SOME FRIENDS TOLD ME it was great and gave me the book that provides the basis for the show. It was great.  So imagine my delight when I saw Ewan McGregor, a favored actor of mine, cast as Count Alexander Rostov, who survived the purges of the aristos by the Bolsheviks only to be confined for life within the walls of a fine Moscow hotel–and not in his formerly capacious suite, rather in a dusty space just below the roof.

This show–and the other series I  review this month, Sugar–sustain me with a total of 90 minutes of viewing ecstasy each week.

I am no longer surprised at how the British can play Russian elites without adopting a Slavic accent. After Sean Connery as a submarine captain in The Hunt for Red October and any number of other examples which escape me at present, I accept that the same reserve, rhythms of speech, and crisp elocution can serve to portray the elite of the first half of the last century–wherever they were.

If I don’t remember some of the details from book which showed up in the series, it’s probably because they weren’t there in the book in the first place. I get it: TV series have to compete with the superficial and supernatural these days, so a little “spicing up” is felt to be essential.

I refer to the character portrayed by Mary Elizabeth Winstead, (another favored thespian) a Russian actress whose career is subject to the vicissitudes of Party politics.

The series is a special dramatic treat and history lesson: anyone delusional enough to imagine the “freedom” that might be known under “strongman” rulers (like Stalin, Putin, or Guess Who Else) can sample it (the lack of it) vicariously through this series. Viewers can also sample the courage and grace that somehow survived in such dark times and places.

WRH