Rebecca

I've made it through my penultimate semester as an undergrad and damn does it feel good. It was an intense semester and it's so nice to finally catch my breath. Which means I have a short window of actually getting to choose what I read and watch! I've already wolfed down Tales of the City (soooo good & I have to fit the next one in soon) by Armistead Maupin. It's wonderful escapist material and the characters are so endearing, you can't help but make friends with them all. It didn't take me too long to wish I had my own flat at 28 Barbary Lane. But right now I'm taking a detour with "The Shadow of the Wind" (thanks, Amy!) by Carlos Ruiz Zafon. I'm about 75 pages in and it's got a great Gabriel Garcia Marquez feel to it. Plus, at it's heart, it is about a love affair with books. So it hits me where I live.

As far as movies go, I've got a stack of must-sees. Tonight I'm going to watch Jean-Luc Godard's "Masculin feminin," but a couple nights back I watched Alfred Hitchcock's "Rebecca." Here's my lil' mini-review...

I can't really talk about "Rebecca" without mentioning the now-classic opening line "Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again." The opening 1st person narration (by Joan Fontaine, looking more luscious than Scarlett Johannasen could ever hope for) is remarkable for a film of this type. Hitchcock crafted a superb Gothic romantic thriller that drew equally from the film noir/femme fatale elements, which generally are marked by a male 1st person narrative. To deviate from that is, most likely, no more than an adherence to the structure of the novel that it's based on, but regardless, the mechanics of the film's narrative is no unimportant thing. This is a story about women, from a woman's point of view, and the empathy engendered by this opening is crucial to the film's success. Of course, if you're going to put a director on the psycho-analytical couch, you'd be in good company to start with Hitchcock. The man is notorious (ha!) for his misogynistic subtext. Now you can make the arguement that everything torturous that our heroine endures is sharply felt because of a concious (or subconcious)desire on the part of Hitchcock to put the screws to her. It's kind of an interesting film exercise to pick the movie apart that way. It doesn't really matter though, as the statements about our heroine's place in a patriarchal society are as valid as they are brutal. In short, Hitchcock didn't invent the social structure, he's just pointing out how it operates.

Joan Fontaine's character is never given a name except for when she is married to Maxim de Winter. Then she is known as Mrs. de Winter. The *second* Mrs. de Winter, actually, as she has to contend with the ghost of Maxim's first wife, Rebecca, whose spirit affects every aspect of their palatial estate, Manderlay. In the novel (and in the credits) the character is simply called "I," which is strangely appropriate somehow. You could very easily do a feminist reading of the movie as she is essentially "NO-Name" until she becomes Mrs. de Winter. I'm just going to refer to her as "Joan." ;)

Joan is a quiet, meek sort; occupying that space between mousy and demure. She is working as a companion/servant for an older, more brash woman, who verbally browbeats her. Maxim spots her and the contrast between the women is striking. The older woman is socially duplicitous, all smiles and charm, but like a viper to Joan when no one else is around. Joan defers to everyone and shyly averts her eyes when Maxim speaks to her. But Joan is who she is. Her inner weakness and humility is established as a positive trait when contrasted with the elder woman's rude and devious nature. Maxim, of course, spots perfect wife material.

In the traditional film noir/femme fatale narrative, there is often a "woman of virture" in contrast to the femme fatale. Now Joan's elder companion is too old to be considered a femme fatale or rival for Maxim's affections, which leaves the movie in interesting territory as we slowly learn more about Maxim's first wife, Rebecca. In this movie, the dead woman is the femme fatale that Joan must compete with. The crux of the movie is this: can Joan's redeemer character work her inate goodness on Maxim?

Maxim is the typical mix of Lord Byron/Heathcliff tortured Romantic leading men figures. He is played with resolve and flint by Laurence Olivier, which is appropriate as Olivier had done this sort of thing before, playing Heathcliff in "Wuthering Heights." He's not a kind paramour to Joan, instead skirting between bad boy and father figure. I'm not sure if this is what women want, but there's no denying that all women uniformally find strength and confidence appealing and Maxim has it in spades. And Joan's easily malleable character is irresistable to such a man. In fact, besides her obvious beauty, it may be the one characteristic that truly sells Maxim on her. Throughout the film, he asserts his dominant masculinity, often comparing her to a child. He doesn't do this as an insult, but as an endearment. His marriage proposal is in the classic Clark Gable mode: "Marry me, you little fool!" (Maybe I'll use that line someday.) ;) Maxim even forbids her to ever be "36" suggesting that her babyish qualities are what Maxim truly loves.

The movie is perfectly constructed and shot and Manderlay looks gorgeous. The acting is stellar throughout, especially Judith Anderson as the creepy Mrs. Danvers. It's not Hitchcock's best (that would be Vertigo), but it's right up there. And even if you're not into the all the sociological gender subtext hoo-hah, it's a damn good thriller. Perfect for a rainy Friday night.