Sins (1986)

Talk about timing!  I was sitting with an old VHS copy of "Sins," when the DVD was released!  Lucky, huh?

Anyway, "Sins" is wanna-be tawdry.  It's a only-in-the-80s miniseries that flies from decade to decade, charting the rise of a successful model and publisher, who pushes through the roadblocks in her way (Nazis, rape, dead husbands) to emerge triumphant.  That alone describes many miniseries, but the twist here is that all of the people she's managed to anger in her life spend those same decades plotting her downfall.  So, "Sins" is an episodic romp through the ups and downs from the 1940s to the 1980s.  There is absolutely nothing new here.

However, there is an ace in the deck, and it's Joan Collins.  In 1986, Joan Collins was at the height of her second remarkable career, and she took full advantage of it.  She was the siren, the vixen, the sex kitten, all over again, but now just older, but no less powerful.  In fact, the Joan Collins of the 1980s was a lot more fun than Joan Collins of the 1950s because she knew exactly what was going on.  She wasn't trying to make a career.  In fact, she spent an awful lot of time making fun of her career, and that's what has made her endure still.  Joan Collins is one of those smart actors who knows all the jokes before anyone else can get to them, so she gets there first and leaves everyone speechless in her wake. 

Well, most would call that intentional camp, but I'm afraid "Sins" isn't particularly campy.  A three-part miniseries, it's never really fun enough to be camp.  They do let a younger actress play Joan's part as a teenager and though the middle of the movie has some unintentional hilarity as her character ages from that actress into Joan, it's not enough to save the whole project.

What works is Joan Collins.  She vamps around perfect, and she never gives less than 100% to "Sins," but she's the only one who does so.  Everyone else is either sleepwalking or trying to out-act her (good luck there, the woman managed to steal "Flintsone" movies), none of which works.  It's no crime to center a miniseries around one actress, especially when the actress is unflappable, but she needs help!  No one can do a miniseries alone.  The plot is lame, and the writing no better.  There are some surprises in the cast, but only in terms of actual casting, not performance.

On we go.  Let's see what Joan Collins can make out of the so-so "Sins." 

We begin with Joan Collins looking exactly the way we want her to look, full of glamour.  From the top of her beret to the matching coat, she's exquisite.  But, things are a bit rough.  She gets into the car with  brother Timothy Dalton (given some gray at the temples to age him) and they discuss how the first issue of their magazine has been a dud, but Joan insists on putting out a second issue.  "I believe in this magazine!" she says.  Timothy notes that she's already 20 million in the red personally.  Joan will go on.  "The fight is only just beginning." 

Over in West Germany, the potential fall of the magazine thrills Steven Berkoff (two years before playing Hitler in "War and Remembrance").  He receives the news after selling gas pipelines for a very large amount of money.  An obvious villain.

Further south, in Venice, Giancarlo Gianinni is heading to New York with a revenge plan in mind.  "Do be quiet, you are so much better when you say nothing," he purrs to his girlfriend, leaving her behind.  Another obvious villain.

In the French countryside, Count Neil Dickson gets the news from Steven in the middle of a massage, though I'm not sure why we have to see the massive muscled male masseur shirtless.  "There is justice after all," he says to himself, yet another person thrilled at Joan's misfortune.  He's too silly to be a villain, but let's count him anyway.

The only person not cackling with villainous glee is Joan's pal Marisa Berenson who, for reasons I can't imagine Joan Collins letting slip through, is wearing the same color red.  "You look fantastic, how do we do it?" Marisa asks.  She's up in Joan's apartment to warn her that the magazine party for advertisers is full of "angry people."  So, Joan goes on the attack by donning s divine shimmering dress and giving valiant non-answers to all those who ask what she is planning, though she does say "we've got market research working overtime on concepts.  We made a commitment to reach the average woman and we are going to do just that." 

The bad blood exists in the Western Hemisphere too.  At the party is Lauren Hutton (who did "Monte Carlo" with Joan, barely), who says "I'm not just a pretty face" with such lack of modesty it could only be croaked by an ex-model, but she's actually an architect and designed the building that houses Joan's empire.  Actually, she did it with her husband, but "he did not survive the experience.  One smile from [Joan] and the man drops dead.  Et puis, voila!"  Banker Allen Garfield seems nice enough, but his wife Arielle Dombasle (from "Lace" and "Lace II," so we know what to expect of her), is the outgoing one.  When Joan compliments the emeralds in her necklace," Arielle oozes, "don't forget the mention the diamonds, they feel sooooo left out."  Oh, lordie!  Allen has the bad news that with the tanking of the magazine, he has to call in Joan and Timothy's loan.  They offer him more stock, but he declines, so Joan has to play the heavy and threatens to pull out all of her accounts from his bank.  It works, he accepts the stock.  Well played, Joan! 

Giancarlo races to the party in his flashy car and parks where an attendant says he can't.  So, he gives him Monopoly money to placate him, oh, sorry, he gives him Italian lire.  "How much is 2000 lire worth?" the attendant asks his pal.  "About half a slice of pizza."  Ah, pre-Euro humor!  He arrives right after Timothy's daughter Judi Bowker.  "This is one of the most wonderful nights of my life.  Do you wish you could say the same?" he asks Joan snidely. 

Joan has to make a speech for the assembled.  She thanks them for their support, but insists that unlike "Couture," her wildly successful empire, this new "Woman of Today" is supposed to be about average women.  And what would she know from average women?  Certainly none were allowed into this swanky part!  With Timothy, Marissa and William Allen Young there to support her, Joan whips the crowd in a frenzy of applause and support.  "Let's dance!" she shouts. 

After the party, Senator James Farentino (you read that right) shows up in Joan's apartment, promising to help her depressing situation, and also to find out what's going on with her personally.  "Sometimes it takes a long time for love to change to friendship.  Sometimes it never happens.  It hasn't happened for me," toupee-wearing James says, about as excited as a nail.  Joan, lit to the hilt, says "it's never going to happen.  Afterwards, you'll just go home to your wife..."  Didn't see that coming from the moment we found out he was a Senator, eh?

A hit is put out on Joan.  "Just say the word and her pretty face will be ripped to shreds.  Just give me the word when.  I got the weapon right here," the hitman says patting a scary dog. 

Upon finding out that Steven is in Manhattan, Joan says she won't feel safe "unless he's dead or I am," the set-up for the big flashback.  In miniseries time, it's taken an exceedingly long time (almost half an hour) to get there, and there is, as you could have predicted, World War II.  Yes, I know, Joan did World War II in "Monte Carlo," (which aired also in 1986) but that was comic cheese.  "Sins" is a straight-faced drama all the way. 

A newspaper headline tells us "Germans Enter Paris."  "I was a child when the Germans occupied Paris," Joan narrates.  Don't laugh at that line.  Remember, she's telling the story from 1986, when she was only in her 50s, not 2011, when she's, well, older.  She recalls the horrors of the time, her father going off to fight and being left alone with her mother and siblings. 

Mama wakes up her kids (no, Joan does not play the character as a young girl--many actresses would, but Joan Collins is way too smart for that) because the Gestapo is on the way, led, of course, by Steven.  The three kids hide in a hatch in the closet just as the Nazis are barging in.  They are there to find out "where the radio transmitter is."  Mama is accused of sending messages "to England for the underground."  Steven is so convincing, he gets away with what is actually a very fearful moment: Mama says she's pregnant, and he promises the baby will be safe as he taps her stomach with his riding crop.  She does not answer, so a Nazi with brass knuckles beats her.  They find the equipment (it's in a less exciting place than the radio transmitter in the bushes from "Monte Carlo") and now Steven wants to know to whom she reports.  More beating.  "We'll find out from the children," he threatens.  She can't reply because the brass knuckles have killed her.  "I want those children!" Steven demands, leaving soldiers behind in the apartment.  One of them hears the kids and finds the hatch.  They burst free, there is a scuffle and Young Joan (Catherine Mary Stewart) shoots two soldiers dead.  They end up in a nightclub but have to leave when the horrible house chanteuse goes to get the Nazis to claim the reward.  Don't ask, it won't make any more sense if I explain more fully.

Our young heroine separates from her brother and sister, saying they stand a better chance of survival if they "pretend not to know each other" since the Nazis are on the lookout for three kids.  I guess we just have to accept such a ridiculous plot twist, just like we have to accept that the these French kids all sport perfect British accents.  Within ten seconds of separate our heroine is accosted by a soldier and raped in a corn field.  When another soldier hears her screams, he comes over and asks the other, "enjoying yourself?"  "She's a fighter," he replies, brushing off some blood.  She kicks one in the crotch and makes a run for it.  She is recognized as the "murderer" of the two soldiers and taken to Gestapo headquarters.  She's tied to a chair and slapped around, but tells the Nazis nothing.

Her siblings are found and brought in, but Young Timothy sticks to the story of them not knowing each other.  There's pressure on the little sister, and Steven tries mind tricks, but neither Young Joan nor Young Timothy cracks, not even when Young Timothy is forced to watch a terrible beating.  Young Joan is sent back to Paris, while the younger two are sent elsewhere.  The convoy with our pre-stars is overtaken by the resistance and Young Joan is saved.  In an attempt to be profound, the man rescuing her tells her some harsh facts about what happens to kids in death camps.  "They water their own graves," he tells her honestly. And then tells her to relax.  After that bit of news?  "No, I can't rest.  Not until I know they are safe, and not until that Nazi pays for what he's done," she scowls. 

Back in the 80s, Joan has stayed up all night working "on a new ad campaign," when Marisa comes into the office.  Marisa packs Joan off for a hair appointment with mincing Victor Spinetti and wonders why she didn't rely on their advertising people.  Because Joan doesn't want a repeat of the last issue!  Marisa Berenson flows through "Sins" so bored that a cattle prod wouldn't even help.  Of course, she's flowed through her entire career li...oh, stop, now's not the time, we have a plot to get back to!

Off goes Joan, in a matching beret-and-coat ensemble, this time in pink.  The hit man with the dog (he's pretending to be blind) sneaks up behind her and when the dog barks, Joan is frightened enough to drop a glove, good luck for the hit man.  Joan gets a new do and is on her way out when Arielle comes into the salon to show off more jewels.  "A lot of what I buy, I buy for his sake," Arielle chirps about her husband, "I myself would be happy with a lot less."  Do you see why it's hard to take the flashback plot to heart when this nonsense is swirling around it?  Joan and Timothy (in an office that looks borrowed from the "Dynasty" set), wonder exactly where Allen gets all of his money.  "He has a very expensive lifestyle," says he.  "He has a very expensive wife," says she.  Arielle bursts into Allen's office to beg him for "half a million" as she has seen jewels once owned by royalty that she just have to have.

