Reviews

It seems almost superfluous to add to the many laudatory comments this movie has received on this site, but I feel a need to lay some tribute at the altar of this wonderful piece of classic cinema.

If you haven't seen the movie, there may be a couple of SPOILERS in this review, but hopefully also some new insights in compensation.

As many have noted, the cast is uniformly excellent: the annoying social snob Edith Van Hopper(Florence Bates), Gladys Cooper's kind, sisterly Beatrice, the eerie Mrs. Danvers of Judith Anderson, Olivier's distracted yet explosive Maxim, George Sanders' snide, oily Favell and especially the oft-times underrated second (but unnamed) Mrs. DeWinter of Joan Fontaine.

Although not entirely faithful to the Daphne Du Maurier novel, the screen adaptation preserves the haunting ambiance of Du Maurier's work. Rebecca, though never seen, is clearly the central character, but we learn about her all through indirection in the dialogue of the other characters. We are allowed to create her piece by piece in our own minds, which just adds to the engrossing, I-can't-stop-watching, thrust of the movie.

The character who actually tells us the most about the real Rebecca is Mrs. Danvers. The erotic attachment of this character to Rebecca is subtle, yet unmistakable. The wonderful scene in which Judith Anderson shows Rebecca's bedroom to Joan Fontaine is breathtaking in its suggestiveness. The West Wing, 'the only room that looks down across the lawn to the sea' has become Mrs. Danvers' private temple to Rebecca. Her loving preservation of Rebecca's possessions, her sensual handling of Rebecca's underclothes, of her diaphanous negligee, of her glamorous furs and then Anderson's almost hypnotic miming of brushing Rebecca's hair as Fontaine sits at Rebecca's dressing table all make this scene an unforgettable sequence. Anderson's acting is absolutely miraculous. She achieves her character with hardly ever a change in her affect, except where a very slight contrasting up tick in energy transforms her in the West Wing scene and in the scene where she coolly suggests that Fontaine leave-by means of a precipitous drop out of the window onto the rocks. It is a performance which I doubt could ever be duplicated.

As we later learn of Rebecca's moral character, it also seems that Mrs. Danvers was as much in love with Rebecca's corruption as she was with the woman herself. 'Danny' in a way becomes the embodiment of Rebecca's cold malevolence which still lingers in the mansion.

Joan Fontaine could hardly have been better. She, of all the characters, evolves through the movie. She moves in a seamless line from the pitiful, beleaguered companion of Mrs. Van Hopper to her drowned rat arrival at Manderley to the self-assured and supportive wife Maxim wanted and needed. What I found fascinating about this transformation is the imaginative skill of the costume designer. At the beginning, Fontaine's shy little character is dressed like she made terrible selections at a Macy's basement sale. Later as she tries to fill the role of the 'great lady' she believed Rebecca to have been, her clothes always appear too big and totally out of character. Note the black evening dress with the absurdly large flowers across the front and especially the overwhelmingly outsized Garden Party gown she tries to wear to the costume ball. After she learns the truth about Rebecca from Maxim, discovering that he actually loves her as much as he hated Rebecca, Fontaine's costumes become trim, conservative and tasteful, befitting the genuine, grown-up woman she has become.

Fittingly, the final scene belongs to Anderson-the frustrated woman robbed of her goddess--who brings the movie to a thundering operatic finish.

Although Selznick and Hitchcock repeatedly clashed over this move, it remains a deathless tribute to both men. This movie never loses its fascination and bears repeated watching, each time weaving its wonderful spell anew. It is a must-see, again and again, classic.