I finally watched the widely talked about suspense-drama cinematic masterpiece that is Rebecca. No, not that one.
A few weeks ago, I tucked myself into bed with my favourite mug of tea and an over-hyped anticipation for a film I’d seen popping up everywhere as of late. Ben Wheatley’s Rebecca (2020), a suspense-drama based on the 1938 novel of the same name by Daphne du Maurier, details the story of a naïve young woman who finds herself entangled in a marriage that is haunted by the shadow of the woman who came before her. The trailer promised hot British characters (Lily James and Armie Hammer play the leads), gorgeous early-1900s European scenery and some slivers of science-fiction mystery. What I happened on instead was, just as the year of the Lord 2020 has ensured, a shit-show of boring cardboard chemistry-less bad British accents.
Disappointed is perhaps an understatement, as I rarely knowingly subject myself to a two hour film that has already garnered horrid reviews online (this one letterboxd review sums it up pretty nicely: https://letterboxd.com/hstrawberry/film/rebecca-2020/), but I still held (somewhat misplaced) hope in the acting abilities of the lead actors and the beautiful old-timey European aesthetics that are pretty hard to fuck up. But subject myself I did! And I can confirm: those two hours of fake romance and bad Hitchcock-ian performances are two hours I shall never get back.
Annoyed but not surprised that yet another Hollywood remake of a classic film fell victim to the butcher’s knife, I decided to get to the bottom of how they managed to get it all so wrong. So, as I perhaps should’ve opted for in the first place, last night I tucked myself back into bed and scoured the internet for a good-enough copy of Alfred Hitchcock’s Oscar Best Picture winner Rebecca (1940). And boooooy, was I relieved to have subjected myself to this cinematic masterpiece.
Whereas 2020’s shit-show replica felt fake and cardboard, the 1940’s original managed to transport me to a world of black-and-white dramatics and haunting dead wives. As with most films from this era of Hollywood cinema, the acting was over-dramatic, the music was consistently orchestral, the camera-movement was at times stilted and clunky, the pretend car-driving scenes looked beyond fake, and, let me tell you, I fucking loved all of it. Because, and this seems to be a common trend that we manage to exclude from dialogue both in our blessed mess of this year and in recent modern age, the context in which this film was made manages to elevate it past its mishaps and beyond to a status of complete brilliance.
Hitchcock, as he is known to do so in his other masterpieces, was a pioneer of through this film. The very fact that he managed to create suspense through a story in which the continuously talked about character of the titular name not once appears in the two hours that this film stretches, speaks volumes to the grip he held, the grip that the phenomenon lead played by Joan Fontaine shares, on his audience. This story belongs in the cinema of the 1940s, in a time in Hollywood when acting was overacted, when stories were over-dramatic, when an orchestral score underpins almost the entirety of the movies, and when, not one but two, TWO females playing the complex and beautifully flawed leads of a Hollywood film was ground-breaking. And beyond that, this film, although not explicitly, is a film about lesbians. I frankly do not care if you disagree with me. THIS FILM IS A TRIBUTE TO QUEER LOVE.
And here, my friends, is where 2020’s version went oh so wrong. This story belongs in the 1940s, and it is the 1940s in which it should stay. An entire eighty years on from the release of Hitchcock’s Best Picture winner has brought about changes in every facet of our world, not in the least in filmmaking, in Hollywood, in how we watch movies, and most importantly, in the characters we see on our screens. Although Hitchcock’s Rebeccasaw two talented women lead the screen, and a secret underlying gay relationship, it’s hard to ignore the problematic relations around gender that pepper the story. And because Ben Wheatley decided to pretty much copy Hitchcock’s masterpiece scene-for-scene, 2020’s Rebecca has brought with it much of 1940’s problems.
The soft pastel colours of European seasides and the promise of famous hot actors starring in the lead roles was enough for me to hit play on Netflix’s remake. But, let me assure you, although colour and recognisable faces is what you will be missing out on if you opt for Hitchcock’s original, you’ll be missing a whole lot more if you settle for the dumpster fire that is Wheatley’s horrid copy.
Hitchcock’s Rebecca (1940): 4/5 stars
Wheatley’s Rebecca (2020): 1/5 stars
Comments