The coven of villains is called, and though they meet in a large brownstone, for some reason, they seem to be using the pantry for their meeting.  Steven, Lauren Hutton, Neil Dickson and Giancarlo Giannini can't even keep from arguing among themselves.  It's like something out of "Austin Powers."  Steven announces that "phase one" of their plan to destroy Joan has been completely successful.  Steven decides the order of going after the wounded gazelles will be thus: Marisa, William Allen Young (referred to as "the black photographer," thought that's only half-way offensive since he's very obviously a gay black photographer), Allen Garfield and then Joan herself.  Joan and Timothy are brought pictures of the coven and Joan is forced to admit, "they have one thing in common, they all hate me."

Time for another flashback.  This time the present tense wasn't so bad (except for the way too peppy Arielle), so we return to the past less annoyed. 

"It all started so beautifully," Joan narrates, picking up her story in 1949 (with no explanation of the years in between).  Young Joan is to be a servant at the great castle where Neil, overdoing the fey aristocrat thing, falls immediately in love and refuses to let Young Joan and her aunt use the servant's entrance.  They aren't servants, just there to "sew for my mother."  "She makes the juices flow, doesn't she?" Neil asks his pal, rather unbelievably.  "Hands off...she's mine!" he insists to his friend.  On the big staircase, they meet the Count, Jean-Pierre Aumont.  Her aunt reminds her that "you're a toy to be played with and then discarded" by the aristocracy, so she better watch out.  She's worried about hotpants Neil, but also about his father.  "He frightens me," she says dramatically. 

Young Joan is saucy and confident as a seamstress, scaring her aunt when she dares to tell the Countess which fabrics would be better for her.  She has some sketches that the Countess likes, which the latter assumes are copies.  No, no.  They are originals.  The aunt constantly apologizes and tries to tell the horrors of her niece's life, but the Countess couldn't care less.  In fact, the poor girl has been desperate to find her siblings and writes to anyone she can think of to find them.  "As long as she doesn't do it on my time," the Countess notes. 

Neil has been paying a lot of attention to Young Joan, but she's not overly concerned, or at least not until she's on horseback with him, which does scare her.  Well, after all, "if you weren't a servant, I would teach you to ride," he says, forgetting his drivel about not using the servants' entrance earlier.  She doesn't take offense, so he says, "whoever you are, I think you are the most beautiful girl in the world...and what do you think about me?"  Wow, maybe he should just date mirrors.  On one of their outings, Neil finally plants a kiss on Young Joan, though it's hard to call it a kiss because it looks more like porn than passion.  Things progress, he takes pictures of her and even invites her to a ball.

Cinderella time.  The ball is a very swank affair and of course Young Joan catches everyone's eye, in a gown she made herself for the Countess that is widely admired (unlike Cinderella, she had no help from cute animals).  Only she and her aunt know it's the dress she was designing for the Countess.  "I never want to be without you, never!" Neil tells her as they waltz and everything is happy...and as the Count and Countess show up!  Neil is so wrapped up in the moment that his friend can't even get his attention to warn him.  When he sees Jean-Pierre, the father is horrified, referring to Young Joan as a "servant girl."  "Servant girl?  Isn't that putting it rather too nicely?  That was to be my dress.  It was made with my fabric on my time, but I can never wear it now, can I?" the Countess says angrily.  Um, Countess, no offense, but there is no way you and this teenager are anywhere near the same size in dresses. 

Cinderella time over, though she escapes with both of her shoes.  Young Joan runs all the way home, where Neil greets her since he took the car (wait, he didn't pass her on the road?) and within seconds, has her prone on the bed, apologizing, taking off her shoes and professing his love for her, and his lust.  "I don't love you," she says, frightened.  "But you will, you will learn to," replies horny Neil, throwing in a proposal and pushing her back down on the bed.  "Some day, all of this will be yours," he whispers to her.

"Will it now?  How generous of you," quips Jean-Pierre, who has not only had time to arrive home, but to make himself a drink.  Uh oh.  "You would marry this little seamstress because she makes you feel like a man?" he asks.  "Nobody else ever has, have they?  I know because I've had the women you have tried with," Jean-Pierre reveals.  Now that's summing it up, isn't it?  For a topper, Jean-Pierre throws his drink in Neil's face.  For a second topper, he adds, "I'm afraid to call you my son."  Young Joan doesn't kick him, but while he's down (on the floor), she dashes out of the room.  Sorry, Neil, the night started so wonderfully, but now everything but a falling piano has happened to you. 

Now we can skip ahead to 1955 in Paris (again, with missing time unexplained).  Young Joan is in Paris for the first time with a heavy suitcase and nowhere to stay.  Luck is on her side as she walks straight into a break-up between William and his now ex.  To piss off the ex, William right then and there offers Young Joan a place to stay.  "And you won't be able to use the bathroom, he's turned it into a darkroom," shouts the ex as he walks off and back to 1973 judging by his clothes and facial hair.  William then takes her to the outdoor market so they can steal everything they need to eat.  Even goofier is a photo shoot William does of Young Joan high atop a building.  She's afraid of heights, but manages to hit every modeling pose he asks of her, including some en pointe, as if she were a trained ballerina.  When no one wants the photographs, Young Joan consoles him by saying, "you have something new to offer."  Because now she's up on the history and current trends in photography?

Famous fashion designer Capucine likes his pictures, saying, "this is new," precisely the word Young Joan had used.  She turns around and sees our nervous duo, telling William he needs an agent.  However, her advice to Young Joan is a hoot, the first real gut-buster of the movie: "You should never wear white, it glares.  You must also never wear dark curls, but wear champagne!  Yes, champagne."  Can anyone help me with this one?  What the hell does that mean?  No one bothers to ask, so she plows ahead, telling Young Joan she should be a model and offering her a job.  I never thought much of Capucine either way, but looking like Gloria Swanson and sounding like (late career) Bette Davis, she's injecting some much-needed guffaws into "Sins."  She goes to leave and turns to shout, "don't forget, Monday morning" with the Eiffel Tower and gardens behind her.  Boy oh boy, a famous designer picked our heroine out of the crowd.  Let's hope she remembers her on Monday! 

Indeed Capucine (I assume playing a character based on Chanel because no one seems to know any other female French designers when it comes to trashy imitations) does remember Young Joan when she shows up on Monday.  She tells Young Joan to take off all her clothing and then goes into a series of un-connected maxims, some schtick about sticking Young Joan with a pin and a reminder to wear champagne (the color, we find out), allowing her to borrow whatever she wants until she has the money to buy. 

Remember Young Joan's siblings?  It's okay if you don't, as seemingly she hasn't either.  But, alas, she does find time to write to Herr Paul Freeman in Cologne to ask for his help in finding them.  In the letter, she writes, "I don't have much money, but I'm enclosing what I can as a retainer in the hopes that you will help me." 

When Young Joan does her first modeling job at the atelier, actress Catherine Mary Stewart is done up to look exactly like Joan Collins in the 1950s, the first time there is a noticeable connection between the character at different ages.  She is even modeling a red outfit with matching hat.  And, in fact, there is a reason for this, because time passes and Young Joan becomes Joan, the new Directress of the fashion house.  Not a moment too soon, because only Joan Collins, so far, has given this miniseries any oomph.  Everyone else has looked on the verge of napping (except Capucine, but she may or may not be drunk, it's hard to tell) and acted thus. 

As Joan is calling out her first runway show (earning a wink and a thumbs up from Capucine), soldier James Farentino can't keep his eyes off her and she notices, so they play the eye game.  Later on, she talks to him and his mother, all but forcing the woman to buy a dress so James can take just long enough to ask her to dinner.

And dinner is where Joan turns it on.  A few years on "Dynasty" had already shown us that no one could handle a staircase better than Joan Collins.  So, she arrives at dinner, dresses to the nines and looking more fabulous than should be allowed and sashays down the steps with flair (the advice about not wearing white turns out to be bad advice, because Joan works it!).  You can be sure that Jean-Pierre notices her.  But, she goes right over to James' table.  "You look absolutely beautiful," he says.  "Well..." she replies, before remembering to tuck in a compliment about him.  As if they have known each other for years, James reveals that he's been posted to Vietnam and they only have a week together.  "I'm glad I didn't decide to be fashionably late," Joan purrs.  Wait, did I miss a few scenes or has this movie once again opted to use a concept of time that none of the rest of us can fathom?  As they toast, Jean-Pierre watches from across the room. 

"Somewhere in my life, I've always known there'd be an evening like this," James coos to Joan as they kiss under one of the gorgeous Seine bridges.  They then truck it on over to someone's place and indulge in a sex scene.  For a miniseries, this is a pretty race one, but it's brief.  The next morning, James wakes up to find Joan staring out the window.  "I just wanted to see if the world looked any different," she says.  Here we go with the schmaltz.  I guess we had it coming after sitting through nothing but gloom so far.  Joan confides in James that she was raped during the war, but now understands love.  His reaction?  He suggests taking time off so they can see each other more.  Since he didn't care, she doesn't care, does the 80s woman-lies-on-man's-chest bit and they continue their conversation and kissing, fluffier than cotton candy.  From there, it's off to the airport where he makes a joke out of every earnest line she utters, becoming easily the most annoying character in this movie (and he has plenty of competition). 

Jean-Pierre sends Joan a pair of gorgeous earrings and a summons to meet him, but she returns the earrings and rips up the note. 

Six months later, James' mother calls with the news that he was killed.  Obviously, we know that's not true since he appeared in the story's present tense.  So, let's move along.  Joan finally gets to meet Herr Paul, who might have some news about her siblings.  There are people who might be able to speak, but it will cost a huge amount of money.  "I think I can get you all the money you need," she says, which means having to cozy up to Jean-Pierre.  She does so in a killer red dress.  She gets to show it off by walking the entire length of the room to greet him.  He wastes no time in suggesting that she be his mistress, live at his Paris home and be available to him every night.  He gives her a massive diamond necklace and earrings to sweeten the bargain.  "These are real, no imitations for you," he says, pulling off the pair of earrings she's already wearing. 

