Anna Karenina (1935) Review: The Good, The Bad & How to Watch

 

Anna Karenina (1935) Review: The Good, The Bad & How to Watch 

American Film, Drama, Romance

Venice Film Festival, 1935- Winner: Best Foreign Film (Mussolini Cup)
National Board of Review, 1935- Winner: Top Ten Films 

There is a specific kind of cinematic magic that only existed in the mid-1930s, a period when Hollywood was transitioning from the raw energy of the early talkies into the polished, sweeping grandeur of the Golden Age. At the heart of this transition stands the 1935 adaptation of Leo Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina. While the story has been retold dozens of times, no version captures the suffocating elegance of Imperial Russia quite like this Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer masterpiece. It isn’t just a movie; it is a showcase for the most enigmatic face in film history: Greta Garbo. More on Wikipedia or Mubi 

The Gilded Cage: Why Greta Garbo’s 1935 Anna Karenina Remains the Definitive Portrait of Tragedy 

The film follows the titular character as she navigates the rigid social structures of 19th-century St. Petersburg. Anna is a woman who seemingly has it all—a high-ranking husband and a beloved son—yet she is spiritually starving. When she meets the dashing Count Vronsky, played with a staccato charm by Fredric March, the resulting affair isn't just a scandal; it is a slow-motion collision between personal desire and societal extinction.

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What makes this specific version stand out from modern interpretations is its restraint. Director Clarence Brown understood that the tragedy of Anna Karenina isn't found in loud arguments or graphic displays, but in the quiet moments of isolation. The cinematography utilizes soft lighting and deep shadows to frame Garbo, making her appear almost otherworldly. Her performance is a masterclass in subtlety. You can see the entire trajectory of her soul in a single flicker of her eyes—from the initial spark of life when she meets Vronsky to the haunting, hollowed-out despair of the film’s final act.

The supporting cast provides a necessary, icy contrast to Anna's warmth. Basil Rathbone is chillingly effective as Karenin, Anna's husband. He doesn't play the character as a mustache-twirling villain, but as a man of profound coldness who views his wife as a piece of property that has ceased to function correctly. This dynamic heightens the stakes of Anna's choice, making her eventual downfall feel inevitable rather than avoidable.

Critics often debate which adaptation of Tolstoy’s doorstopper is the "best," but the 1935 film holds a permanent seat at the top of the list because it leans into the "Grand Style" of filmmaking. The sets are opulent, the costumes are heavy with lace and fur, and the atmosphere is thick with the scent of melting snow and expensive tobacco. It captures a world that was designed to be beautiful on the outside while remaining utterly unforgiving to those who dared to break its rules.

Even nearly a century later, the film resonates with anyone who has ever felt trapped by expectation. It serves as a reminder that Greta Garbo wasn't just a star; she was an atmosphere. Watching her walk through the steam of the train station in the film’s iconic conclusion remains one of the most haunting images ever captured on celluloid. If you want to understand the true meaning of "star power" and classic tragedy, this is the version you need to see.

The Good: Garbo’s Ghostly Brilliance and MGM Grandeur

The primary reason this film still commands respect is Greta Garbo. Many actresses have played Anna, but Garbo possesses an inherent melancholy that fits the character perfectly. She doesn't have to "act" sad; she simply radiates a sense of doomed elegance. Her performance elevates the movie from a standard melodrama into something poetic.

The production value is another undeniable "pro." Because this was peak MGM, no expense was spared. The ballroom scenes are sprawling and opulent, and the costume design by Adrian remains some of the most influential in cinema history. The film successfully transports you into a world of velvet and ice, creating a visual atmosphere so thick you can almost feel the Russian winter. Furthermore, Basil Rathbone delivers perhaps the best Karenin ever put to film. He avoids being a caricature, playing the husband with a "bloodless" legalism that makes Anna’s desperation feel entirely justified.

The Bad: Compressed Plotting and Miscast Romance

The most glaring "bad" element is the pacing and depth. Tolstoy’s novel is a philosophical behemoth that explores religion, farming, and the soul of Russia. The 1935 film strips almost all of that away, focusing almost exclusively on the "scandalous affair." This turns a complex literary work into a somewhat simplified soap opera. Specifically, the character of Levin—who is essentially the heart of the book—is pushed so far into the background that his storyline feels like an afterthought.

Then there is the issue of Fredric March as Vronsky. While March was a powerhouse actor, he feels remarkably out of place here. He plays the Russian Count with a very American, almost "brawny" energy that lacks the aristocratic, obsessive refinement the role requires. The chemistry between him and Garbo often feels lopsided; she is acting in a high tragedy, while he occasionally feels like he’s in a standard romantic comedy. Finally, because of the Hays Code (the censorship rules of the time), the film has to be somewhat vague about the physical nature of their relationship, which can make their "all-consuming passion" feel a bit polite and sterilized by modern standards.