"Rebecca"

1940, directed by Alfred Hitchcock
adapted from the novel by Daphne du Maurier

Mrs. Danvers (to Fontaine’s character): Why don't you go? Why don't you leave Manderley? He doesn't need you... he's got his memories. He doesn't love you, he wants to be alone again with her. You've nothing to stay for. You've nothing to live for really, have you? [softly, almost hypnotically] Look down there. It's easy, isn't it? Why don't you? Why don't you? Go on. Go on. Don't be afraid...

I first saw the film in junior high, I believe, when we were reading the novel Rebecca. I was too young to get into either the novel or the film in a deep way, thought both were a bore. The movie seemed like some old relic; I knew nothing about the storied Laurence Olivier, or of Joan Fontaine (blonde sister to the divine Olivia de Havilland) or the spectacularly slimy George Sanders, to me it was just some school flick hauled out of a closet from next to the hygiene films and unspooled to keep us girls quiet for 90 minutes. As far as the novel was concerned, I thought, “Why doesn’t she just throw out all of Rebecca’s shit and fire Mrs. Danvers?” Indeed. But then we wouldn’t have this delicious tale of psychological suspense.

To sum up: Orphaned and barely legal, nameless lady’s companion Fontaine has accompanied boorish rich American Mrs. Van Hopper to Monte Carlo, where on a solo sketching jaunt she comes upon a suicidal aristocrat, startling him out of taking a cliff dive into the sea. The moody landed gentleman, Maxim de Winter (Olivier playing a version of his later Wuthering Heights creation Heathcliff in a Homburg hat), has not been home to England in months due to a hinted-at personal tragedy. Finding in her a diversion to his ennui, he takes a fancy to our guileless girl and squires her around whenever she can get free of flu-ridden Mrs. Van Biddy. When her patroness tells her to pack up to for a transatlantic steamer trip home to New York, a panic-stricken Fontaine stalls in order to find de Winter and stammer out a goodbye. But de Winter shocks her with a matter-of-fact proposal: “I’m asking you to marry me, you little fool!”

Thus our naïf is wedded, bedded, and transported toute de suite to the massive, historic, cold English seaside manor Manderley, complete with endless rooms, a staff of 40, a resentful housekeeper, and nothing to do. Manderley has not been changed since the first Mrs. De Winter died a year earlier in a boating mishap. The former mistress – the titular Rebecca – was reportedly wildly popular, stylish, beautiful, and vivacious, all the things the new Mrs. De Winter is not. Traces of Rebecca are everywhere, from her personalized stationery in the morning room to the monograms on the dinner napkins to her entire former bedroom being closed off and enshrined by the housekeeper, the vaguely lesbian and decidely creepy Mrs. Danvers (Judith Anderson in an Oscar winning performance). This is the point at which my earlier comment becomes pressingly pertinent. Girl, get rid of this hussy’s crap, and cuss your husband out for not taking care of it in the first place! But Maxim is frequently absent, both physically and emotionally, which complicates matters considerably for his bride.

Young, gauche, and inexperienced, our new missus can’t hope to compare and is hopelessly confused, believing her groom is still in love with his fabulous dead wife and allowing icky Danvers to intimidate and dupe her. But when Rebecca’s sleazy “cousin” shows up in the form of Sanders, hinting at previous undercover hi-jinks indulged in by the deceased, things get more confusing.

When a coastal shipwreck reveals the ruin of Rebecca’s sailboat with her corpse still inside, the mystery unravels in short order. Maxim confesses to his bride that Rebecca was actually a despicable and unrepentant slut who threatened to embarrass the de Winters if he divorced her. In a quarrel where Rebecca revealed she was pregnant with another man’s child, who stood to inherit Manderley, Maxim accidentally killed her and attempted to cover up the mishap by sinking her boat with her in it and identifying another dead woman as Rebecca. A trial proceeds where it is proven that Max did not kill her intentionally, but a jealous and implicated Mrs. Danvers – who knew of the pregnancy – goes berserk and burns down Manderley with herself still inside. Our heroine and Maxim renew their love and drive off to places unknown. The end.

