I watched Anna Karenina this evening.
Keira Knightley was beautiful, but as always, I have trouble believing that someone that thin can have any real depth or richness of feeling. I'm sure there is a name for this prejudice. But I can't help it. Anna in my head was generous in her feelings and in her proportions. The movie didn't have this. I think the real problem was that all the bits that explained Anna's madness and insecurity, her intelligence but restlessness were left out, and this made me less sympathetic to her on screen than in the book.
I thought it was quite clever of Joe whatsit to make the whole movie like the staging of a play, so he could just cut wherever he liked, and not have to make any logical explanations. Also it would be the only way to get through all the to ing and fro ing from Moscow and St Petersburg.
My Levin was not ginger.
Vronsky was perfect. As was Jude Law, but not quite as cold as Karenin in the novel. He seemed so nice. And despite lacking the richness of the novel they managed to make him irritating. The combination of the knuckle cracking and the routine of removing that foul little prophylactic device from its filigreed box would have driven me into Vronsky's arms as well.