Film review: REBECCA (Ben Wheatley, 2020)

A young woman (Lily James), working as a paid companion to the snobby Mrs. Van Hopper (Ann Dowd) is swept off her feet in Monte Carlo by Maxim de Winter, who is out there holidaying alone following the death of his first wife, Rebecca. After a whirlwind romance, the two marry, and return to his handsome estate in Manderley.

At Manderley, Maxim becomes more withdrawn and the second Mrs. de Winter grows more and more timid, haunted by Rebecca's memory. Her mental state disintegrates further by the unfamiliarity of the surroundings, and especially the emotional abuse she receives from the housekeeper Mrs. Danvers (Kristen Scott Thomas), who was very loyal to the deceased Rebecca. Her fear and unease are only compounded when rumours unfold about the possibility of Maxim being involved in Rebecca's death.

Alfred Hitchcock's 1940 rendition of Rebecca was a beautifully shot, atmospheric Gothic masterpiece, full of genuine chills and astute psychological beats, and a deserved winner of Best Picture at the Academy Awards. The central performances from Laurence Olivier, who was ideal for the aloof Byronic hero, and Joan Fontaine as the jittery second wife, were pitch-perfect. 

I had my reservations when I heard Armie Hammer and Lily James would be stepping into their shoes, as I consider them both to be photogenic but unspectacular actors who aren't worthy to take up Oliver and Fontaine's mantle. But I never could have anticipated their acting performances to be this bad.

Hammer, sporting an eye-wateringly ugly mustard suit and an even worse British accent, is stiff as an ironing board. In scenes where his character's supposedly 'violent temper' is exposed, Hammer seems nothing more than mildly chagrined. The peak of his laughable acting comes in a pinnacle scene where Maxim reveals to his wife what happened with Rebecca's demise. The character is supposed to be drunk and shaking with the gravitas of his secret in this scene, and it's clear Hammer has checked out at this point because he doesn't bother with the physicality or the facial expressions, instead stonily reciting his lines as he waits for his paycheque to cash.

With his classic American good looks and limited acting range, Hammer is much better-utilised when playing alpha-type heros in light-hearted romps, such as in The Man from Uncle. But the role of Maxim requires an actor capable of conjuring a malignant aura, someone like a Cillian Murphy or Luke Evans, both who have collaborated with Ben Wheatley on previous projects (Free Fire and High-Rise, respectively).

Lily James, somehow, manages to surpass him in the poor acting stakes. Her character is gifted some gorgeous outfits, but it seems like James is doing nothing other than cosplaying the role that Joan Fontaine excelled in. She's too forthright, confident and glamorous, to convey the fragility that comes from living in the shadow of a dead woman.

A more gifted performer would be able to transcend their beauty and convince the audience that they really were a shell of a person. But Lily James refuses to embody the mousy character and decides to play 'the second Mrs de Winter as decided by Lily James', which is confident and ballsy. This doesn't fit with the narrative arc of the film, and she comes across as, at best, shrill.

James juts out her jaw and wails and goes through all the notions of playing a woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown, but none of these gear changes in her facial expressions land convincingly. Her lack of credibility as an actor is underlined in the scenes she shares with Kristen Scott Thomas, who commands the audience's attention with so little as a barely-perceptible sneer.

Gaslighting played a large part in the 1940s and this version of the films, and Scott Thomas sinks her teeth into the role of the devoted Mrs Danvers with relish. It's just a shame that her scene partner is far from a worthy adversary.

Performances aside, the film is a tonal mess. Some of the cinematography near the start recalls indulgent perfume commercials, all sun-kissed vistas and slow-motion shots of gorgeous locations. Some of the scenes in a darkly-lit Manderley contain horror movie inflections, like subtle jump-scares. And some scenes highlight the so-called romance between Maxim and his new bride (with little efficacy, due to the complete lack of charisma and chemistry between the two leads). There are several close-ups of James and Hammer chewing each other's faces in Rebecca, and it comes across as very forced and unsexy. 

The third act of the film grazes courtroom drama territory, as the second Mrs de Winter does some sleuthing to discovery what happened to her. In this, Ms de Winter seems to have a personality transplant, from being the mousy, shy girl we saw at the start of the film, dropping coins on the floor, to a decisive and shrewd character who wishes to clear her husband's name. 

Lumped together, it makes for a tonally strange and sometimes downright laughable melodrama that would barely be watchable as a made-for-TV production, let alone a Netflix original.

Ben Wheatley, who directed High-Rise (my least favourite film of 2016) was always a questionable choice to direct a re-make of such a legendary original. But I would have been interested to see what he could do in terms of a post-Hayes code iteration of Rebecca, perhaps one that leaned in on her cruelty towards Maxim, or told the story from her point of view, and gave us more of her relationship with Mrs Danvers. Taking the story and putting it in a 21st century setting would have also made for an interesting watch.

Instead, it seems Working Title have forced Wheatley to rein in his nastier cinematic tendencies, to direct this watered-down 12A version, whose ultimate message seems to be 'stand by your man, even if he might be bit of a wife-murderer'. It must be a long way from what Wheatley's original vision was for Rebecca, and the end product is sloppy, forgettable and not worth the viewers' time.

3/10

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