Anna Karenina

INT. POKROVSKOE--NIGHT

CLOSE--Expert fingers--female, unlovely, capable--shape a small lump of

dough which, with some shreds of cabbage, becomes a filled bun called a pirozhok . . .

which is now placed on a baking tray to join rows of pirozhoki ready for the oven.

CLOSE-- One hand opens the oven, and, mittened by an apron, removes

a tray of perfectly baked pirozhoki, which the other hand replaces with the

fresh tray . . . slightly burning itself on a knuckle.

TITLE OVER:

FEBRUARY 1872

POKROVSKOE, KONSTANTIN LEVIN'S ESTATE

300 MILES SOUTH OF MOSCOW:

INT. KITCHEN, POKROVSKOE, SAME TIME--NIGHT

Agafia sucks her knuckle and checks what's cooking on the stove-top. She is

the cook-housekeeper.

AGAFIA:

He needs to come in if he's to wash himself.

A Kitchen Maid at the sink obediently dries her hands on her apron. A

dozing dog, Laska, pricks up her ears.

EXT. YARD, POKROVSKOE, SAME TIME--NIGHT

It's snowing. The Kitchen Maid, shawled, with a lantern, makes her way

across the yard towards the cowshed, a short distance, and pushes open the

frozen door. Laska is at her heels, but is made to stay outside.

3

INT. COWSHED, POKROVSKOE, SAME TIME--NIGHT

The herd stirs at the lantern light. The bull, Berkut, with a ring through

his nose, snorts as the girl goes by. At the back of the shed a cow is calving.

Levin is midwifing, sleeves pulled back, blood and slime up to his elbows.

He is 34. His steward, Vasili, holds up a lantern. Levin pulls carefully at

the emerging forefeet.

LEVIN:

Good girl . . . good girl, Pava.

The calf's head emerges.

KITCHEN MAID:

(ARRIVING)

Agafia Mishaylovna says dinner's like to

spoil.

The calf enters the world like a diver. Levin is feeling great pride and

pleasure.

LEVIN:

. . . her father's colour.

VASILI:

Worth coming home for, Konstantin

Dmitrich!

LEVIN:

I stayed too long in Moscow.

The cow nuzzles and licks her calf.

4

INT. DINING ROOM, POKROVSKOE--NIGHT

Cleaned up, in a smock shirt, Levin bites hungrily into a pirozhok, talking.

He has a book on a book-rest. Agafia ladles soup for him. Three generations

of family portraits look down on him.

LEVIN:

. . . She's a beauty. That's twelve cows sired

by Berkut!

AGAFIA:

So one of you is doing what the good Lord

made you for.

Levin evades, ducks into spooning up soup, finding his place in his book.

Agafia goes out. Alone, Levin closes the book and stares into himself.

INT. (MOSCOW)-- DAY

CLOSE--Expert fingers scrape a cut-throat razor across a lathered

cheek . . . and again, skirting luxuriant facial hair on pampered skin.

TITLE OVER:

PRINCE OBLONSKY'S HOUSE, MOSCOW

INT. OBLONSKY'S DRESSING ROOM, OBLONSKY

HOUSE, SAME TIME-- DAY

There is a door to the landing and a door to the bedroom.

5

Prince Stepan Oblonsky-- Stiva to his friends--is 34 and liked by every-

body. A barber comes in every morning to shave him. His valet, Matvey, is

older and almost a friend. He holds up an enormous pear.

MATVEY:

What should I do with this?

Oblonsky puts the barber on hold to have a look.

OBLONSKY:

Where did you find it?

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