REVIEW: Rebecca

Netflix's new film, Rebecca, follows a young woman withering beneath the shadow of her new husband's first wife. In the spirit of life imitating art, this film competes with the memory of not only the acclaimed 1938 novel written by Daphne de Maurier, upon which this movie is based, but an also illustrious film adaptation in 1940 directed by Alfred Hitchcock, a film adaptation that took the 1941 Oscar for best picture. The comparison on its own threatens to drown this new adaptation, but it need not. Whether viewers are returning to the world of Mrs. de Winter once more or setting foot in de Maurier's vivid landscape for the first time, the halls of Manderley are as vibrant as ever in this new adaptation.

It may surprise uninitiated viewers to learn that "Rebecca" is not the name of our protagonist. In fact, "Rebecca" is never seen within the film. But that does not stop her from impeding on the life of our leading lady. Despite a thrilling romance with the handsome Maxim de Winter, and despite him whisking her away to live with him in the enchanting Manderley estate, she is a bird in a cage. She, unlike Rebecca, has no name and lives in deference to the ghost of her new husband's first wife, whom she could never hope to emulate. Just ask Mrs. Danvers, the head of Manderley household, who never wastes a moment to slyly suggest that the new Mrs. de Winter will never measure up to the phantasmal Rebecca and that her beloved Maxim could never truly love her. Try as she may to step into Rebecca's shoes, each new effort to prove her place alongside Maxim only further reveals just how tightly Rebecca grips her husband's heart, such that they may never be free to be happy together.

This adaptation makes no significant departures from de Maurier's novel, but it still allows for some artistic flairs, incentives for lovers of past iterations to collect this telling as well. One character receives an extra degree of closure not given in either the novel nor the 1940 film, for example. Director Ben Wheatley creates new emotional textures even for loyal fans of the story.

Speaking of fairy-tales, the central role feels like a natural extension of Lily James' work as Cinderella five years back, yet James treats Mrs. de Winter as a separate entity. Nothing about our protagonist's posture, speech, or energy signals that this character sees herself as a fairy-tale princess. (Indeed, Mrs. de Winter is not, as she is unceasingly reminded.) What James does carry over from her turn as Cinderella is the same measure of commitment, embodying the psyche of her character wholly, effortlessly.

Opposite James is Armie Hammer as the enticing yet unknowable Maxim de Winter. His Maxim is indeed a man of secrets, and he is so effective at making him inaccessible to Mrs. de Winter that he sometimes risks shutting out the audience as well. Even so, Hammer's picture of Maxim de Winter balances the fine line between refined and tortured.

The film's star player, however, is indisputably Kristin Scott Thomas as the icy Mrs. Danvers. She manages to have it both ways with her portrayal, making this antagonist both impermeable and charismatic. Beneath her icy pallor and glass-like tone of voice are electric eyes that never let the audience forget who is in control of Manderley.

Where the canvas of the 1940 film was all black and white, this adaptation swims in technicolor and takes full advantage of this toolset. The screen plays with lights and shadows in a way that makes even the waking sequences feel dreamlike, and when it calls for it, nightmarish. From the honeymoon-colored Monte Carlo where our leading lady is swept away in romance, to the grimly radiant Manderley estate that swallows her, the backdrops of this movie are lovingly rendered. In turns haunting, seductive, and embracing, the film's visuals blend perfectly with the modern fairy-tale make-up of the story.

These delicate images are crafted into a number of stream-of-consciousness style montages that thrust the viewer into the whirlpool of Mrs. de Winter's world as it unravels around her. Special attention must be given to the production crew, especially editor Jonathan Amos, for allowing the very cloth of the film to become an active agent in the audience's interaction with the narrative.

If there is a complaint to be had, the pacing doesn't let the audience come up for air much, particularly in the middle third. A few of the narrative's high-volume emotional moments occur on top of one another and nearly cancel each other out.

The running question through this film is whether or not Mrs. de Winter can ever outshine Rebecca, and the film's answer is much more imaginative than a recycled sermon on individuality or awkward geekiness as its own flavor of grace. Agency is the name of the game, and it's only as Mrs. de Winter realizes that she is in fact the main character of her own story, not a supporting character in Rebecca's, that the veils start to fall. It's a terribly romantic admonition at that: believing in love, are rather believing you are deserving of love, is the key to self-actualizing. We never learn Mrs. de Winter's real name, but the audience learns it won't need it. We know who she is.

Despite the condensing of the narrative, this adaptation shines independent of the masterful novel and masterful film predecessor. Rebecca has haunted readers and viewers for over eighty years now. With a second remarkable film entering the conversation, she won't be letting go any time soon.

--The Professor

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