In the bedroom, he unzips Joan's dress and says, "I've been waiting so long for this."  "Whore!  Slut!" he rages and smacks her across the face.  But, the agreement is on because she needs the money.  I guess there are no other rich men in Paris with whom she can have such an arrangement.  She has to stick with this sadistic bastard.  She's smart enough to sell jewels, making the jeweler promise to break up the pieces before selling them.  "I'll put it to good use, I promise you," Herr Paul tells Joan when she comes up with half of the money from the sale of the diamonds. 

Get out the ham-o-meter, it's time to meet our slummer.  Capucine and Marisa Berenson were never big stars, but Gene Kelly sure as hell was.  Gene had a pathological inability to appear in anything decent once his dancing days were over.  That certainly explains "Xanadu," but the American miniseries always had use for a bit of nostalgia, so here is Gene Kelly, playing a world famous American composer, whose music is being performed at the opera house where Jean-Pierre takes Joan.  He spots her in her box, and Jean-Pierre seems a little jealous.  "I told you, I loooove his music," Joan assures him. 

Into the box comes not Gene, but Neil!  Ah, yes, still full of temper after all these years.  "When they told me the family box was occupied, I assumed it was by you and mother, not what is obviously your current whore," he spits out (question: if he knew the family box was occupied, what's he doing there?).  "Why him and not me?" Neil asks.  "She prefers men," his father answers.  "I'll get you for this.  I swear I will!" he threatens before leaving.  FYI, this explains the half-naked masseur in Neil's first scene, just in case you remembered that I wondered aloud what he was doing there. 

Anyway, that's Neil's big (and getting bigger) reason for hating Joan all these years, though if you actually think about it, it should be his father he wants destroyed.  After all, it's his father who has played the heavy.  Joan was up front with him as a teenager: she never loved him.  But, after the first of three installments of "Sins," it's nice to know why someone hates her, faulty reasoning or not. 

After a photo shoot with William that is the essence of 80s high gloss, Joan gets a call from Herr Paul telling her he has news about her brother.  Off to Vienna we go (and somehow, it's 1969 now).  Herr Paul has found a man with the same tattoo number as her brother.  It may not be him, Herr Paul warns as he takes her to a mental hospital.  Looking at the faces of every man in the room, she finally finds Timothy, slumped up against a wall, apparently in a catatonic state since 1945.  "I want that Nazi," Joan hisses. 

I will pause and say that both Timothy and Joan are sensational in the scene.  Timothy perhaps puts a little too much look-at-me-I-did-Shakespeare in it, but it's still better than any other male hanging around the plot.

To make sure we haven't forgotten how awful Steven is, we watch him shoot his lame dog. 

Back in Paris, Joan has to confront an angry Jean-Pierre, who has found out she's been selling the jewels.  He throws them at her feet and then yells at her to "pick them up."  "You worked hard for them," he says scornfully, stepping on her hand and calling her a whore once more.  He exits and his son walks in, telling Joan, "we've only just begun."

Joan finds a doctor who has the drugs to pull Timothy out of his catatonic state for just a few minutes.  Timothy, confused and afraid, says he doesn't know Joan, refusing to remember his real name and crying because their little sister is dead.  But, there's a bit of creepiness to the scene because nurse Elisabeth Bourgine seems to have the hots for Timothy.  Catatonic patients with memory loss are such a turn on! 

It's William's birthday and Joan goes to meet him in a restaurant in yet another festive and glittering ensemble, not noticing Neil at the end of the bar.  "Any one, any color, except [me]," he drunkenly slurs.  William tosses back the barbs, reminding Neil he's "no use to the ladies," with no sense of the pot calling the kettle, oh, wait, let's not finish that sentence.  Capucine happens to be dining in the same restaurant, so she invites them to join her.  Gene Kelly is in her party and after saying something inane about Americans not knowing how to kiss a lady's hand, he reminds Joan that he's seen her before, at the opera a few months back.  "You're very beautiful," he says, and she doesn't disagree.  He invites her to one of his concerts as a special guest and then proceeds to play a swooping theme just for her.  About 10 seconds of montage later, Gene proposes to Joan.  Wearing what already looks like a puffy wedding dress, she eagerly accepts. 

In an actual wedding dress, Joan and Gene (he's not in the dress, just her) get married in a grand French church, with Neil skulking in the back near the candles.  You may laugh when the priest wishes the couple many children, and I think that's understandable.  William, "on my way to Monte Carlo" (the destination not the miniseries), pops by Gene and Joan's plush villa where Joan sketches in short shorts that bare her sexy legs.  Because of her magazine shoot, William tells her, "you are the most popular model in the world," but she's "not interested."  "That was a long time ago," she says (no it wasn't), and she's just a simple married woman, hitched to the goofy guy with the great big glasses.  Then kids come up again.  "That's for a young man," Gene says ruefully.  Right, like that's the issue.  "Family life just won't be enough for you," Gene says.  Right, like that's the issue.  But, Joan flies with it and decides to start a magainze.  Gene offers her all the money for it and she says no.  He wants to make "all your dreams come true," but there's an odd warning, said with a smile, "you must never abandon me."  With thoughts of magazines dancing in her head, Joan picks flowers and tends to the garden.

Now, fans of the miniseries know exactly what I'm about to say: when things seem this smiley and happy, something bad is about to happen.  And, right on cue, there is Neil to come up behind Joan and push her to the bed while Gene plunks away at the piano.  "How could you give yourself to this old man?" he demands to know, and she pushes him away, finally able to shout for her husband.  Gene comes rush...well Gene comes up the stairs to fight off Neil.  He clocks him good, but the younger man punches Gene's double in the stomach and throws him off the stairs, in slow motion, natch, as Joan shouts, "nooooooooooooooooo!"

I think Neil has made his point, don't you?  As for Gene, it was nice of everyone to give him something to do, briefly, but that really is one hell of a way to die.  I know it's not right to keep bringing up "Dynasty," but fans of the show won't be able to forget the series finale when Alexis herself went tumbling over a staircase with Dex and Sable (guess who survived for the reunion movie?).  But, this was years before that, so we won't go there.  "You've killed him," Joan shrieks up to Neil, who rather calmly goes over to the phone and calls the police.  "There's been a tragic accident," he tells them and hangs up before Joan can deliver the truth.  Oh, and according to Neil, he wasn't trying to rape Joan, merely to "take what is mine."  His version of what happened is awfully maniacal.  If Joan calls the police, he'll say he happened by and spill the beans, making Joan look guilty for killing her doddering old husband, but if she keeps her mouth shut, he won't say a word.  Ah, but he doesn't notice Gene's tape recorder still going.  "Which will it be?  Freedom or the guillotine?" Neil asks.  The guillotine?  Only an American miniseries would reference the guillotine.

The detective isn't at all convinced, and why would he be?  Let's review the facts.  There's Joan, puffing on a ciggie, looking every bit as not-innocent as Lana Turner back in "The Postman Always Rings Twice," (and in Lana's same white, with a gingham pattern, no less), ancient Gene is not only dead, but fell over the railing of the staircase and into a glass table, just by accident.  Then, there's Neil, who has rented the villa next door and just happened to be there with his old friend Joan.  And, the fact that the servants all happened to be gone.  The brainy detective smells a rat.  Unfortunately, it's the wrong rat.  Throwing around his family name, Neil threatens the detective's job, but the detective rallies back that it will be over his head when the American ambassador finds out.  "You stay away from me, you bastard.  I swear, I'll find a way to make you suffer.  I swear!" Joan whispers in a meaningful tone and dashes out.  PLEASE, let us be done with Neil. 

But not with Gene, alas.  Joan calls up Capucine, who is about as full of emotion as her wig, and when Joan announces she's pregnant, Capucine actually says with a straight face (though I wonder how many takes it took), "that should give you some consolation, my dear."  Yeah, and the front page of the National Enquirer.  Capucine's models are giggling, so she snatches the newspaper out of their hands that shows Joan, in her costume for the photo shoot, brandishing a gun.  Oh, this doesn't look good.  "She loved him!  She loved him!" Capucine insists, sooooo over being in this movie. 

Nostalgic for Gene's music, Joan plays the tape recorder and hears Neil's full confession, so she suits up in full Joan Collins red and takes a copy over to Jean-Pierre and Neil.  "Idiot!" Jean-Pierre hisses.  She wants money, since Gene's money is tied up in whatever, and Neil refuses.  Jean-Pierre is smarter.  "How much?" he asks.  "Enough to start my own fashion magazine, 70 million francs," she replies.  That's one hell of a magazine!  She bristles at his further insults and ups it to 100 million, whooshing out of the room with a "good day gentlemen" that freezes their blood (perhaps only Joan Crawford and Loretta Young ever knew how to make as much of an exit as Joan Collins).  Jean-Pierre kicks Neil out of the mansion.  Can we PLEASE be done with Neil, I ask yet again?

Driving away, Joan starts to feel pain (or pleasure, it's really not clear, and it's clear she's having a miscarriage, but since she's driving, also a car accident.  The not-so-friendly doctor tells Joan in the hospital, "it was bound to happen," and Joan realizes it's because of the rape so many years ago.  Unfortunately, she will never be able to carry a child. 

Out of the hospital and back into red, Joan goes to visit Timothy, of whom we've seen nothing since his few minutes out of the catatonic state.  Nurse Elisabeth, shooting daggers for some reason, chirps that "he gets a little bit better every day" in an accent that is just too easy to make fun of.  Rather than gently easing him back into conversation, Joan goes right for full tilt emotion.  He still can't remember her, but she claims she needs him.  Mama's wedding ring is the key to unlocking his memory and they dissolve into each other's arms with tears.  Nurse Elisabeth watches with the weirdest smile.  Quicker than you can say "one flew over the cuckoo plot's nest," Timothy is healthy, sane and walking along the river with fetching Nurse Elisabeth saying, "I don't want to lose you." 

Joan puts her money into "Couture" magazine, hiring Marisa, the world's best editor, and William, the world's best photographer, though she reminds the latter, "no moonlighting, you work just for me."  Joan, in a saucy plump beret, toasts with the other two.  Alternating the frivolous and profound, Joan and Timothy also work on finding Nazi Steven.  In fact, amid the feverish pace of starting a magazine, she agrees to take Timothy and dash over to Vienna, where they lunch with Herr Paul at a restaurant where Nazi Steven is known to frequent. 

