Review: Ben Wheatley's Rebecca (2020) on Netflix
Daphne du Maurier’s 1938 Gothic masterpiece Rebecca is one of my favorite novels of all time. An eerie tale of an unnamed young woman who stumbles into a marriage with a fantastically wealthy widower, only to be haunted by the ghost of his dead wife, Rebecca has been adapted to the stage and film a number of times, most notably in 1940 by Alfred Hitchcock. Hitchcock’s adaptation was a masterpiece in its own right, gathering 11 Oscar nominations and winning two—including Hitchcock’s only win for Best Picture. It comes as no surprise, then, that the classic tale would be a prime target for a fresh rendition sooner rather than later. But with such an intimidating pedigree behind it, Netflix’s new vision for Rebecca, under the direction of Ben Wheatley, had its work cut out for it.
Wheatley has garnered a reputation for his distinctive, macabre style—having directed several stylish and low-key hits such as Kill List (2011), A Field in England (2013) and Free Fire (2016)—so the most unfortunate thing about his Rebecca is how ordinary it looks. The sets are gorgeous, particularly in and around Max de Winter’s mansion, Manderley. Every scene is shot, however, like it’s a 90s period-romance. The soft glow that lights the sets throughout the film don’t match the Gothic setting of the story, and the colors feel unnatural to the point of distraction. It’s a shame because this is one aspect where I thought Ben Wheatley would really shine with the material.
In the end, though, it’s still Rebecca, and stylistic missteps could be forgiven if only to bring another version of du Maurier’s story to enjoy. Sadly, I’m left wanting there, as well. One of the benefits of rebooting Rebecca today, is that filmmakers aren’t chained any longer by the restrictive Hays Code. In Hitchcock’s version, it was forbidden that Max de Winter would kill his spouse and escape justice—so Mr. Hitchcock made Rebecca’s death accidental. So, too, was he forbidden from acknowledging the romantic obsession that Mrs. Danvers, Manderley’s housekeeper, had with Rebecca, in the book. These are both fairly important in making the novel so gripping, but of these, Wheatley’s film only reinstates mariticide. Worse, the psychological haunting of Mrs. de Winter by Rebecca’s lingering presence at Manderley is heavily de-emphasized in favor of the struggles of Mr. and Mrs. de Winter’s nascent marriage. While this allows it to focus more on the manipulative and abusive tendencies that Max de Winter exhibits, doing so at the expense of the titular specter eliminates the subtleties of the novel.
In any other context, this film might be a fairly good character drama about a naive young woman discovering that a whirlwind romance and a ton of money does not always lead to a happy ending—or at least that it takes a great deal more work to get to it—but since the shadow of the source material looms so large, it’s impossible for this Rebecca to shine.
Review by Ande Thomas
Ande loves the intersection of sci-fi and horror, where our understanding of the natural world clashes with our fear of the new and unknown. He writes about monsters and foreign horror and can also be found over on Letterboxd.
