Retro Reel by Sreepathy, Volume 8

Retro Reel is a column about movies, but not about the latest box-office releases. There will be aspects of review, but the column is intended more as a recommendation of good movies of different genres, with the sense of a retrospective – hence, the ‘Retro’ in the name. In a day and age when movies are projected digitally, the word “reel” may seem retrograde and outdated. Yet, no other word captures the imagery of a movie as “Reel”…Sreepathy is an unabashed movie buff who loves a well-told onscreen story. He has a list of about 450 must-watch movies, and Retro Reel is an attempt to share with friends of a similar bent of mind, some of the best movie-watching experiences he has had. He lives in Naperville with his wife and two sons.

Oscar Special: Rebecca

The Oscar: It’s just an inert, lifeless statuette of a naked hunk.

The much-awaited week of that treasured statue is here; yet, that’s exactly how I feel whenever I recall that Alfred Hitchcock never received even one for his genius. He was a man who verily defined the word ‘auteur’ before it began to be seriously in vogue – a filmmaker with such a vast body of highly influential work in movies that ‘Hitchcockian’, as an adjective, has found its way into dictionaries to describe a distinct style of directing and storytelling. “Rebecca” (1940), apart from four other nominations, is the closest Hitchcock came to getting his hands on an Oscar for best direction. It’s not a reflection on him that he never received an Academy Award; rather it’s pathetic that the Academy cannot pride itself in having his name on its scroll as of one of the greatest directors who ever lived.

Hitchcock preferred not to make screen adaptations of works by celebrated authors because it constrained his creativity, pressuring him to be entirely faithful to the source material. But this British director made an exception to Daphne du Maurier’s novels and stories – especially “Rebecca”, her masterpiece, which turned out to be his passport to Hollywood. When you have an author of the class of Du Maurier, whose writing has this phenomenal ability to use the pen like a brush to paint vivid images on your mind’s canvas, you realize how difficult it is to justifiably adapt her work to the screen. In its genre, “Rebecca” is just the kind of novel that raises popular fiction to the realm of art. In fact, I would be remiss if I recommend this movie to you without recommending the book – read the novel first, and you will realize the true genius of Hitchcock’s picturization of the story. The novel has been adapted to the screen many times, including the Hindi version “Kohra”, but all of them pale into the fog compared to Hitchcock’s masterful vision.

The Gothic-romantic mystery of “Rebecca” is narrated by an ordinary, wide-eyed, innocent young woman who saves Maxim de Winter – a rich member of the landed British gentry – from flinging himself off a cliff. The emotionally troubled widower takes a fancy to the much younger woman. A couple of chance meetings later, the gawky, nervous woman of modest means is swept off her feet by the majesty of Maxim’s mien, and falls hopelessly in love with him. After a quick whirlwind romance, they get married and Maxim takes her with him to Manderley – his palatial mansion in the Cornish moors of the lush English countryside…

Much as she hopes for the live-happily-ever-after, the young woman, instead, is introduced, in slow creeping measure, to three overawing characters at Manderley. The first is Mrs Danvers – its stoic, unbending housekeeper who withers the young bride with her very first look when they meet. Though she’s a servant in the house, her demeanor has an imperiousness that a mistress would covet. The second is the dead, erstwhile Mrs De Winter – Rebecca. Though she doesn’t exist anymore, her presence is everywhere – every item, every nook, every room, every aspect of life in Manderley is imbued with her breeding, beauty, and brains. And finally, the third character is the imposing edifice of Manderley itself. Though inanimate, it seems to breathe a life of its own and has a distinct character about it.

Very soon, Maxim’s young wife – guileless and unused to the ways of society’s rich upper echelons – feels like a fish out of water. She realizes there is no way she can build a rapport with Mrs Danvers, who is still fiercely loyal to her earlier mistress Rebecca – why just loyal, she’s still fascinated and obsessed by her. The new mistress feels claustrophobic in the colossal corridors of Manderley, even as Mrs D tells her in no uncertain terms that she can never take the place of Rebecca in the house. Everything she does, every turn she takes, and every word she speaks puts her in touch with the power of Rebecca’s personality…And then, a startling turn of events acquaints her with the looming shadows from Maxim’s past that have crept in to darken and torment his present. What that turn of events is and what happens thence, I’ll leave it to you to discover for yourself. But what remains in the core of the story is the desperate romance between a man clinging to life, wanting to experience innocence, and an ingenuous woman who is sure and steadfast. Does the romance reach fruition?

I can fill entire columns about Hitchcock’s directorial abilities, but will draw your attention to only a couple of standout instances in the movie. Perhaps, Hitchcock was the only director who understood the difference between horror and suspense. Horror is a physical reaction to what you see or hear. Suspense is a psychological response to what grips your mind. I’ve never been a fan of the horror-genre; my vote will always be for suspense. In Hitchcock’s movies, there’s never anything ‘in-your-face’ – no gore, blood, or violent images. It’s always the power of suggestion. He mastered the art of making suggestions, knowing fully that your own mind is the best instrument to influence you. There are two scenes in the movie that bear this out. The first is where Mrs Danvers takes the young bride through a guided tour of Rebecca’s room, and the second is where Maxim tells her about the most crucial incident in the story. The way Hitchcock uses the camera, especially in the second scene, sends shivers up your spine.

Hitchcock was famous for his meticulous casting of actors, and this movie is the best example of his superb decision skills in casting. There are very few actors who could have carried off what Laurence Olivier does playing Maxim de Winter – he seamlessly combines a rich man’s haughty exterior with the shaky, inner vulnerability of a man hunted by his own demons. Joan Fontaine, with her soft, dainty looks is a spot-on choice to play the story’s fragile, naïve narrator. But the best casting is that of Judith Anderson in the role of Mrs Danvers. She slithers into the snaky character of Mrs D so thoroughly that you’ll find it difficult to wriggle her out from your mind, long after you’ve seen the movie.

There are a number of things about the novel and the movie that strike you readily. Perhaps the most interesting is the eponymous title, “Rebecca” – it’s based on the character that doesn’t appear even once in the entire story; yet, the character that’s always in the story remains its nameless narrator throughout! The novel has one of the most evocative openings I have ever come across: “Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.” It lures you into its story and you remain hooked. For a 1940 black-and-white movie, its cinematography is outstanding – color never can add the layers that B&W can to the look and feel of a story like this. And yes, it’s not as if the Oscars boycotted Rebecca – nominated for a whopping 11 awards, it won one for its B&W cinematography and another richly deserved one for Best Picture.

Ultimately, “Rebecca” is proof that the best ghost-story is the one that puts the ghost in your mind, not in the story!

PS: ‘Rebecca’ (both book and DVD) is available in the Naperville Public Library.