In he comes with the loudest suit in the place.  Both Timothy and Joan recognize him.  "We've got our man," he says, with Joan adding, "the world must not be allowed to forget what he's done."  Well, that won't be so easy, Herr Paul says, since he can only be tried in Austria and "more than a few Austrians want to promote the fiction that there were only unwilling Nazis here," and not too many have actually been tried for war crimes there.  On her way out, Joan says hello to Nazi Steven, who gives her a polite bow and then a quizzical look.  Don't you dare try to ruin a Joan Collins exist, you've done enough already!

Luckily, Nazi Steven is taken to trial for war crimes.  Dialogue-wise, the trial is pretty much rigged against him, with booing from the gallery during his lawyer's opening statement (which is only a few hurried sentences).  Peter Vaughn, who played the Riviera's scariest (and only) Nazi in "Monte Carlo," is on hand as the defense attorney.  After the first day of testimony, Steven stops Joan in the hallway and admits to remembering her and Timothy (who is there with Elisabeth on his arm).  "I regret all the tragedy of the war.  We can't change the past, we can only be afraid of torturing ourselves with it," he says in the stupidest Nazi apologia ever, and offers her money to drop the case.  "These are my countrymen, I don't think they will convict me," he boasts.  "I think they will," Joan tartly replies.  "I should have disposed of you," he murmurs.  "How fortunate for you that you didn't." 

Timothy gets to testify, and of course he knows enough to make the most of a courtroom scene.  It may be the only one, so he turns in every actorly trick.  There's soft speaking, stammering, intense truth, all of it, but again, Timothy Dalton stays on the right side of cloying.  He describes the camps and the horrors he saw and lived through.  As good as his scene is, it's junked up by the next one, where he tells Nurse Elisabeth he couldn't have done it without her and admits his love for her with awfully an awfully flowery proclamation.  She does admit she "put off taking vows" because she loves him and he proposes.  Even a nun can't refuse a brave man who testified against a Nazi!  Then it's back to the trial, where Timothy is cross-examined and on the defensive.  "A strange and convenient disease you have," the defense lawyer says, referring to Timothy's catatonic state and suggests his testimony is the result of what others told him, not having been there. 

When Joan takes the stand, in a crisp business suit, the defense suggests that not only was Joan never raped, but that her mother died of a simple hemorrhage, and not a beating, that she also started believing incorrect facts as the truth.  He paints her as having a revenge complex and warping Timothy's mind to effect it.  Joan isn't letting anyone steal her trial scene, brief though it is, and dresses down the lawyer.  Steven is up after Joan, admitting he was "administrative head" of the death camp, but denies all of the accusations against him.  He's so evil and snake-like that it's impossible to even take him seriously, but the jury seems to believe it.  His expected slam dunk moment arrives when he says all "detainees" were given a tattoo, and Timothy has to admit he doesn't have one, but only because "an explosion in the quarry" burned his arms so badly they couldn't tattoo his arm.  "Instead, they branded me with a hot iron," he explains, pulling open his shirt to reveal the chest tattoo.  Take that!  Thankfully, Steven is found guilty and sentenced to the United Nations.  Oh, wait, that was another Austrian Nazi.  Sorry, Steven is sentenced to "life in prison" as he yells "I only did my duty as a good soldier!" 

Joan wants to know where they are celebrating, but Elisabeth tries to trump the trial news with her acceptance of Timothy's engagement.  However, Nazi Steven ruins even that happy moment, being dragged away braying, "this isn't over between us!" with guards pulling him away.  "What you suffered as a child will seem like PARADISE!"  We certainly have the second villain's reason for revenge, though I have to say, it makes both more and less sense than Neil's.  More because he's a nasty awful man, but less because convicted Nazis, decades after the war, tended to keep quiet and bide their time until death or senility took them.  The world wasn't exactly on their side.

"Couture" becomes a massive hit.  Joan has a concert put on of Gene's final work, named for her.  William and Marisa are there and even Capucine shows up, telling Marisa, "you're getting a little bit pushy," when she insists on front row press seats at the next collection.  Timothy and Elisabeth are not there because they are at the hospital with "acute toxemia" during a pregnancy.  "I'm afraid she's going to die," Timothy tells Joan after she rushes over from the concert.  The doctor wants to get the baby out, but Elisabeth refuses because she thinks it's too premature, not fully understanding her condition.  After an impassioned speech from Timothy, Elisabeth turns to Joan and makes her promise to bring the baby up as if it were hers.  "Pray for the baby and me," she says crying before we lose her.  However, she managed to give birth before dying.  Timothy's sounds of angst echo throughout the church. 

There's another death watch, but this one is just plain comical.  Jean-Pierre is about to bite it.  That brings smarmy Neil back home (I know, I thought we were done with him for a least a few decades, but noooo) to taunt his father.  Just a few choice sentences flatline the old man and Neil toasts with a flask.  Neil does love to kill off elderly guest stars, doesn't he?

Trouble is brewing at "Couture," because William is misbehaving.  "He's been doing everything but shoot pictures the last few days," Marisa sniffs when Joan arrives to save a photo shoot in Venice.  He says the problem is Russian-born Marisa.  "The Tsarina, she pushes everybody...when she pushes, I go in the opposite direction," he says, with lots of hand gestures that he no doubt picked up in Italy.  Joan is angry because William has violated her edict not to work for others, which he admits, because he is tired of feeling like her "personal property."  Joan can't fathom what he's talking about, but lays it out for her, saying, "you've become some arrogant autocrat who has to call all the shots."  Just when this happened might be clear in the book, but we've seen no evidence in the movie so far.  We'll just have to take his word for it.  She takes the constructive criticism, and exacts a promise from him not to freelance anymore.  "Will you please take these pictures?" she begs.  "I was just waiting for the right light," he says as everyone tears off in a speedboat to shoot the models. 

Here's where Giancarlo enters the action, brazenly approaching Joan-in-bright-yellow at a cafe.  "I come here from Milan often to refresh my soul," he says, immediately captivating her, quoting Byron because he can tell she is a fan (I don't think she is, though it's understandable he thinks she's English instead of French since she keeps to her native accent).  It's obvious he's poor from the minute he offers to pay the check and winces looking at it.  Can we all say gold digger?  He shows up for a date with Joan and the flowers he gives her have nothing on the black and silver outfit she's wearing, one I hope she's kept for some future use.  Joan and Marisa have investigated Giancarlo and know he's "struggling not to go bankrupt," and chides him for pretending he hasn't had her investigated.  He tries to slink out of it, but she's onto him, especially with Marisa present, wearing enough ruffles to host an 80s Bar Mitzvah.

Putting all of this aside, Joan and Marisa inform him that "we have been looking for an Italian outlet" and offer to buy his struggling magazine and "assume artistic control."  "What happens to me?" he wants to know, complaining that his position would only be that of a "figure head."  "A rich one," Marisa chimes in.  "I have my pride," he says, yanking out that goofy comic nonsense of his that has never been amusing.  He doesn't seem to have been told that there is no levity in "Sins."  He bargains, wins and then announces, "if I'm going to be a slut, I'm going to be a happy one" and invites the gals to dinner. 

Barely a half an hour after being sentenced to prison, Steven is buying up property and told by his lawyer that "your friends in high places" are making sure he will be released "very soon."  "The only thing that sustains me in this place is settling the score" with his arch-nemesis Joan, who is still enjoying the excesses of Venice.  It's there Joan sees the one-time love of her life, none other than James Farentino.  But he's supposed to be dead!

"What happened?" Joan wants to know.  He was a Vietcong prisoner and managed to escape after many years.  He sent her letters, but she never got them.  "Well, I thought you had," he replies, back to that snoozy wooden style of his, and assumed, "it was just too late."  Being a French fashion maven, there's no reason for her to have known he's just a two-time Representative in the US Congress, "though there is some talk of the Senate," which shouldn't be of any interest to her either.  The fact that he's unmarried is of interest.  He's kept up with her life, especially liking the concert Gene wrote for her (let it go, people, let it go).  In the middle of a Greek folk dance on a yacht, Joan, in sequins, and James, in a white tux, decide to get married. 

After suffering through a horrendous press conference with double-dealing sleazy Giancarlo, Marisa is whisked off for some romance with Timothy.  "You don't have to be the Tsarina," he tells her, but she's afraid of romance.  "We've both wanted each other for a long time," yet another opportunity for "Sins" to play fast and loose with the concept of time.  They haven't even shared a line of dialogue before this scene!  "I can't live in the past any longer," he tells her, referring to his dead wife and they kiss. 

James and Joan get their romance going with a montage that is just too inane to be believed!  He teaches her to fish, she screws it up.  He teaches her to barbecue.  She screws it up.  They play on a swing set.  That she does just fine.  And yes, they mack in a field of flowers.  Joan is re-introduced to James' mother, Faith Brook, who obviously can't stand Joan, going white at the news of their impending nuptials.  "We've never had a President in the family," she complains, as if more than roughly only a mere 40 US families have had one (the Adamses, the Harrison and the Bushes cut the minuscule number down even more).  Telling Joan she's no First Lady, she adds, "consider who you are."  Mama Faith means business.  She reminds Joan of the "questionable" death of her first husband and "your days as a model in Paris when you were a kept woman."  James sticks by Joan, but with such wan lack of strength we know he'll crumble, but he's called to an urgent meeting, leaving mom and fiancee alone. 

"Should we have our coffee in the library?" Faith drawls, going all I'm-gonna-nail-you Tallulah Bankhead on us.  This scene we can all recite together, line for line, having been through enough romance miniseries together.  Faith is worried about the family's next generations since Joan is unable to have children (Stop snickering!  I know it's become utterly ridiculous that by this point in the movie we're still relying on scar tissue as the reason Joan won't be getting preggers any time soon, but we don't have much of a choice, do we?).  Joan says they plan to adopt, but Faith snaps, "that's not the same as blood, is it?"  Joan can play the game too, accusing Faith of hiding the letters James thinks he sent her.  "Guilty," she says, finally asking Joan point blank to give up James so he can have children and a career.  She even turns on the water works.  Joan knows when it's time to cry uncle, and closes her heavily made up eyes in defeat. 

