Dane said to Salka Viertel, I have very little understanding for
Anna Karenina. What does she want? (Swenson 330).
40. Common practice among foreign filmmakers in such projects was to hire
a Russian consultant. Count Andrei Tolstoy, whose advice, perhaps, affects
the authenticity of the film, worked in this production.
41. V. Mikhalkovich in his article suggests that cinema grew out of popular
graphics and calls this period epokha primitivov (an epoch of primitives [2846]).
42. Even in this accurate version, however, the name of Annas aunt, Varvara, is inexplicably changed to Natalie.
43. Cuts and juxtaposition of cuts play the role of cinematic linkage in this
film, which Virginia Woolf suggested as a good method of avoiding Tolstoys abrupt switching from one line to another. There are many such cuts
in the film, e.g. from Karenin in the car, going to Moscow, to Anna and
Vronskii near the fireplace in his house.
44. The Shcherbatskiis live in Moscow, the Karenins in St. Petersburg.
45. Although the last version of 1997 also introduces this family to the view-

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STUDIES IN SLAVIC CULTURES

ers.
46. No! he shouted in his squeaky voice, which now rose to a higher note
than usual; and seizing her so tightly by the wrists with his large fingers
that the bracelet he pressed left red marks, he forced her back into her
seat. Baseness? Since you wish to use that wordit is baseness to abandon a husband and a son for a lover and to go on eating the husbands
bread! (363).
47. Thats all very well, but you think only of yourself! The sufferings of the
man who was your husband do not interest you. What do you care that his
whole life is wrecked and how much he has suf suf suffed! (364).
The Russian film (1967) casts Karenins wrong articulation as a sign of inner turmoil. For the first time Anna feels sorry for him because of his
childish errors in pronunciation.
48. In the novel the scene ends differently:
. , . . . .
, ,
(534).
(Karenin was advancing toward her. When he saw her, he stopped and
bowed his head. . . . She swiftly let down her veil and with quickened steps
almost ran out of the room [534].)
49. In the novel this conversation takes place between Stiva and Levin.
50. The acting could be one of the reasons. Vivien Leigh was often depressed
during the shooting, and Korda was puzzled by her lack of
spirit (Edwards 160). Some of the actors are obviously miscast: Kieron
Moore as Vronskii, Niall MacGinnis as Levin, etc.
51. Tatiana Samoilova became famous in Russia and abroad for her excellent
acting in The Cranes Are Flying, the winner of the Palme dOr at Cannes in
1957.
52. He also wrote the music for the film-ballet of 1957.
53. In its old pre-reform spelling.
54. Not without the help of extraordinary costumes.
55. Browns film uses Karenins voice in a similar way in the scene of Annas
departure from his house on Serezhas birthday. Karenins angry words
extend beyond his body (which is no longer visible), occupy the screen and
embrace his wifes body, as if throwing her out of the house.
56. By contrast to the 1935 film, which, generally, reads him negatively and
with animosity, Karenin beautifully opens up as a caring father when in the
night he calms down Serezha and talks to him.
57. I remember and know that blue mist, like the mist on the Swiss mountains . . . that mist which envelops everything at that blissful time when
childhood is just, just coming to an end, and its immense, blissful circle
turns into an ever-narrowing path, and you enter the defile gladly yet with
dread, though it seems bright and beautiful (72).
58. The 1997 version also uses the enfilade, not as a metaphor, however, but

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133

only as a device for emphasizing motion (e.g., Kitty entering the ballroom,
Anna hurriedly leaving the ball).
59. Cineaste judged the film a noble effort, but a misfire (Menashe 64).
60. Other films do not include these scenes.
61. The attempt to avoid all dependence on preceding films may also be interpreted as an influence.
62. In the Russian film Stiva puts away the cigar without his sisters reminder.
63. The long table with symmetrical rows of empty chairs at which the
Karenins eat after Anna refuses to receive Vronskii at her house turns into
a metaphor of inner separation between husband and wife in the version
of 1967.

Works Cited

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Cartmell, Deborah and Imelda Whelehan., eds. Adaptations: From Text to
Screen, Screen to Text. London and NY: Routledge, 1999.
Chion, Michel. The Voice in Cinema. Trans. Claudia Gorbman. NY: Columbia
UP, 1999.
Cixous, Hlne and Catherine Clment. The Newly Born Woman. Trans. Betsy
Wing. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1986.
Domashniaia sinemateka. Otechestvennoe kino. 1918-1996. Moskva: Dubl-D,
1996.
Edwards, Anne. Vivien Leigh. NY: Simon and Schuster, 1977.
Eikhenbaum, Boris. Lev Tolstoi. Semidesiatye gody. Leningrad: Khudlit., 1974.
Iampolskii, Mikhail. Vytesnenie istochnika. Ekrannye iskusstva i literatura.
Moskva: Nauka, 1991. 77-105.
Jurkowska-Krupa, Beata. The Modes of Storytelling: A Rhetorical Analysis of Film
and Television Adaptations of Arthur Conan Doyles The Hound of the Baskervilles and Leo Tolstoys Anna Karenina. Diss. New York U, 1998.
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Magretta, William. Reading the Writerly Film. Modern European Filmmakers
and the Art of Adaptation. NY: F. Unger, 1981. 248-62.
Maude, Louise and Aylmer., trans. Anna Karenina. By Leo Tolstoy. Oxford
and NY: Oxford UP, 1998.
McFarlane, Brian. Novel to Film. NY: U of Oxford P, 1996.
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Mikhalkovich, Vladimir.
Rozhdenie kinopovestvovaniia.
Ekrannye
iskusstva i literatura. Moskva: Nauka, 1991. 28-46.
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Edinburgh P, 1992.
Propp, Vladimir. Morfologiia skazki. Moskva: Nauka, 1969.
Schultze, Sydney. The Structure of Anna Karenina. Ann Arbor: Ardis, 1982.
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Swenson, Karen. Greta Garbo: A Life Apart. NY: Scribner, 1997.
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Tomashevskii, Boris. Siuzhetnoe postroenie. Poetika. Budapest: Tanknyvkiado, 1982. 658-77.
Tolstoi, Lev. Anna Karenina. Moskva: Izdatelstvo AST, 1998.
Tynianov, Iurii. Poetika. Istoriia literatury. Kino. Moskva: Nauka, 1977.
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Moskva: Nauka, 1991. 105-30.

Filmography

Anna Karenina. Dir. Vladimir Gardin. Fox. 1914.

Anna Karenina. Dir. Clarence Brown. Perf. Greta Garbo, Fredric March, and
Basil Rathbone. MGM, 1935.
Anna Karenina. Dir. Julien Duvivier. Perf. Vivien Leigh, Ralph Richardson,
Kieron More, and Niall MacGinnis. 20th Century Fox, 1947.
Anna Karenina. Dir. Aleksander Zarkhi. Perf. Tatiana Samoilova, Nikolai
Gritsenko, and Vasilii Lanovoi. Mosfilm/Camacico-Prodis, 1967.
Anna Karenina. Dir. Margarita Pilikhina. Perf. The Bolshoi Ballet, Maiia
Plisetskaia, Aleksandr Godunov, Vladimir Tikhonov.
1974.
Videocassette. Princeton Book Co.
Anna Karenina. Dir. Simon Langton. Perf. Jacqueline Bisset, Christopher
Reeve, and Paul Scofield. Colgems/Rastar, 1985.
Anna Karenina. Dir. Bernard Rose. Perf. Sophie Marceau, Sean Bean, and
Alfred Molina. Icon/Warner, 1997.