Tolstoy's "Anna Karenina" -- Wright's Version More Artifice Than Art

The stage/world thing intrigued me for about a minute (I kept hoping for that trick to disappear but it never did). At some point I wondered if I wasn't watching a spoof on Anna. I guess I'll have to wait some more (or check out the other versions I haven't seen -- that'll keep me busy) -- or better yet: just reread the perhaps unfilmable masterpiece again.

It's on my list.

***

Forget the glossing over of Levin's essential intellectual meanderings, how can you film this?

     She looked at the lower part of the carriages, at the screws and chains and the tall cast-iron wheel of the first carriage slowly moving up, and trying to measure the middle between the front and back wheels, and the very minute when that middle point would be opposite her.
     "There," she said to herself, looking into the shadow of the carriage, at the sand and coal dust which covered the sleepers--"there, in the very middle, and I will punish him and escape from everyone and from myself."
     She tried to fling herself below the wheels of the first carriage as it reached her; but the red bag which she tried to drop out of her hand delayed her, and she was too late; she missed the moment. She had to wait for the next carriage. A feeling such as she had known when about to take the first plunge in bathing came upon her, and she crossed herself. That familiar gesture brought back into her soul a whole series of girlish and childish memories, and suddenly the darkness that had covered everything for her was torn apart, and life rose up before her for an instant with all its bright past joys. But she did not take her eyes from the wheels of the second carriage. And exactly at the moment when the space between the wheels came opposite her, she dropped the red bag, and drawing her head back into her shoulders, fell on her hands under the carriage, and lightly, as though she would rise again at once, dropped on to her knees. And at the same instant she was terror-stricken at what she was doing. "Where am I? What am I doing? What for?" She tried to get up, to drop backwards; but something huge and merciless struck her on the head and rolled her on her back. "Lord, forgive me all!" she said, feeling it impossible to struggle. A peasant muttering something was working at the iron above her. And the light by which she had read the book filled with troubles, falsehoods, sorrow, and evil, flared up more brightly than ever before, lighted up for her all that had been in darkness, flickered, began to grow dim, and was quenched forever.