The last of our villains turns up at the Joan's office: Lauren Hutton and the hubby she mentioned up front had died working for Joan, Joseph Bologna (if ever there was an unlikely pair...).  They are not a happily married couple, bickering from the onset, though he does suggest that they "get this meeting over with" so they can hurry "to the country and get to know each other again."  Joe and Lauren have designed a building for Joan in New York City that she adores, but Timothy is worried about the cost.  Not a very good businesswoman, Lauren turns to him and snaps, "that can hardly be helped!  We are talking about a skyscraper in the middle of Manhattan."  Joe is better at this, offering to name the building after Joan, "the most striking building in New York named after the most striking woman in New York." 

Nazi Steven's imminent release from prison is halted when a magazine publishes the full dirt on his wartime career. 

In New York, Joan meets Joe at a bar, where he notes she can "walk into a room and make time stop."  Indeed she can, but unfortunately not long enough to cut him out of the movie.  Poor Joan says she's had a bad day, so he gives the piano player a "play it Sam" and orders them some drinks.  He tells Joan that he and Lauren are really just partners, that "the marriage part went sour years ago."  It's a really pathetic conversation where he admits to being "madly in love with you," which sounds as idiotically insincere as it plays.  What is surprising is that Joan falls for it. 

Venice, 1982 (we're getting closer folks, slowly).  The Golden Ball is bringing everyone in gondolas in fanciful gold costumes to celebrate the 50th issues of "Couture Italiana."  Most are dressed like Casanova (or one of his women), though pounding rock music reminds of us the real time period.  Giancarlo is in a mean mood, scowling, "the caviar is black.  I asked for gold.  Spray it!"  Lauren is no happier, complaining about the 3000 mile trek she made to be with the woman her husband is screwing (which he denies).  Joe gets in his only good line, telling her that "you got a great talent for ruining a good time."  Also in a mood is Marisa, dancing with Timothy, bitching about the magazine money Giancarlo spends and the credit he personally takes.  Grown up Judi makes an appearance with her live-in boyfriend, which is somehow shocking to this crowd.  Even Senator James Farentino is dragged to this party, though without his wife who is "out buying Venice." 

When the whole cast is assembled for a shindig like this, you know there will be all kinds of fun.  Lauren is the early winner, with some catty digs at Joan, but the latter deflects most of them wonderfully, managing a less stoic front when James tries to re-woo her or when one of Giancarlo's associates spills the beans to her (and William, in goldface) about how Giancarlo is taking "kickbacks from the advertisers."  Giancarlo tries to have everyone thrown out, but Joan reminds the guard "who is paying your salary."  So, Giancarlo is forced to "make a vow" of revenge.  Of all the villains so far, he has the least reason for revenge.  Neil is all bonkers in the head, Steven has misplaced his guilt onto Joan, but Giancarlo has actually been stealing from her since the beginning and she's been nothing but good to him. 

As Joan is delivering the news that Giancarlo has "resigned," the masked stranger who has taken Venice's slowest speedboat to the party, finally arrives.  He pulls off his cloak to reveal a full Nazi outfit, though with a gold shirt.  Who else would wear that get up?  Neil, of course!  Yup, he's back.  Actually, he comes with news, Nazi Steven "has been pardoned."  And that, folks, is a party climax to end all party climaxes.

Now that "Couture" has moved to New York, for reasons that are never explained, niece Judi is given a spot on the editorial board (also for reasons never explained).  Marisa isn't happy because Judi wants to take in a whole new direction.  After the meeting, Joan lays into Judi about her living arrangements and choice of boyfriend, but Judi fires back, "does he have to be a composer or Senator?"  Joan replies sterny, "he has to be at least your equal."  Joan tried another route, offering to raise her salary so she can get a place of her own, but Judi doesn't bite for that either. 

Actually, Michael Morris, who plays the saxophone at home while Judi works tirelessly, doesn't seem like such a bad guy.  When she breaks the news to Dad and Aunt Joan that she wants to marry Michael, Joan, in red again (which signifies she means business), goes wild.  Timothy is more rational and suggests a compromise delay.  Joan takes the opportunity to force Judi to go to Paris, but Judi throws a fit and quits, braying that, "I don't want to be a carbon copy of you." 

In this state, Joan figures it's time to take Joe up on all of his offers and finally sleeps with him.  For a night of bliss, Joe declares that he's going to build her "the biggest skyscraper in all the world" and she decides to make breakfast (another hidden talent of hers).  He leaves his pool and finds Lauren waiting for him.  Lauren threatens to make both of them miserable.  "Let him go gracefully," Joan begs, calm as always while Lauren runs from anger to tears, all of it way overdone.  Cue Joe's heart attack and he dies in Lauren's arms while Joan regards the situation with more discomfort than shock.  There is no call for revenge, strangely, but I guess it's understood.

That takes us right up to the present (finally).  The last time we visited that tense, Joan was reminding Herr Paul and Timothy that the gang of four had hatred for her in common, but now she adds that they have "something else in common than their hatred for me.  They all own a considerable amount of Junot Publications stock."  The hitman gives his clients a preview of how much Joan will suffer by unleashing his dog on a poor harmless woman who happens to be standing nearby (albeit one in a red dress). 

Now remember, the villains had a method to their revenge plan, and it only ends with Joan.  Giancarlo and Neil summon Marisa, making her an offer to help run their new magazine.  They paint Joan as an ogre to Marisa, who has recently been unhappy anyway, not to mention a gigantic salary.  "I can't leave her now, she needs me," when they tell her she has 48 hours to join them.  Giancarlo then places a call to William with an offer.

Joan, in signature red, is ready for war when she finds out Marisa is leaving, having her office locked and confronting her in front of Timothy with the news.  "I can't work for you anymore.  You're stifling me in everything I have to offer.  You've made this magazine a substitute for a husband and children and I've led your life too long.  I'm sorry, but I've got to live my own now," Marisa says, barely above her usual level of ennui.  Joan mops the floor with her in this scene and all the sympathy goes to her.  Timothy tries to get them to compromise, but neither woman will hear of it, so he goes after Marisa.  He begs her to stay until after the crisis is over, and she can't even stay for love of him.  The worst part is when she asks him, "don't let this come between us, please?"  She's going to work for Joan's enemies and he's supposed to stay with her?  It's not a man's story, so of course he gives her a big hug.  Men in "Sins" are idiots.  Joan turns to William for comfort and he says he's staying with her. 

Allen is accosted in his car by Neil, holding a knife to his face.  Neil offers him $1 million to call in Joan's loans immediately.  Remember, he has spendthrift Arielle to worry about.  Shouldn't they have sent Steven to do this job?  Neil is hardly menacing, but Allen is scared of his own shadow, so I guess it doesn't matter.  Allen makes his decision while watching Arielle brush her hair.  He tells her to buy the diamonds she wants and then her butt takes up the entire camera shot as she wriggles over to him singing about diamonds. 

Joan, wearing an outfit at work that is both monogrammed and complete with a hood (another one I hope she kept), faces more bad news when she and Timothy find out the villains are driving the stock price down to ruin the company based on sagging magazine sales and Marisa's defection.  James knows of the conspiracy and offers to help them.  The scene where Allen calls in the loan is particularly uncomfortable, because there are three acting styles: Joan's pizazz, Timothy's charm and Allen's inability to keep up with either of them. 

No one, not even Joan, notices Nazi Steven sitting outside Joan's office (which snazzy electric doors).  "I came to pay my respects," he tells her, discussing her arrogance while displaying nothing but, especially taking a seat in her chair.  "This is the beginning of your destruction.  First step, public humiliation.  Then, who knows?"  Joan stands firm, and he slides out with a few choice words, allowing Joan to breathe finally.  She stood her guard, as always. 

The only weapon Timothy and Joan have in their arsenal is proof of Allen's embezzlement from his bank, so he they use it.  The bank auditors show up with the proof and Allen takes a header out of the window.  Joan feels guilty, but Timothy tells her, "we've succeeded, but only for a short time."  The loan call is postponed until after the next issue of the magazine, which is what they wanted.  Timothy takes Joan to the country for some "air" (in the middle of a working day, no less) and they invite James for the weekend.  The hitman follows them with his dog, arriving just as the siblings go out for a walk.  The phone rings and Joan goes ahead while Timothy answers it.  Joan, in fetching upscale casual togs, is lost in though as the dog rushes toward her.  Luckily, there is a pile of axes nearby when the dog arrives, salivating and barking fiendishly.  The dog attacks just as James drives up, so he grabs an ax to ward it off, but the hitman calls for the dog.  James follows it, only seeing the hitman's car drive away.  "If you hadn't come along, I would have been dead," Joan proclaims, with nary a scratch and only a tad of grime.  James announces he's getting a divorce because "life is too damn precious" and he wants to be with her. 

While she's feeling good, Joan decides she wants to see Judi, so she bops down to Judi's Soho loft, where Judi and Michael are now proud parents.  Joan tells her niece she's "looked back over her life and realizes the mistakes I've made.  They say the greatest sin in life is the sin of pride," she tells her, finally getting to the title of the movie. 

I've actually been waiting for the opportunity to wonder whether the title refers to her sins or the sins of others.  In the hobbled-together script, Joan has been an absolute angel the whole time, never actually wronging the villains (Steven is a Nazi, Neil caused his own problems and she never lied to him, Giancarlo was stealing from her and she only went after Joe when he assured her his life with Lauren was over).  She's been fair and generous to everyone, so her character hasn't really committed any sins.  Pride?  Well, she's made herself an empire, but not at anyone's expense.  We've never seen her so much as step on a little person on the way up.  She worked hard for Capucine and got a wonderful position, leaving not to rival her mentor, but to work in another area.  Joan has supported her family and even given up the man she loved to his career.  I wouldn't call that overly prideful.  Let's revisit the sins:

Gluttony?  Perish the thought, Joan hasn't had so much as a lettuce leaf since the movie started.
Wrath?  She's gotten angry, but at Nazis and people who abused her.
Envy? There's hasn't been anyone to envy as she's the most successful person in the movie.
Lust?  She slept with James as a young woman, but has kept herself awfully chaste since.
Greed?  Well, you could argue this one, but she's been so caring of others, it hardly seems blind.
Sloth?  That's as ridiculous as gluttony.

And that leaves pride, which we've already discussed, and the only one for which Joan holds herself accountable.  So, by my reckoning, the only sins in the movie are those of the villains.  Am I watching this wrong?  Just wondering.

