subscribe to this pageWaldman, Diane. “‘At Last I Can Tell It to Someone!’: Feminine Point of View and Subjectivity in the Gothic Romance Film of the 1940’s.” Cinema Journal, Vol. 23, No. 2 (Winter, 1984), pp. 29-40.
During the period from 1940-48, Gothic romance films were produced by virtually every major Hollywood studio, using stars and famous directors. Women were a major target of the film industry, as this period historically constituted a transition to increased sexual freedom, the introduction of birth control, and the possibility of a life separate from domesticity. It was this role definition which served as the societal precondition which allowed for the success of the Gothic romance films of the 1940’s.
A paradigmatic feature of Gothic film is deliberate ambiguity regarding the interpretation of happenings by the characters. This is a hallmark quality shared by horror and fantasy films, however, in the Gothic variety, this hesitation is often experienced by a female protagonist, and her ultimate decision is thus a commentary on the feminine experience. The Gothic romance film is therefore the first major example of the growing perception and portrayal of the female perspective, especially regarding men. Constructing the common thematical framework of the heroine’s isolation, women’s restriction to the domestic sphere is often condemned, yet the heroine is still persistently rescued by some form of authoritative man. The typical 1940’s American family was semi-patriarchal, encompassing a nominal decrease in the husband’s authoritarian power, yet retaining the sexual division of labor, which translates seamlessly to the feminine portrayals in Gothic films. Hence, it is obvious that Gothic romance films mark the beginning of the transition to more widespread acknowledgement and understanding of the female position in society, but the genre by no means grants women the credibility and freedom they ultimately deserve.
Light, Alison. “‘Returning to Manderley’: Romance Fiction, Female Sexuality and Class.” Feminist Review, No. 16 (Summer, 1984), pp. 7-25.
Light’s analysis begins with a plot summary of DuMaurier’s iconic novel, highlighting the role of the late Rebecca as the driving force behind the young heroine’s mounting fear and paranoia. She addresses the criticism often plaguing romance narratives as simplistic and stereotyping, fostering an oppressive ideology towards women that unfailingly defines the ultimate goal to be heterosexual marriage. Feminists argue that such a plotline is insulting to women, essentially suggesting that they belong in a socially and sexually subordinate place.
Rebecca, however, is a slightly modified case, as it encompasses both the genres of romance and crime. Rebecca herself is central to the development of both these genres, with her role as both the iconic epitome of feminine prowess, and the victim of murder which lends the narrative its elements of mystery and horror. Accordingly, Light insists that the absolute core of both these components is Manderley itself, the zenith of Rebecca’s vicious, seductive femininity and yet also the place where the tenderness of true love manifests itself.
The physical symbolism of the estate likewise functions to establish the harsh binary opposition between Rebecca and the young new wife. Epitomized by the tame flower garden versus the wild, relentless torrent of the sea, the virginal young girl could not be a more polar opposite from the raw sensual power wielded by Rebecca even after her death. Such a dichotomy appeals unfailingly to women because it is a struggle all women confront in their lifetimes, the pursuit of the feminine ideal, and the ardent desire for male approval. Rebecca’s distinctive ability to address the age-old question of femininity and the struggle of women to achieve it is a testament to a time of transition both historically and fictionally. In essence, despite criticism of the romance genre as trite and demeaning, it in fact deserves recognition in history as a springboard of popular discussion of the societal and sexual role of women.
Berenstein, Rhona J. “Adaptation, Censorship, and Audiences of Questionable Type: Lesbian Sightings in ‘Rebecca’ (1940) and ‘The Uninvited’ (1944).” Cinema Journal, Vol. 37, No. 3 (Spring, 1998), pp. 16-37.
In her article, Bernstein addresses the taboo subject of lesbian desire as it is subtly depicted in Rebecca. Even up until the modern day, she explains, societal recognition of lesbians is consistently and unfairly suppressed. Rebecca deWinter serves as an undeniable object of lesbian desire, at a time when female homosexuality was even less societally accepted and understood than it is today. Even though she is dead and unseen, Rebecca is arguably the most powerful presence of the film, not to mention its namesake.