FILM NOTES: A classic of the gothic suspense genre filmed in smoky black and white, Rebecca is notable for Joan Fontaine’s portrayal of a completely innocent girl plunked down in a world far too sophisticated for her to fathom. Every crinkle of her nose, gape of her mouth, widening of her eyes, quirk of her brows, and swipe of her hand through her mousy hair betrays her growing dismay, insecurity, and dread. When Maxim comes clean about what has happened, she matures before our eyes into a strong woman who can do anything to support the man she loves.

However good Fontaine is, the film unmistakably belongs to the moments that Dame Judith Anderson appears on screen in all her severe, blank faced, intense weirdness. The scene where she shows the new Mrs. De Winter her former mistress’ bedroom, caressing Rebecca’s fur coat, reminiscing about brushing her hair, passing her hand beneath the dead woman’s transparent nightgown with sick adoration, is classic. Later, after she has manipulated the girl into wearing the very same costume worn by Rebecca to a Manderley masked ball, “Danny” spills all her venom and jealousy, telling Fontaine that she’ll never measure up and she might as well end it all. Trying to coax the bereft girl to jump from the open casement window onto the rocks below, she purrs seductively, “Why don’t you? … why don’t you?” Unsettling, in the extreme.

Hitchcock offers some signature shots, such as the opening “I dreamed I went to Manderley again” sequence, where the camera tracks through an iron gate down an overgrown driveway to the outline of Manderley in the moonlight – masterful. The set and set decoration of Rebecca’s bedroom is breathtaking, from the curtained windows to the gorgeous four poster canopy bed and linens, to the flowers, to the elaborately carved door, to the bureau with its side-sliding lingerie drawers – sumptuous and scrumptious. Hitchcock also uses shadow and light to great effect to add to the gothic anxiety, the sense of those kept in the dark and those whose light is frankly off-kilter, particularly lighting Danvers from underneath to appear more spectral. The shots of Manderley burning with the shadow of Mrs. Danvers in the flames is also pretty fantastic.

Hitchcock keeps to the book’s conceit – our girl has no name at all other than her acquired title of Mrs. De Winter. He also brilliantly never shows us Rebecca – there are no flashbacks and no photographs of her, so her legend grows disproportionately large in the viewers minds, just as it does in the mind of our spooked heroine.

The horror of Mrs. Danvers is broadly alluded to in Mel Brooks’ 1974 Young Frankenstein in the person of Mrs. Blucher the housekeeper, played by Cloris Leachman. So severe and forbidding is Frau Blucher that every time her name is spoken in that comedy, horses whinny in fright – definitely a response to the Mrs. Danvers film iconography.

"Revolver"

2005, directed by Guy Ritchie
written by Guy Ritchie and Luc Besson

Archived -
August 19, 2010

I watched the Guy Ritchie-Luc Besson flick Revolver over the weekend. I am a fan of actor Jason Statham as well as previous Ritchie cockney romps Snatch and Lock, Stock & Two Smoking Barrels. But this flick was different. I had to watch it twice and I’m still not sure whether it falls into the so-bad-it’s-utter-genius camp, or whether it is the filmic runoff of a madman’s brain (uh, Besson, you have shown us your daffy brilliance before; can you say The Fifth Element, among others?). Either way, the movie is gorgeously photographed (filmed on location at a seaside resort in Britain). Every shot is jaw dropping in composition, lighting, color, and set design. Directors who offer up visions of what has rarely been seen before in cinema create a great viewing experience, in my opinion. But the script has to be tight as well.

Kicking off without any opening credits beyond the title, Revolver is a hard-boiled, dark contemporary revenge flick, akin to Payday or Get Carter, with a House of Games overlay to it. Statham — in atypical greasy black hair and beard—plays Jake Green, an overly successful gambler waging a war of retribution with casino boss Dorothy (Dorothy?) Macha, played by Ray Liotta, from whose establishment Jake once snagged his excessive winnings. From this premise, Jake and the film’s viewers are in for a series of brain-twisting shocks.