Rambling over.

Back in her conversation with Judi, Joan continues on her quest for forgiveness by claiming it was her pride that caused the new magazine to fail because she wasn't "capable" of handling it all alone and invites Judi to "help save" the magazine by running it, as she's the target audience, a regular old working mother.  Joan gives her a comfortable two weeks, and Judi agrees to "give it a try." 

The hitman's client is not happy that the job was bungled, giving him only 24 hours to kill her.  James and Timothy beef up security while Joan, wearing a flashy scarf type thing on her head, plays with beads on a photo shoot.  The hitman's car has been found...with the dead dog inside!  The villains meet, upset over the whole attempted murder thing.  Each accuses the other of hiring the hitman.  Steven thinks it's Giancarlo, who refuses to "be interrogated this way.  This is not the Third Reich."  So, he moves on to Lauren, but she denies it, leaving Neil to defend himself against Steven's yelling.  Their plans are falling apart, as Lauren sees it, with a bank extension and a second issue coming out.  "She's winning," she whines loudly.  "She's only winning if we let her," Steven barks before Lauren accidentally lets it slip that "we" were tired of waiting.  He slaps her and Giancarlo pulls a gun on Steven.  Steven wrestles the gun from Giancarlo, but it flies down the table to Lauren, who shoots Steven and then cries as he falls dead. 

Now that's a man who has paid for his sins!

Herr Paul calls Joan and Timothy with the good news and how it happened, just as the hitman arrives in the studio with a big gun.  James is able to warn Joan, but the gun has already gone off and Joan is hit.  The hitman has to shoot his way out of the offices with bad shot security guards missing him, though he's finally tackled by James so the two can have a furious fight.  The Senator is awfully handy with his fists.  The hitman has another gun and the two fight over it.  It goes off and in time-honored TV tradition, we don't know who was shot for a few seconds until the hitman falls to the ground. 

Joan survives and is hospitalized, for the second time in the movie, in full make-up.  Thank goodness she grew up in a generation where glamour trumped all.  James gives her good news when she wakes up, his wife has agreed to a divorce.  The doctor tells Timothy and Judi that Joan will be "as good as new," but not for a few weeks.  That means Judi has to run the magazine and make the second issue a success.

And a success it is!  Timothy brings his daughter the rollicking news and Joan can leave the hospital in another monogrammed outfit.  She tells the assembled reporters that she is not going back to work immediately.  Judi will run the magazine and she is going to "live" and vacations with James, where else, in Venice. 

That's where it ends.  We saw a drunken Neil before the end scene, but not much else is solved.  I guess that's the point.  Joan's life will go on and so will everything else.  Everything is so hurried at the end, after so much wasted time.  Once again, "Sins" has no concept of time management, by minutes or decades.

I wouldn't have made it through "Sins" if the lead were played by anyone but Joan Collins.  Only she has the flair for something as long and centered as this.  She's in nearly every scene after she takes over from the younger actress.  "Sins" is actually very boring for such a twisting plot, one that probably read a whole lot better than it filmed.

Anastasia: The Mystery of Anna (1986)

It was this miniseries, "Anastasia: The Mystery of Anna," that first hooked me on Russian history (Russian history is loaded with fantastic stories, far more exciting, glamorous and cruel than this one, but the episode of Anastasia is as enticing an entrance point as anything but Catherine the Great or Ivan the Terrible and we did Catherine the Great here already), a hold that to this day thrills me.  It's that good, truly one of the best miniseries of the 1980s.  Yes, it takes license, but the real story is not quite as vivacious, and since it was covered in secrecy and scorn, why not invent some details?  The only facts in the story are gone by 1918.  After that, anyone can have pretty much free reign.  Unlike other "true story" miniseries, this one isn't actually altering facts, just adding details. 

This is a retelling of the story you may have seen in the Ingrid Bergman-Yul Brynner masterpiece "Anastasia," but that one did not even attempt much truth (sumptuous though it is).  This one is closer.  First, let's discuss the facts.  Not disputed is the revolution of 1917 that overthrew the Tsar, who was sent to an outpost with his family and a few servants until the Communists finally solidified their power and had the royal family murdered.  A few years later, a woman popped up claiming to be the Grand Duchess Anastasia, youngest daughter of the Tsar.  For decades until her death in 1980, the woman swore to it.  She had knowledge and even marks on her body that most thought impossible to have unless she was actually Anastasia.  Throw in possibly missing bones from the pit where the dead family was tossed and maybe there was a chance.  The royal family in exile refused to accept Anna Anderson (as she called herself), mainly for political and financial reasons.  By the time this movie was made, that much was the truth.  Since then, however, DNA testing has proven that Anna Anderson was indeed not the Grand Duchess.  Read Peter Kurth's  book (on which this was based) for more details.

In just that description, the story of Anastasia is ripe for miniseriesalization.  Royalty, tragedy, mystery, epic span, that's the kind of stuff the American miniseries thrived on.  Plus, it has parts for oodles of slumming actors (although I wouldn't call this slumming as it's so beautifully done).  It doesn't worry about the truth because it doesn't have to.  Telling the story is more important than the story itself in such a murky historical situation, and this one clicks!

In 1916, St. Petersburg was still the domain of the Tsar and his family, the wealthiest and most autocratic of all the European royal families (though not that many would remain by the end of World War I).  At a grand ball, we meet them: the Tsar (Omar Sharif), the Tsarina (Claire Bloom), the Dowager Empress (Olivia de Havilland, in a Golden Globe-winning/Emmy-nominated performance), four daughters and young Tsarevich Alexis, the sickly heir to the throne.  Okay, fine Omar Sharif is not exactly ideally cast as Nicholas II, but he paints the Tsar with the sympathy this movie desires.  Starting off the dancing, he picks Anastasia, who is stopped by her grandmother and told, "you are my special love, you know."  Supposedly she was the darling of the family. 

A narrator barges in with news from the estimable James Goldman's screenplay that just two months later, "the time was ripe for revolution" based on a number of historical factors.  Just to get it out of the way, Tsarina Alexandra confides in her friend Sophie (Andrea Brettlebauer) that "those terrible people" Lenin, Trotsky and the rest are "in exile" and life would be better "if only Rasputin were alive...he was a saint, you know."  History has told the tale of Rasputin often enough that we can skip it here.  The rising tide of revolution is kept from the children, at least as much as possible, with the Tsarina telling them only half truths. 

Even after the Tsar's abdication in the summer of 1917, the royal family still lives in luxury, with tutors and servants aplenty, at least until they are banished to Siberia.  The Tsar assures his children "by Christmas, we shall all be in London...what matters most is that we are all together."  Ready to go, Anastasia takes one last whirl in the imperial dance floor, covered in darkness.  "I shan't be here again.  We won't be coming back here.  Not ever," is her prophecy to her governess Sasha (Carol Gillies). 

At the train station, a surly soldier demands to know why the Tsar has brought so many people, the entire household.  The soldier says, "I have orders only for your family and the doctor," but the Tsar tries to cling to a vestige of power and scoffs that "I have endured enough."  The soldier backs down and lets everyone on the train, disguised as a Red Cross train.  Christmas passes and they are still in Siberia, with governments in Moscow changing.  Life is not unbearable...yet.

That doesn't happen until the Communists show up, relieving the army of command.  "We did try," the soldier says after being dismissed.  "Where are our friends?  Where's King George?  Where's President Wilson?" an increasingly agitated Tsarina wants to know of her husband, who has the reality of the situation etched on his face.  "Where's your mother?  Safe in England?  How come she can't make them listen.  She could always make you listen," the Tsarina snarls.  That lacks a little historical accuracy, though Alexandra wouldn't have known that.  Maria Fedorovna just barely escaped Russia with her life after a dicey time evading one government or another. 

Anastasia (played as a child by Jennifer Dundas along with Christian Bale's Alexis) is cheeky, demanding to know of the Comrade in charge what their crime is and then why he's so hostile to them.  "Have you ever been in prison?" she asks.  He has, for "printing leaflets."  "That's a lot more than I've done," the perceptive princess notes.  Alexis, having just delivered a speech to his sister about how he's always known he would die young, decides to prove it by riding a sled down the stairs, a dangerous move for such a severe hemophiliac.  Predictably, Alexis is bed-bound and the Comrade is angry, saying, "I have no time to spare...fetch me a doctor from the town, I want another man's opinion" after hearing it could be months before Alexis can be moved. 

Rather than going to Moscow as promised, the royal family is taken to remote Yekaterinburg in the driving rain, where their servants are dismissed except for Dr. Markov (Arnold Diamond).  "You are of no earthly use to me.  You are free to go," the loyal retainers are told, standing in a confused huddle in the rain.  Weeks go by and the family is told nothing of the outside world until hearing artillery in the distance, their saviors. 

In the middle of the night, they are woken up and told "there is an emergency" and they must be moved.  What follows is one of the 20th Century's most defining moments, soaked in truths, half-truths and outright lies by ardent royalists, historical apologists, Communists and everyone else with a theory to share.  One era must end in order for a new one to begin.  We were told that on a very clinical and rational level by Communist intransigence, though nearly a century later it's become obvious that fear was as much a factor as anything else.  The key word in the earlier sentence is "must."  In order for the Communists to secure control over the country, there must be no rivals for power.  Any rival could undermine their shaky government. 

But history isn't our reason for being here.  The American miniseries is.  The family and the doctor wait in a dark basement cell for the next move, not the one expected.  "My orders have finally come.  I am to execute you all."  An overwhelming volley of shots ring out.  With that, the Romanov dynasty comes to a tragic end.  The Romanovs-in-exile are the de facto heads of Russia, but there will be no resurrection of rule.

Berlin, 1923.  A gaunt young woman in rags (Amy Irving) ascends a bridge, crosses herself and jumps.  She is saved and brought to a hospital, forced to stay in the psych ward because no one knows who she is, and that's where attempted suicides go.  Clara (Angela Pleasance), apparently convinces she's a refuge from a Dickens miniseries sporting the dumbest of cockney accents, assures the woman, "I'm as sane as you are."  Yeah, that's why they have given you 80s crazy person make-up (you know the look I'm talking about). 