The young heroine feels the wrath of Rebecca most acutely, and is constantly reminded of her omnipresence through her physical possessions and the undying loyalty, and possibly sexual desire, of Mrs. Danvers toward Rebecca. Introducing this subversive suggestion of lesbian desire was risky during the time when Rebecca was made, and it violated specific mandates of the production code. In the early stages of the film’s production, Joseph Breen, the head of the Production Code Administration (PCA) at the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America (MPPDA) wrote a series of letters to David O. Seiznick indicating his objections to Rebecca. The most urgent objection, and thus the aspect of the film which was most readily changed, was that Maxim is left unpunished by the law despite murdering his wife – accordingly, in the film version, the incident is depicted as accidental. Next, Breen objects to the implication of Rebecca as a sexual pervert, and finally to the illicit relationship between Jack Favell and Rebecca, which is suggested to result in an illegitimate child. The second objection subtly implies but fails to explicitly mention the film’s treatment of lesbian desire, though Breen’s intentions are clear.
Thus, not only is the depiction of lesbian desire within the film understated, but even the censorship evaluation dances around the issue. The depiction of lesbian leanings in a mysterious, frightening film like Rebecca is an interesting statement, as the ghostly quality of Rebecca pervading the narrative is echoed by the lesbian’s unseen yet acutely recognized presence within society.
Harbord, Janet. “Between Identification and Desire: Rereading ‘Rebecca.’” Feminist Review, No. 53, Speaking Out: Researching and Representing Women (Summer, 1996), pp. 95-107.
Janet Harbord begins her discussion by introducing the tangents between psychoanalysis and the romance novel – though they seem to be totally separate disciplines, both engage a dialogue between past and present, defining time as an inevitable sign of progress. The appeal of repetition arises due to the comfort inherent in familiar patterns, bringing to the forefront the fundamental human tendency towards stability, sought after both in psychoanalysis and romance narratives. Furthermore, that which is forbidden also appeals to us equally as much, though often more fleetingly so, and it is upon this basis that Harbord suggests the implications of homosexual desire in Rebecca.
Interestingly, it is the very normative, repressive structure so often found in romance narratives that encourages the breaking of such boundaries through textual exploration of possibilities apart from the conventional. Thus, quite opposite from the championing of the traditional heterosexual household, romance narratives such as Rebecca in fact often subtly subvert accepted cultural values by implying the option of other alternatives – in this case, lesbian desire. Such storylines appeal primarily to women for the simple reason of reflexivity, for as women question their own societal and sexual roles, literature and film provide a useful avenue for self-reflection and relief in resolving the conundrum of individual identity.
Distinctive visual symbolism in Rebecca enhances the exploration of issues such as class, gender, ethnicity, and sexuality. Rebecca herself, an eerily absent center of desire throughout the film, serves as the ghostly epitome of the white, upper class married woman, yet simultaneously represents raw sexuality and hence evokes lesbian desire. The symbolic emphasis on her clothing, for example, introduces the fundamental dichotomy between the exterior façade as opposed to the true nature of an individual. Ultimately, Rebecca’s appeal is her transgression of traditionally delineated boundaries, as she crosses lines of class, gender, and, most centrally, female sexuality.
Wheatley, Kim. “Gender Politics and the Gothic in Alfred Hitchcock’s ‘Rebecca.’” Gothic Studies, Vol. 4, No. 2 (Nov., 2002), pp. 133-145.
Rebecca represents a new strain of Gothic romance in which the tortured heroine falls in love with a man who plays a dual role in regard to the heroine: he not only offers her relief from danger, but is also a major source of unresolved tension and confusion for her. Not only does Mr. deWinter play a pivotal role, then, but Manderley itself is undeniably a significant “character.” Furthermore, Rebecca is made all the more powerful by her very absence. Through haunting music, symbolism attached to her material possessions, and details such as the camera angle in the boathouse confession scene, Rebecca’s ghostly presence is solidified.
Even greater emphasis on Rebecca’s omnipresence emerges through the apparent continued loyalty of Jasper the dog, and also through Mrs. Danvers’ unwavering devotion to Rebecca and subsequent disdain for the young wife. Mrs. Danvers even goes so far as to articulate her musings as to whether the dead continue to observe and dwell among the living. This voyeuristic pervasion of the plot lends Rebecca an ominous, haunting power and lingering influence.
