Minerva's Ramblings: Rebecca (2020)

 

When I heard Netflix was releasing a new Rebecca, I was thrilled and couldn’t wait to watch it. Then I saw the trailer, and my first impression was, oh god, the casting is all wrong. It is not that I dislike any of the actors – far from it. Lily James is a pretty good actress and Armie Hammer can be reasonably charming when he wants (and I think Kristen Scott Thomas is simply fabulous, but more on that later), but the lead pair were nothing like the book’s protagonists, either as individual characters or their dynamic as a couple.

One of the book’s major themes is the glaring incongruity between the two main characters, to such an extent it makes both the readers as well as the other characters, quite uncomfortable and more than a little mystified to see them together. In fact, this premise forms the crux of the entire plot. The new Mrs. de Winter (never named) is little more than a child. She is timid and inexperienced. She is a wallflower, and her lack of presence stems not so much from being inherently unattractive, but rather because she is at that awkward halfway stage in life, neither sufficiently childlike to be cute, nor yet woman enough to be noticed, either for her looks or her personality. Lily James, while young-looking is not schoolgirl young-looking, and while the movie doesn’t portray her as a raving beauty, it is entirely plausible to imagine that there are men who would find her attractive enough to fall in love with and to marry. I believe her constant jumping around and general skittishness throughout the movie are meant to make her more true-to-form, but without the physical appearance to go with it, her character’s actions lack motive and just make her look neurotic.

As for Maxim de Winter, he is a 42-year-old, suave, polished, man-of-the-world with an air of romantic mystery and a streak of – what? Cruelty? Sadism? Or is he simply a cold-hearted bastard? We read on, because we want to find out. In contrast, Armie Hammer comes off as your typical rom-com hero. Sure, he is a bit moody at times (his wife died a year ago, let’s cut him some slack!), but nothing a seaside drive and some sex on the beach cannot cure. Hammer’s Mr. de Winter is clearly enamoured by James’ Mrs. de Winter right from the start – so there is none of the “does he love her? What’s his deal?” sexual tension that is felt by readers and Mrs. de Winter alike throughout the book.

And with regards to the conspicuous age difference emphasized in the book – nothing. Now I understand that sanitizing and “normalizing” the entire relationship dynamic was probably a deliberate choice by the director to prevent viewers getting too disturbed – brooding middle-aged billionaire marries destitute teenager and treats her like shit is probably not your average movie-goer’s cup of tea – but the whole point of Rebecca is to unsettle readers, foreshadow like hell create tension and make them sit around nervously waiting for things to get progressively worse. Conversely, there is zero tension created in this adaptation, and whatever disagreements there are between the lead pair come across as petty bickering by your average couple over random issues.

I have not seen the classic Hitchcock version, but from what I read about it (and have seen from his other films) its forte is the atmospheric tension that is created, whether by use of light and shadow, claustrophobic imagery or melodramatic performances. I feel like in trying to get as far away from that film as possible, Ben Wheatley creates a more normal world with normal people who act, well, a lot more normally.

And that is a pity, because a normal Rebecca is no different from your normal daytime soap drama. What makes the book (I will not comment on Hitchcock as I have not seen it) a masterpiece is that everything about it is so freakishly abnormal (it is a Gothic romance/ thriller, for crying out loud!) – starting from the relationship between the de Winters, to the forbidding Manderley estate, to the ever-present yet elusive titular character, to the delightfully ghoulish housekeeper.

Ahhhh…something I enjoyed about the movie that I can finally sink my teeth into. Ms. Thomas never disappoints, and her take on the perfectly respectable, alarmingly efficient and fiendishly creepy housekeeper descending surely into madness was a delight to watch unfold. Unfortunately, in a completely normal movie with completely normal characters this whole act is somewhat out of place, and you never quite feel that sense of panic and encroaching terror as you look on with revulsion and a certain morbid relish as Rebecca (and Rebecca) closes in on you, egged on by the relentless Mrs. Danvers. 