Dr. Hauser (Edward Fox) takes on the woman's case.  He finds out about the large amount of bullet scars on her body, assuming, like everyone else, that "she got them in the war" since they date back to that period.  She's also "had at least one child and there are signs of malnutrition."  The woman's accent is so upper class British that she can't possibly be working-class German.  That's actually a rare misstep in this production, but typical of the time period.  In order to be a European aristocrat, one has to be able to speak upper class British.  Forget that she's Russian, or maybe German.  Anna Anderson was most definitely not British.  She has no memories and cannot answer Dr. Hauser's questions.  Why did she jump?  "I can't imagine," she says rather regally, if frightened. 

Well, she doesn't make much of a case for herself with her "I can't remember" routine, which leaves her with scary-as-a-clown Clara.  "Once I see a face, I never forget it," Clara keeps telling her, knowing she's seen the mystery woman before.  She instantly figures it out, the woman is the Grand Duchess Anastasia, and she has a magazine picture under her bed to prove it!  "Are you a princess?" Clara asks.  Dr. Hauser doesn't initially get very far with her.  She can't remember why she has scars, but she knows her native language is Russian.  How?  "I dream in Russian," but she refuses to speak it.  When the police return for their report, they need a picture and the big flash sends her into a rage.  "You tried to kill me, but I didn't die!" she yells, going into such a rage that she has to be sedated and put into a padded cell with a straight jacket.

Since the woman has thrown out the name Alexis in her howling, Dr. Hauser asks if it was her dog.  "Don't be ridiculous," she chides, but the woman initially refuses to say more than "they lied to us, that's all they ever did.  They promised we'd be safe and look what happened."  She claims that "they" would kill her if "they knew I was still alive," as Dr. Hauser gets closer to the truth.  She then goes on to describe the shooting and notes that she wished she had died.  "I'm the only one who is left.  Why was I saved?  Why take my brother and not me?  He might have been the Tsar someday."

Bingo!

"I am her Imperial Highness, the Grand Duchess Anastasia," she finally reveals, managing to convey a regal air through an exhausted body and face. 

Dr. Hauser is not convinced, and particularly peeved when it's leaked to the press.  But, he's also rational.  "How many have there been?  Dozens in the last year, they keep cropping up like daisies," he tells his nurse.  It's true.  There was something of a cottage industry of fake Anastasias, along with fake Olgas, fake TatianasHauser perks up.  No one has ever mentioned the dog's name before. 

The doctor invites family members to come see her, but the head of the family keeps them away, all except for Prince Erich (a devastatingly handsome Jan Niklaus, who is invented for this story as the Yul Brynner character was in the other version), a very distant relative.  "I never thought she'd be so beautiful" is his reaction," since there weren't too many lookers among European royals of the period.  Anna, as she is now called, sits in a chair with a stiff back and majestic bearing to receive her visitor.  "You've come to test me," she immediately realizes, so she tells Erich what she remembers and what she's been told: she survived, was found by a peasant, was taken to Bucharest and lived there recovering for two years.  She remembers nothing of Bucharest, not an address, "no witnesses to anything," as Prince Erich puts it.  She married the peasant and bore him a son, but both died, but the baby died and the husband was murdered for her jewels.  It's the jewels that interest Dr. Hauser as they had always been cited as a possible way for survival.  Sewn into their gowns (a historically accurate fact), the gems could have deflected bullets.  Okay, not the zillions that went into the Romanovs, but it's been an important rallying point.  She wandered around after that, remembering her paternal grandmother, but got as far as Berlin. 

"Drivel.  I've never heard such patent drivel in all my life."  That's the word of the Grand Duke Cyril (Rex Harrison), the family's leader, and the one with the most to lose should one of the Tsar's daughters be alive (his own relatives had nothing but nasty things to say about him in the decades following the Russian Revolution, and this miniseries treats him no better).  Cyril can easily shoot holes in Anna's story, especially the peasant and all that nonsense.  Erich decides to "risk it," though Cyril feels there is no risk, and bring Anna to someone who knew her, not a relative who barely every saw her.  Grand Duchess Victoria (Rachel Gurney) takes Prince Erich's side and goes off to find people who fit that bill.  "You should meet her," Erich tells Cyril.  "Never." 

Anna is brought to the mansion, where it has been decided Sophie will be the one to meet her.  She has been forced to confront many of the frauds, and this one is particularly challenging because "of all the girls, Anna was my favorite," she tells Victoria.  It starts off poorly when Anna asks if they have met before.  "You should recognize me, Anastasia would!" Sophie barks.  But, Anna gets there, though Sophie is unconvinced.  She has no items of Anastasia's and she refuses to speak Russian (upper crust British will have to do).  "It's not her face, it's not her voice.  I don't know who you are," is the judgment.  Anna falls to the floor in dejection.  Prince Erich is "convinced she is real" and tells the doctor so, because he saw Sophie's face.  He refuses to give up. 

In fact, Erich is so full of energy for her cause that he takes Anna to his home, buys her a wardrobe and forces her to confront the world.  He explains to her that his family was killed by the Bolsheviks and then the fortune was seized when the Kaiser abdicated.  "The truth is, we were born to late.  We don't belong in the 1920s.  I was raised to be a prince and you know what that means.  I can talk along with any subject, but I have no useful skills," he tells her.  If you are a cynic, this is the time to start wondering why Erich believes her.  Is it to regain his lost life?  Anna wonders, and his answer is awfully wan.  The cynics can still hope that he's a rascal and a liar. 

As Erich launches Anna into society, they of course fall in love, a gooey situation that we knew was inevitable and simply have to suffer through because it's a miniseries and these are the rules.  "Mama never let us go to restaurants, or if she did, I can't remember," Anna says (it's a pretty safe bet that the Russian royal family never went to a restaurant).  "Poor Princess," Erich jokes and then gives her a portrait of a young Anastasia right there in the restaurant. 

When a lady friend of Erich's sees him in the restaurant, she gets all catty and demands an introduction.  "Isabel von Hohenstauffen...Anastasia Romanov," he smoothly announces to a shocked Isabel (Elke Sommer), who not wonders aloud of Cyril knows, but then snarls at how Anna has so bewitches Erich.  "It's simply too amusing, you introducing me to her with a straight face.  Me, a Hohenstauffen?" she laughs, though her familial dynasty had been dead for centuries.  "It might interest you to know I knew the Romanovs, and you are nothing like them, my dear, nothing.  I don't know where you get the nerve...all she wants is money," the aging Isabel intones.  "She's an empty-headed bitch," Erich tells Anna, noting that situations like this will occur.

At Erich's summer house, he has umpteen pictures laid out to prompt Anna.  "Oh, Erich, is this really going to work?"  "It's the only way," he replies, awfully sure of his plan.  That's all well and good, but the bad news is that the Dowager Empress has denied her request to be seen.  "I only want what's mine, my name," Anna complains, but Erich reminds her of "the power and position" that accompany the name and the family is concerned about all of that, even if she isn't.  "We must find a memory in that head of yours that only Anastasia could know, something in no book or photograph," he tells her matter-of-fact.  And then day in, day out, he drills her.  Eventually, she just happens to remember her mother's brother paying a visit in 1916, which should strike you as odd (it does to Erich) because Germany and Russia were on opposite sides of the war and the Duke of Hesse paying a visit would had to have been done with the utmost secrecy. 

The great Olivia de Havilland works her talent effortlessly.  Her daughter tries to convince her to see the woman, but the Dowager Empress knows the pitfalls of that, so she rallies the troops.  "How many have we?" she asks, before being wheeled in to see them.  "Sixteen?  Sixteen Romanovs in one room?  It's been some time," she marvels, with just a hint of sarcasm.  But get her big moment!  "Stop!" she tells her retainer.  "I wish to make an entrance," she commands and gets up to do it on her own.  Decades of experience went into that line and the entrance, all done flawlessly.  "There are 47 Romanovs alive in Europe at this time.  The issue we must face is, are there 48?  We must speak about this Anastasia woman," she commands with an iron whisper, but Cyril is determined to shoot holes in the memory.  No one remembers the Duke of Hesse's visit, and he himself has denied it, though she can chalk that up to his "political ambitions."  The scene, which is really between Olivia de Havilland and Rex Harrison, two old pros, crackles with perfection.  Goldman's writing is thorough and efficient, and the arguments and counterarguments are the summation of the whole movie, delivered without the woman's presence.  It's all about politics.

Obviously it's too premature for Maria Fedorovna to see Anna, but she can keep sending the minions, and a train load of them arrives to make their judgments.  Princess Olga has brought all of the closest family servants with her at the thrilling conclusion of the miniseries' first portion.  She recognizes them all: Sasha, her governess, her tutor, Dr. Markov's children, including Serge (Nicholas Surovy) and the others.  "It's not a question of your recognizing them.  It's whether they know you," Aunt Olga says.  Serge insists it's Anastasia, but the older retainers deny her.  "There has been only one resurrection," she is told, and when Sasha denies her, it's over.  Prince Erich knows they are all playing politics and exposes the naysayers for their politics (as well as the cheerleaders, who have them too).  "The Empress needs proof," Aunt Olga says.  "What we know is that we shall never know," she says as final judgement.  "I hope you suffer.  I hope you all suffer," Anna rails as she runs from the train.  "You won't ever see the Empress now," Prince Erich admits, and Anna knows it's true.  "We have each other, that's enough," Erich says.

But is it?  That route to her grandmother may be closed, but all is not lost.  Serge jumps off the train.  A newspaper reporter now, Serge "knows a story," for sure, and follows Anna to Erich's summer cottage, claiming "I wouldn't hurt her for the world" to Erich. 

Before Serge comes back into things, there is a rather useless scene where Erich proposes to Anna (after giving her a tiara).  We know they don't get married because Anna did not marry until years later, and it was to an American.  It's her reasons for saying no that are important.  As much of a fortune hunter as Erich may be, Anna is obsessed with proving who she is, and will not let anything, not even love or marriage, stand in her way.

Serge wants to take Anna to America, for "publicity."  They all feel that if Anna dazzles the American public, it will "put pressure on the family."  That's a rather dubious outcome, considering how titled Europe felt about Americans, but Anna doesn't know that.  She's a meal ticket for many now.  But, where better to put on a grand show than in America, loaded with money and success after the world war, unlike Europe, and dying for royalty in any form.  Erich doesn't want to be a part of it and will not go. 