At the start of the flick Jake is sprung after seven years in jail and is now bent on getting even with the man who put him there. He’s about to launch a grand scheme against his nemesis -- who is also gunning for him -- when he literally tumbles into a trap laid for him by clever underworld “brothers” Avi and Zach, played by rapper Andre 3000 and The Sopranos’ Vincent “Big Pussy” Pastore. (Does Ritchie have a thing for the name Avi? I recall that a character bore that name in Snatch as well.) Using metaphors from chess and classic con games—and the stunning revelation that Jake has somehow contracted a quick-killing fatal disease-- they make Jake a you-can’t-take-it-with-you offer he can’t refuse in which he must join them in their loan sharking operation using the millions he’s previously banked from his gambling – the same millions with which he’s only just been reunited. Jake is none too happy, as you can imagine, being that he has long-harbored plans for his dough, his archrival, and essentially the rest of his now foreshortened life. Hijacked, Jake goes along with the scheme though he still has it in for Macha.

Things get a bit convoluted. Jake is forced to dole out his own money to a series of losers and assist Avi & Zach in the increasingly violent collection efforts, all the while baiting and evading Macha’s minions. As played by Max Factor-eyed Liotta, Macha is all hissy fits and tightie-whitie crotch shots, as I guess the essence of portraying an Underworld Big Shot consists of running around a mansion in a variety of flimsy silk robes and Fruit of the Looms shrieking “I don’t care, just do it!” into the faces of other grown men. Chief among Macha’s dirty workers is the taciturn hitman Sorter, who bears not a small resemblance to the iconic operative Joubert from Three Days Of The Condor (Robert Redford flick from the '70s -- look it up). Like Joubert, Sorter is a tall ascetic with glasses who kills without compunction. Jake is on his lengthening list of marks, although he confusingly lets Jake slip away fairly often, to Macha’s increasing displeasure.

All of this plotting is, if not standard contemporary gangster film fare, still fairly well expected of Ritchie. But what makes this flick different is that it is extremely verbose, to Mamet-meets-Tarantino proportions, as Avi puts Jake – and Jake puts himself – through an existential funhouse of is-it-real-or-is-it-Memorex philosophizing on the nature of winning and losing, being and nothingness. There is much voiceover as Jake struggles to make sense of whether he is who he thinks he is, if he is in fact his own enemy, if he has a split personality, if everything that is happening is indeed happening, and whether he can win a game where the rules seem to be constantly changing.

In a bizarre series of developments, Jake becomes trapped by Macha’s men and the situation looks dire for our hero. Enter Sorter, who appears ready to deliver the coup de grace on Jake, but instead turns on Jake’s enemies and coolly dispatches them all as Jake escapes. Reeling from the confrontation, Jake now goes all New Age, Art of War counterintuitive by turning the other cheek on his arch enemy: giving money to charities in Macha’s name, then sneaking into the Big Man’s opulent bedroom in the wee hours and delivering a groveling, albeit armed, mea culpa at Macha’s bedside. What disgraces a man more than to be at the mercy of his enemy, only to have said enemy walk away? In other words, Jake has the opportunity to kill Macha while he sleepsnd doesn't, a fact that seems to destroy Macha mentally as we are served another shot of half-naked Liotta having a shuddering tear-streaked meltdown, repeating, impotently, “Fear me! Fear me!” as Jake brushes him aside. (Um, even the name Dorothy Macha is entirely emasculating, as this hard-to-watch emotional disintegration shows him to be a distinctly non-macho wuss.)

And so Jake — who discovers that his supposedly deadly blood disease was mysteriously misdiagnosed -- has won. It turns out that Avi & Zach have been his puppet masters all along, as they reveal themselves to be the two unseen yet beloved prison mates housed on either side of our hero during his seven year bid. In a twist reminiscent of The Usual Suspects, we learn that the two “brothers” – a master chess player and a master con artist -- have imagineered Jake’s labyrinthine post-prison journey, hinting at its progression and significance through chess maneuvers penciled into the margins of books they shared in the Big House, all in an attempt to continue an education they’d begun for Little Jake on the Ways Of the World -- or at least the Ways of the Big Con. And so there is celebrating all around, as Jake’s money and sanity are (we assume) restored, he is reunited with this Odd Couple of crime Yodas, and we the audience are left to sort through the psychic fallout.

While the film's title is a direct reference to a weapon, viewers are left to puzzle out the title's multiple meanings, including someone who or something that constantly revolves or spins; or even the Spanish meaning, which is to shake up or turn upside down. -- jc