I distinctly remember ‘experiencing’ the iconic novel, Rebecca, by Daphne Du Maurier, for the first time, roughly about 25 years ago in college. Those were different days. Being a Delhi University student, and with access to British Council Library, at Kasturba Gandhi Marg in CP, meant access to a much larger world than the everyday life we lived in. In those days before the Internet, and with limited funds, these almost-free-libraries were our most precious teleporting devices. Stepping into these sacred spaces was like space and time travel to any part of the world, at any time in the world. Reading Rebecca, was one such ‘experience’ for me, with space travel to England (which I had never been to till then) and time travel to the late 1930s (again, never been to!).
Not seeing the many movies made on this book since then, watching the latest 2020 version on Netflix, directed by Ben Wheatley, I couldn’t help being both excited at the idea of watching this book come alive all these years later, and being equally disappointed at the lack of experience the film creates. The experience, which was such an important part of the book. When a book from 1938 can create a more visceral sensorial experience than a 2020 film with all its tech and resources, it gives me two conflicting emotions. One, of despair - have we lost our ability to bring out a vision to life through story-telling that can move people to feel something? And one, of hope - we still have so much of shallow, meaningless story-telling in the world, that the really good ones can still stand out and make a difference.
To be fair, the #RebeccaNetflix starts with a lot of promise. It has a good set of actors, with Lily James as the young and insecure Mrs de Winters, Armie Hammer as the suave-but-silent Maxim de Winter, Kristin Scott Thomas as the stern and disapproving matron, Mrs Danvers. Their characters are built well, the moments in South of France that create the circumstances for their wedding are portrayed beautifully, and the drama that is yet-to-unfold at Manderley is full of ominous promise. But alas, that’s where it ends.
Once the new couple moves to Manderley, the film starts falling apart, just as much as Mrs de Winters herself does. The magic of the story that Daphne Du Maurier wrote was not in the events that happen, but in the psychological impact they have on a new bride from the working-class, who has suddenly found herself the lady of this lavish estate. Her overwhelmed state is only made worse by the looming shadow of the larger-than-life omnipresence of her predecessor, the earlier Mrs de Winters, the irresistible and famous, Rebecca. And by the passive-aggressive manipulation by the house matron, Mrs Danvers, a Rebecca loyalist.
In the book, the real story happens in Mrs de Winter’s mind, but the film trivialises the internal suffering of the lead character and instead chooses to focus on the externalities of the different incidents that happen, making it about good guys and bad guys and the fights and the arguments. Not once, do we see what the protagonist is really feeling herself. She is reduced to someone who is being victimised by others, as she desperately tries to hold on to the love of her husband. The film makes it a black and white story, with no room for nuances or any shades. It’s a bluntly told story, where Mrs Danvers has to spell everything out in clear words about who Rebecca was, why she loved her, and what happened to her. No room for imagination in this story-telling.
Apart from messing up the essence of the original story, the other fault I would lay on the film is a lack of vision. Any old book or movie that is made into a film in contemporary times, needs a vision. Hell, even Thanos, in Avengers, had a Malthusian vision!
What is this 2020 telling of a classic meant to do? Is it about evoking nostalgia for a by-gone pre-war era? Is it a neo-feminist point of view in support of Rebecca? Is it championing the cause of inclusion and social mobility of the working class? Having a vision could explain (or excuse) a lot of the divergences that the film takes from the original book. But, without that, the film is doomed to just be a cinematic version of the book. And if that is the case, stick to the vision of the original, please.
In many ways, you could say that Rebecca 2020 is more 2020 than Rebecca. It’s made for an audience that wants the answer in one google search, that wants the entire story in 15 or 60-second Tik-Tok or FB or Insta video, that wants the entire analysis in one 140 character tweet (oh wait, it’s a lot more now, whole 280 characters, sorry my bad). Clearly, not the audience that is reading this review (thank you, dear reader, for spending more than 1 minute on reading this).
For that, it’s not a bad movie. It gives a quick whistle-stop tour of the world that Daphne Du Maurier created. In under 2 hours, you get the most important sites and milestones of the fictional Manderley, (most likely in Cornwall, South England) - the key characters, tick; the key locations, tick; the mystery, tick. If you’re into the 14-day package tour of whole Europe, kind of thing, then Rebecca 2020 is right up your alley.
But, if you look for stories that transport you to another world, stories that give you emotions you may not be in touch with, stories that make you think thoughts that may not have occurred to you, stories that give you an experience, not just a mind-distraction, stories that make you smile, or cry, or ponder or get depressed, stories that make you feel something like a living breathing person, then I’d recommend forget the movie, stick to the book.
After 82 years, it will still be worth your while.
It’s not like you’re travelling to England any time soon, are you!
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