She goes anyway, and the adoration starts on the crossing, where the ship's captain lets her man the wheel as she tells stories about being on her father's yacht.  "You are a real-life fairy tale," Serge tells her, as telegrams pour into the ship.  "After tomorrow, no more privacy.  What you will be is a celebrity!" he says, much to her bewilderment, but his own satisfaction.  America in the 1920s created more phony celebrities than even 80 or 90 years later.  The history books are filled with people and their 15 minutes even before Andy Warhol coined the phrase.  And boy did America love royalty! 

A mob scene is there to watch Anna disembark, with bands and flowers, the whole deal.  Serge's paper, particularly its editor Harvey Coward (Shane Rimmer) have made sure Anna is a sensation wherever she goes, with constant press coverage.  She catches on very quickly, giving a royal wave to the crowd at the hotel, where they are flying the Imperial Russian flag.  Serge is in it only for the money (his paper is paying for everything), but he knows how to lay it on thick to keep Anna interested.  He produces a sketch of Anastasia he did years ago (we saw it in an earlier scene). 

Anna is showered in furs, jewels and clothing, on loan, giving her a dizzying sense of self.  Swathed in only the best and most luxurious, fit for a princess, Anna is taken to meet New York's Russian emigres, including Darya, a Romanov cousin (Susan Lucci) married to an American.  Darya insists she's Anastasia from across the room.  "You can't imagine what it means to us, having you here.  It means so much," she says, speaking for the whole community, desperate to believe, and all looking for some glamour.  And they get it.  In a scene reminiscent of the first in the movie, Anna is paraded into a room, announced by her formal title, where rows and rows of elegantly-dressed White Russians bow to her properly and kiss her hand.  A single tear runs down Anna's cheek as she walks the line, but one can't help but wonder just what it's for.  Is she now so enamored of the idea of being Anastasia, that she revels in the pomp, or is she a tad ashamed?  And the crowd doesn't really care if she is Anastasia or not; they want a return to glory, American style, which means faux-European style.  Dig the reaction of Princess Troubestskaya (Betty Marsden), whose over the top hand-kissing and insistence that Anastasia has the Tsarina's eyes cause even Darya to gag a bit. 

"I feel as though you've changed my whole life," Anna tells Darya.  "Not yet, but I will!  How can the Empress not embrace you?  But she will, you'll see," a confident Darya insists. 

Erich, upset at the publicity machine and the changes he feels just from Anna's telegrams, heads off to see the Dowager Empress, who is ill in bed.  "Do you think I care what anyone in America thinks?  At my age, I don't much care what anyone thinks," she huffs, but she is reading the articles.  "She's a pretty thing, I'll give you that.  I take it you're in love with her?  What's that to me?  Is that supposed to sway my feelings?" she asks.  Maria wants to believe Anna is Anastasia, but she has to maintain the demeanor of one who doesn't believe, because believing is too politically charged.  After giving a speech about being on the throne herself, she asks, "what does she look like, this love of yours," careful to phrase it as such, but the veneer slips a bit when she asks, "does she resemble me at all?"  When she realizes she may be revealing too much, she sends Erich off and confides to her daughter she is considering receiving Anna, "just to see the look on Cyril's face," though it's obvious she truly wants to believe her granddaughter is still alive. 

They will never meet as the Dowager Empress dies.  Anna and Darya get the news while enjoying themselves at a lunch, watching young girls dance.  Darya has just confessed to having married her husband because "I had the title and he had the money.  Be careful who you envy, Anna, and be careful what you throw away," she wisely tells Anna.  She reminds Anna of all that comes with the title, mainly the money, telling her not to put it in front of love.  Whatever chance Anna had of being recognized is now officially dead along with the Empress. 

Serge has instructed Darya not to tell Anna of the Empress' death, but Anna stops by a store selling Russian artifacts and recognizes items from her past.  When the shopkeeper recognizes her, he shows her everything he has, including a Faberge egg that was a gift from the Empress (in fact, the gift would have gone the other way, as her husband started the tradition of giving her the eggs and her son kept it up as long as he could).  "Oh, I'm so sorry," the man says after mentioning the Empress.  "Don't!" Darya jumps in, but Anna knows something is wrong and Darya has to tell her the truth right there.  Initially calm, Anna sees a doll and goes into full hysterics over the entire situation.  The script doesn't show it, but Anna knows, even if not fully, that it's over.

Darya is more certain.  "He's the only one that counts," she tells Serge, who has started to believe the hoopla he created.  "Damn.  Damn!  Why did the Empress have to die?" he asks.  He knows it's over too.  Cyril gathers the family in mourning and officially denounces Anna, "this creature living in New York."  The European Romanovs are commanded to go along with Cyril's denial.  He growls at the press and even threatens to sue her if she continues her quest.  "We will not tolerate this folly any longer," he barks and stalks off, followed by the family.

In New York, the emigre community gathers at a church to pay their respects to the Dowager Empress.  The same people who clasped Anna to their bosoms are shocked to see her at the church.  Darya senses their anger and tells Anna, "I should never have let you come."  "Look at her, dressed in black, as if she ever knew the Empress.  I actually kissed her hand.  The little witch made fools of us," Princess Troubetskaya clucks so Anna can hear.  No, Princess, you made fools of yourselves, believing only what you were told and now doing it again, just in reverse.  The Princess gets even nastier, and Anna argues.  Darya tries to tell her, "they don't matter," but when even the priest ignores her, Anna gets hysterical on the church steps and makes the scene worse.  "They never believed in me, not any of them!" she yells.  "It's not as if the whole world is against you," Darya tells her.  Anna decides there to take Cyril to court, using his words against him.  "You can't defy the family," Darya recommends.  "No, just watch me," Anna decides and strides off. 

The paper re-assigns Serge to another story because the family denial has deflated the story?  "Who should you believe?  Our articles or every living Romanov?" his boss muses.  "She's a dead horse, she's not going anywhere."  Not only are the stories over, but the bill paying is also ending.  "When a stock stops making money, you unload it," he tells Serge, making him lower the boom.  When he gives Anna the news, he also admits he doesn't believe she's Anastasia.  "Who in God's name do you think I am?"  "I have no idea," he confesses before she slaps him.  "You're worse than Cyril, he's a monster, but he doesn't hide it," before answering the door for the men who have come to collect the luxury items on loan.  Even Darya turns her back on Anna.  Cyril has "ordered" her to turn Anna way.  "We must follow him as if he were the Tsar," she reminds Anna.  "If I were to stand up to Cyril, I would be in disgrace and I would risk losing Billy wouldn't I?  There are more titles in this world than millionaires and I can't risk losing what I have...for anything, not even you" she confesses honestly.  "Can you forgive me?" Darya asks.  Oh, no!  Anna isn't that much of a doormat. 

Alone and homeless, Anna has a cup of coffee in a diner, rips up the picture of young Anastasia and Prince Erich comes in to rescue her.  Okay, it's a dopey touch, I'll admit it.  "You came for me?"  "I should have done it long ago.  I'm not good without you and you are clearly a disaster without me," he tells her.  Erich, the one we expected to be the biggest grabber of all, is her true love, Anna's true love.  They even get a bedroom scene. 

The next morning, Erich tells Anna of his conversation with the Empress and he thinks she should sue Cyril.  They hire a no-nonsense lawyer, Kurt Vermehren (Jerome Willis).  He asks her why she wants to bother.  "So when the stonemasons go to carve my tombstone, they'll have a name to put on there," she replies.  She wants to no money and she knows the case may drag on for years, with Cyril holding her "up to public ridicule."  Still, she insists on the suit.  "Every history book in print tells us you're dead," he reminds her.  "I've found no evidence that supports your claim."  Plus, Anna and Erich have no money, whereas Cyril has unlimited resources.  Kurt insists on dental tests, ear tests, psychiatric tests, all of it.  Against all odds, and all of Kurt's scare tactics, Anna vows to fight.  "I don't propose to lose this case, but at this point, I don't have one," he says, convinced to help her when she said she only wanted her name. 

Anna undergoes hypnosis where the doctor takes her back to the night of the killing and she either gives a great performance or actually writhes in pain remembering it.  Ultimately, Anna and Cyril are in the same room as their lawyers argue.  "When I'm done with you Madam, you'll have nothing, you'll be torn to ribbons," the cranky patriarch scowls. 

There was no final proof that Anna was or was not Anastasia and after decades of wrangling, Anna moved to the United States as the sort of kookie old lady in the style of Grey Gardens. 

Did Anna believe what she was saying?  Did she want to be head of a dynasty (which did not allow female heads except under extreme circumstances.

The story of Anna is certainly captivating, but told many times.  What makes it work so well here is, first, James Goldman's script.  He looks at this from all angles.  The condescension of Grand Duke Cyril is natural, but the reactions of Darya and various other people who knew Anastasia is layered with everything but the truth.  Everyone here has an angle, even, perhaps, Anna herself.  Goldman goes to great lengths to show us Anna only when she believes everything she is saying, but by doubting the story just enough through other, more mercenary characters, it's impossible not to wonder if she's not just giving a performance.

Of course, the actors are next in line.  Amy Irving, always a terrific actress, gives a remarkable performance.  Too old to play Anna, she nevertheless shatters all of that.  She has the regal air of a princess when she needs it, but underneath lurks a broken peasant.  Her performance adds to the mystery.  Olivia de Havilland cannot possibly equal what Helen Hayes did in "Anastasia," but Hayes had the advantage of a scene with her granddaughter, not at all historically accurate, that de Havilland does not have the chance to play.  That's okay, she has plenty to do and really does turn in a fascinating performance, her second-to-last as of this writing, and her best of the late-career roles she took (only Aunt Bessie in "The Woman He Loved" was left after this one).  Rex Harrison is appropriately nasty, and Jan Niklas is both romantic and a bit shady.  Even Susan Lucci gets caught up in the fun and has a grand time playing a vivacious Russian emigre. 

This story just refuses to die because it's so juicy.  Anna got so far in her quest to prove she was Anastasia and if she ultimately failed, one would believe that it was a fickle public and politics that doomed her, rather than the truth.  In this version, the truth hardly matters.  In the 20th Century, the world saw the end to nearly every royal dynasty (the Windsors had position, but no power and the royalty of places like The Netherlands and Monte Carlo in Europe escaped with decorum, but not much else) and their prestige was replaced by the concept of celebrity.  One didn't need a title to be a celebrity, but in this story, it sure as hell was a good impetus.  That's really the heft behind the story here, good old Jazz Age hucksterism.