Tragedies have a habit of giving themselves away; in many cases, the victim’s name flashes in the title like a morbid neon sign. Whatever fate befalls these characters lingers in the shadowy background, progressively coming into focus as the story unfolds. Anna Karenina is no exception, a tale of a woman whose own tragic flaw is a violent passion for a man, which consumes her entirely.
Hardly a stranger to literary adaptations, Atonement director Joe Wright tackles this classic 19th-century Russian romance with a daring that surpasses a mere homage to Tolstoy’s epic. The result is a lavish picture of infidelity and ignominy which, though not quite immune to melodrama, justifiably earns appreciation in its own particular way.
The magnificent production design is one aspect of the film that practically screams for attention from the first shot, as the title fades in the background. Moscow is portrayed on alternating stage sets, each scene of domesticity or ballroom blitz coordinated with impeccable costuming and painted backgrounds. Though the opulent set and design elements initially seem a tiresome gimmick that distracts from the emotional heart of the story, it turns out to be a creative way to emphasize a simple message—Anna’s world is one dominated by artifice and theatricality, with everyone playing a part that society has designated. Her deviance from that unbending social structure is a rejection of her role as dutiful wife and mother, as well as the path to both her freedom and destruction.
Long a favorite of Wright’s and practically the queen of period dramas, Keira Knightley fits her role of the titular heroine like a glove. Reining in her trademark pout, she masters the tortured glance of longing across grand marble ballrooms with panache. The chemistry between her and Aaron Taylor-Johnson, the blue-eyed and mustachioed heartthrob playing homme fatale Count Vronsky, is also palpable enough to keep all those meaningful glances from entering cringe-inducing Twilight territory.
More importantly, though, Knightley shows no restraint in playing an unraveling woman governed by intense emotion—there is an unmistakable sense of abandon to her every expression. Meanwhile, Jude Law is hardly recognizable as the rigid Karenin, yet he delivers a strong performance as the stoic husband Anna leaves for more excitement.
Contrasted with Anna’s own fiery extramarital romance, the story of idealistic farmer Levin (Domnhall Gleeson, whom Harry Potter fans will recognize as Bill Weasley) and his quest for the affections of a princess (Alicia Vikander) provides a welcome yang to the central story’s yin. Theirs is a tame and gentle love which takes its time to blossom, chaste and controlled in its purity. Many of the scenes they inhabit are set in the countryside, a pastoral landscape with no trace of the theatricality that dominates urban Moscow. Nevertheless, it’s a story that interweaves seamlessly with the drama at center stage.
The screenplay, by Academy Award-winning Shakespeare in Love writer Tom Stoppard, deftly skims the novel’s dense material to find the major takeaway of Tolstoy’s sprawling narrative. It is a story of a fading empire, yes, and the desire for fervent change in an unyielding society. Yet it is impossible to deny that this is truly a love story, an examination of that “illusion” in all of its manifestations.
For the most part, this adaptation does that notion justice. At film’s end, though, you’re inevitably left with the sense that the spirit of Tolstoy’s tragedy has been lost in the shuffle of petticoats and drama. Perhaps the story would have been better served by stripping it down to find the naked emotion at the core.
