Just as every generation gets its own version of The Three Musketeers, we seem destined to get a fresh take on Daphne Du Maurier’s Rebecca every few decades.
It’s hard to top Alfred Hitchcock’s first crack at the novel, back in 1940. For my money, it’s the only adaptation that looks right, thanks to George Barnes ominously moody monochromatic cinematography (which won a well-deserved Academy Award). This is a truly gothic tale; it requires black-and-white cinematography, to highlight all the dark corners and foreboding shadows of one of literature’s most infamous estates.
The new Mrs. de Winter (Lily James, seated), wholly unfamiliar with her new aristocratic
surroundings, is easy prey for the waspish, scheming housekeeper, Mrs. Danvers
(Kristin Scott Thomas).
No fewer than six television adaptations followed, the most notable arriving via PBS; in 1979, on Mystery, and in 1997, on Masterpiece Theatre. Although both are excellent, with terrific casts, they’re too “pretty,” thanks to the color cinematography.
The same is true of this newest adaptation, which arrives as a Netflix original. The cast is strong, with excellent performances from Lily James, Kristin Scott Thomas and Armie Hammer. But Laurie Rose’s opulent cinematography once again is too lush; his outdoor vistas — particularly a breathtaking establishing shot of a beach, from a vantage point out in the ocean — have the striking, painterly quality of a postcard.
This would be fine, if Rose supplied sufficient contrast with the mansion’s many interior sequences. But he doesn’t; nor does director Ben Wheatley seem sufficiently interested in adhering to the story’s gothic atmosphere. He and his scripters — Jane Goldman, Joe Shrapnel and Anna Waterhouse — fail to understand that the Manderley estate is as much a character as its inhabitants.
That said, this film is true to the story’s 1930s setting, which is equally essential.
Following a fleeting prologue, during which James gives us the novel’s famous opening line — “Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again” — the story emerges as a lengthy flashback.
She stars as a young woman — never granted a name — introduced as a “paid companion” to the insufferably condescending Mrs. Van Hopper (Ann Dowd). They’re vacationing in Monte Carlo; the young woman is reminded constantly of her lower social status by her mean-spirited patron, who spends considerable time sharing gossip with equally vacuous female aristocrats.
Mrs. Van Hopper goes all a-flutter over the arrival of George Fortescue Maximilian (“Maxim”) de Winter (Hammer), known to be traveling as a means of getting over the tragic death of his beloved wife, Rebecca. Mrs. Van Hopper yearns to spend time with him, but Maxim has the good taste to politely rebuff her. But he also notices the way she mistreats her young companion, and — initially out of pity — shares a meal with her.
And is instantly charmed.
How could he not be? James is effervescent: her eyes literally dancing atop one of cinema’s most radiant smiles. She makes this young woman utterly alluring: quietly beautiful in the manner of one who doesn’t know how pretty she is. She’s also sensitive, and quickly perceives Maxim’s concealed anguish.
She has a healing effect on him; Hammer allows a happier side to emerge, as Maxim’s initial sympathy turns into genuine fondness. The resulting whirlwind courtship is glorious, filling a lengthy first act. (Rose’s vibrantly colorful cinematography is perfect here.) They marry, and he brings her home to the massive estate — Manderley — which has been in the family for 300 years.
They’re greeted by the huge staff, and most notably by the head housekeeper, Mrs. Danvers (Scott Thomas). The new Mrs. de Winter can’t help noticing the displeasure that wafts from Danvers, like an icy chill. “Don’t worry,” Maxim insists, seeing his new wife’s concerned expression. “She’s not as scary as she seems.”
(We call this ironic foreshadowing.)
Danvers is as scary as she seems. Not to mention smart, and scheming, with the malevolent nature of a Borgia. Danvers remains devoted to Rebecca’s memory; like Mrs. Van Hopper, she views the new Mrs. de Winter as an impertinent interloper inappropriately granted access to a life above her station.
Danvers takes every opportunity to exploit the young woman’s unfamiliarity with this upper-class lifestyle, and constantly evokes the late Rebecca’s “far superior” way of doing things. Rebecca’s monograms are everywhere, from glassware and linens, to hairbrushes and bedding.
Most of the servants, long cowed by Danvers, do nothing to stop this campaign of humiliation. (One exception is Clarice, the new Mrs. de Winter’s lady’s maid, sensitively played by Bryony Miller.)
What follows is the saga of three very different women — one of whom isn’t even alive! — fighting for psychological dominance in a house that can only ever be owned by the estate’s male heirs.
That’s the crux of Du Maurier’s story, but it’s the least effective element of Wheatley’s film. He spends too much time in Monte Carlo, and similarly devotes too much time to the explosive third act (which cannot be discussed here, due to spoilers). He doesn’t give enough space to Danvers’ so-malignantly-subtle assault on the younger woman; instead, we get just a couple of incidents that come and go much too quickly. There’s no intensity, and no sense of the passage of weeks and months necessary for this to feel credible.
(In case you’re wondering, Maxim isn’t around to help his new wife, because he’s forever “busy running the estate.”)
The dynamic also is wrong; James puts far too much 21st century feminist spirit into her performance. Sure, the new Mrs. de Winter is intimidated, and embarrassed by constantly putting her feet wrong. But she’s also plucky and feisty, and knows how to fight back; this is more of battle of equals, than the progressive gaslighting of a fragile victim played more accurately by Joan Fontaine, in Hitchcock’s film.
This approach may feel more satisfying to today’s viewers, but it’s not true to who this young woman would have been, given her initial circumstances in the 1930s.
Scott Thomas is sublimely chilling as the sinister Danvers, her thin-lipped, condescending twitch of a half-smile positively predatory. She hovers in the corners of the mansion’s opulent rooms, like a watchful black widow. Her soft-spoken comments and put-downs are sharp enough to flay skin.
Hammer works hard to deliver the angst and often withdrawn silences prompted by The Secret He Carries, and he’s mostly successful. At times, though, it’s hard to reconcile the stoic aloofness he displays in Manderley, or his short-tempered outbursts, with the kind and charming gentleman so deeply in love, that he was in Monte Carlo.
Keeley Hawes is warm and gracious as Maxim’s sister Beatrice, who treats her brother’s new wife with kindness. Tom Goodman-Hill is equally compassionate as Frank Crawley, Maxim’s trusted advisor and best friend. Sam Riley is suitably smarmy as Jack Favell, Rebecca’s first cousin, now somehow in league with Danvers.
Production designer Sarah Greenwood is kept busy, to say the least; Manderley may not have the right atmosphere, but its many rooms are no less imposing. I also love the detail found within the small, rustic beach house, which served as something of a retreat for Rebecca.
Costume designer Julian Day’s contribution is superb. All elements considered, we’ve no doubt of the authenticity of time and place.
I wish similar attention had been paid to the equally essential story elements.
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