Rebecca (1940)

It has been said that Alfred Hitchcock was able to get away with some of his personal stylistic touches in "Rebecca" because producer David Selznick was preoccupied with the completion of "Gone with the Wind".  Whether that is the case or not, "Rebecca" is something of a wonder; something akin to a walking nightmare, where the viewer is on the same unstable footing as Max DeWinter's new young bride, never quite sure of her steps and always feeling a bit uneasy.  This sense of unease was one of Hitchcock's trademarks: the sense that something is not quite right, but not being able to exactly define or put your finger on what it is makes us uncomfortable, even in a home as grand as Manderley.  Or more precisely, especially in a home as grand as Manderley.

When Max DeWinter (Laurence Olivier) brings his bride (Joan Fontaine) to her new home, she is overwhelmed by the house, as she will soon be overwhelmed by the sea, and most of all by the lingering presence of her predecessor.  And though Max tries to be kind, there is a darkness shading this kindness, and we're never entirely sure what part he may have played in Rebecca's fate, even when he tells her (and us) what he did do.  It is a mark of excellence in Olivier's portrayal that we doubt him even then, for if the viewer does, then certainly so must his unsteady wife.

Supposedly, Hitchcock fostered an additional sense of unease in Joan Fontaine by telling her that the other castmembers didn't regard her as worthy of her role, and especially, that Olivier had pushed for Vivien Leigh to do the part.  This may be one of the endless Hitchcock legends that have sprung up over the decades like so many toadstools; merely a brilliant old Hollywood anecdote.  If however, this is true it was a masterstroke that allowed Fontaine to become so undone that she couldn't possibly have seemed more meek and helpless than she does during the major portion of the film.  Fontaine, in fact, did not give as fine a performance until "Letter from an Unknown Woman" in 1948. 

There is evil in "Rebecca", to be sure, but not of the ghostly variety.  Manderley's housekeeper, Mrs. Danvers (Judith Anderson) remains faithfully devoted to her deceased mistress, and it is her presence that drives the new Mrs. DeWinter to the brink of insanity.  As played so exquisitely by Anderson, Mrs. Danvers doesn't walk so much as drift through the film in a mist of malevolence; she is unforgettable and completely forbidding.  Anderson's sharp, angular features give her a witchlike countenance; her stare can freeze the blood, the arch of an eyebrow can bring about perspiration, and her caress (which you just know is a touch of ice) sends chills.  Needless to say, she also has a face that would stop a clock.  At times during the film, she gets a faraway look in her dark eyes, as if she's under a spell (which she is).  The spell was cast by Rebecca, and so Mrs. Danvers is doomed to haunt the rooms of Manderley in a trance that can only be broken by her death.  She is not a monster or a demon, but rather a zombie, still controlled by Rebecca from beyond the grave. 

Minor roles in the film are filled with stalwarts of the era: George Sanders (in professional cad mode) as Rebecca's 'cousin' Jack, Gladys Cooper (not nearly as harsh as she usually appeared) as Max's sister, and Florence Bates in a lovely, hilarious bit at the beginning as a vulgar tourist.  These characterizations add texture to the film, and provide tiny respites from the darkness of the story. 

"Rebecca" is a gorgeous, gothic nightmare.