Read something by Tolstoy Instead (of watching The Last Station)

What's with the incredible fascination with the last days of Tolstoy? So many writers have been drawn to that trope, the old man, surrounded by sycophants and bloodsuckers, trying to shed all his worldly wealth, fighting with his wife, at last lurching off to a remote railway station where he dies - with the world press waiting beside the railroad tracks, one of the first great celebrity media events of the modern world. The movie "The Last Station" (by Michael Hoffman, based on Jay Parini's novel) faithfully tells the story but adds little to the well-trod ground. It's a typically BBC-type high-production value enterprise, with a great star turn by Helen Mirren as Countess Tolstoy. Christopher Plummer got an Oscar nod for his Tolstoy, but I don't see why: big, bombastic, but strip away the beard and the peasant outfits and there was nothing special I thought. The special twist on the story is that most of it is seen through the eyes of Tolstoy's secretary (Bulgokov?, played by MacAvoy is what's become a typecast for him as the acolyte to the tortured great man, cf Last King of Scotland). Bulgokov struggling with conflicted ideas and loyalties: should he be spying on Tolstoy? Must he be a true Tolstoyan and remain celibate, despite the advances of sexy, athletic co-worker (what do you think? any guesses?). The fact is there was nothing to make the movie interesting or moving as a story, a drama. The orchestral score - surging strings, an occasional trilling on the piano - was noisome. Do yourself a favor and read something by Tolstoy instead, maybe The Death of Ivan Illyich.