Rebecca herself is the central character in the book. She is whom the book is named after; she is the mystery that, along with the nameless second Mrs. de Winter, we crack our brains to solve. We, along with Mrs. de Winter, are in turn awed, fascinated and repulsed by her. We hate her. We fear her. We wish we were her, with her adoring minions and her fuck-all attitude to life. How du Maurier manages to make us feel such a visceral connection to what is, technically, not even a ghost but simply a figment of imagination (Mrs. de Winter’s) and a memory (everyone else’s) is testament to the brilliance of her writing. The movie, on the other hand, never really concerns itself with who Rebecca is – is she a ghost? Is she dead? Is she alive? What does she want? The movie never raises these questions, and we never really care (neither does Mrs. de Winter, it would seem).

Without this, whatever remaining potential the movie has for dramatic tension, simply flies out the window. We are just watching an oversized, over-decorated mansion full of servants ruled by a manic housekeeper who in turn has to suffer the antics of a neurotic (with no reason to be) young woman who just so happens to be married to Mr. California with bad British accent a 1930s poster boy.

Before I dig myself in even deeper, however, let me touch upon a few general points I did like about this movie. The visuals are gorgeous, particularly in the earlier shots, where the South of France is depicted in all its lush, romantic glory. While I would have liked a more overtly gothic feel to the Manderley estate, based on the mood the director was going for (most definitely not gothic) the mansion was faithfully presented, and managed to look sufficiently grand and imposing. I also thought the costumes were beautifully done, apart from that unforgivable mustard suit, which gives us our first impression of the hapless Mr. de Winter.

Now that that’s done, all that remains is the ridiculous long-drawn-out ending, which was about as entertaining (and painful) as shaving my legs. The big reveal where we finally realize what a cruel, manipulative bitch Rebecca really was and that Maxim never loved her, hated her guts, in fact, is a HUGE moment in the book, for us as well as Mrs. de Winter herself. Along with her, we are relieved to learn that all along Maxim has been haunted and tortured by the memory of Rebecca, which is why he has been acting like a dick all this time, not because he is a dick in general. Now that he is “free” of her memory and the guilt of it all (wait, what?), he is free to love his new little wife in the way she truly deserves. We shed a collective tear of happiness and go “awwwww” (that he killed his supposedly pregnant wife and then buried her at sea is merely a plot point of minor inconvenience we love to forget as hastily as the new Mrs. de Winter).

This is, in my opinion, one of the most momentous reveals in classic literature, not just because of what is revealed, but rather more because of how it makes us feel as readers and in turn what that makes us, as humans – are we truly so blinded by the glamour of a pretty romance that we are willing to forgive our protagonist of murder? Where is our moral code? (And shockingly, where is Mrs. de Winters’?). Du Maurier forces us to look inwards, to ask ourselves these deeply disturbing questions, even as we rejoice at Maxim and his wife riding off into the sunset. The book, mercilessly, leaves us with zero closure – Maxim’s beloved Manderley, the pride of his heart, is burned to ashes, Mrs. Danvers is nowhere to be found and all we are left with are the haunting words of the Mrs. de Winter the Second, "Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again." We have no idea where the de Winters go from here, only that they can never go home.

The climactic scene in the movie, however, is about as flat as week-old Coke and, rather than the disturbing anti-heroic killer Maxim reveals himself to be, Armie Hammer comes off as a whiny wimp, which is a considerable feat given that he has just confessed to have murdered his wife and what he thinks is her unborn baby. 

As if suddenly realizing its viewers could care less about anything by this point, the movie then decides to go off on a tangent to compensate for all this lack of. What follows is a bewildering and ultimately pointless chase scene in which Lily James mysteriously transmorphs into Nancy Drew. To add to it, she and Mrs. Danvers have a seaside face-off, culminating in Mrs. Danvers' graceful descent into the sea, a scene worthy of giving Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon a run for its money. 

In the closing scene, we are treated to a glimpse into the life of the happy, loving couple presumably enjoying their travels around the world, now that Manderley is no more. A pretty little ending tied up with a pretty little bow, yet the sadist in me somehow longed for the richly textured ambiguity of du Maurier's book, that makes it probably one of the most haunting and disturbing reads of all time.