However, Wheatley presents the alternative ‘containment thesis’ that Rebecca’s relative power and influence is held at bay and even diminishes over the course of the film. Her containment is achieved through Maxim’s patriarchal authority, most poignantly evident in his young wife’s reaction during the confession scene, during which she is completely vulnerable and it is revealed that all she desires is his love, relinquishing all hints of independence. This disproportionate male power held by Maxim is echoed in two other prominent male characters, Frank Crawley and Jack Favell, who provide counterpoints to Maxim’s harsh personality yet exercise similar control over the young heroine. Even further establishing the trend of patriarchy, only men are present during one of the final scenes of the film, in Dr. Baker’s office, defining negotiations and relationships between men of the utmost importance. Thus, despite Rebecca’s haunting influence over the course of the film, Wheatley suggests that it is ultimately patriarchy which triumphs in the end.
Edwards, Kyle Dawson. “Brand-Name Literature: Film Adaptation and Seiznick International Pictures’ ‘Rebecca’ (1940).” Cinema Journal, Vol. 45, No. 3 (Spring, 2006), pp. 32-38.
Nearly one third of films from the Classical Hollywood era were novel adaptations. The film adaptation of Rebecca demonstrates how the flourishing of novels on screen results from a tangled combination of literary, commercial, historical, artistic, and social factors. Filmmaking is by nature a collaborative art form, and the particular quality of the novel adaptation perfectly demonstrates the extent to which these multiple sources of inspiration can manifest themselves in film.
Adapting famous novels such as Rebecca to the silver screen has numerous advantages: the story can be streamlined with the assumption that much of the audience is familiar with the plot, an audience faithful to the novel can be assumed to be “built-in,” and the film is lent a certain degree of literary prestige. When adapting a novel to film, however, a great difficulty is deciding what aspects of the literature to keep and emphasize, as literary subtleties treasured by the reader often fail to translate well to film.
It is important for studios to profit both financially and symbolically, which is achieved by establishing a unique brand that allows the studio to cultivate relationships with prospective and current employees, industrial counterparts, and movie-going audiences. In constructing a brand, the first step for a studio is to identify and characterize the targeted audiences and adapt the quality of the film as well as the publicity to appeal to these intended spectators. Seiznick International Pictures, the studio that made Rebecca, was a small studio that could not rely on the vertical integration employed by the larger studios. Rather, they had to depend on theater chains which were often owned by competitors to spread and display Seiznick films. Due to this disadvantage, Seiznick directed enormous energy at crafting a distinctive brand concept, one which would be stable and positive regardless of the success of individual films. Thus, they introduced more commercial tie-ins than any other studio, marketing expensive products like furniture, wallpaper, clothing, and cosmetics. The “Rebecca line” of makeup, for example was advertised as lending the ability to transform any woman into the beautiful, mysterious seductress, Rebecca herself.
Seiznick International Pictures had met with great success for Gone With the Wind, and so focused on emphasizing the continuity between that film and Rebecca in order to convince audiences of the consistently high level of quality. The studio also had to comply with the Production Code, forced to make adjustments to the plot such as portraying Maxim’s murder of Rebecca as an accident. Thus, based on the crafting of a particular brand-concept, clever marketing toward a specific demographic, and compliance with the Production Code, Rebecca was a wild success for Seiznick International Pictures.
Tay, Sharon Lin. “Constructing a Feminist Cinematic Ideology: The Gothic Woman’s Film Beyond Psychoanalysis.” Women, Vol. 14, No. 3 (Winter, 2003), pp. 263-280.
Distinctive historical and social factors provided for the emergence of the Gothic woman’s film in Hollywood during the 1940’s. The Second World War elicited an upheaval in the American social hierarchy, necessitating that women enter the work force and thus empowering them to an unprecedented degree. Also, the movie-going audience changed, with a larger proportion of females in the audience than men, since the majority of them were abroad fighting. Finally, the cinema adjusted to address this new predominantly feminine audience, introducing female protagonists and feminine plotlines. Heterosexual marital fulfillment often remained the ultimate goal in these films, with the rejection or failure to comply with this societal standard usually resulting in the heroine’s madness or death.
When comparing Gothic films from the early 1940’s with those made later in the decade, the heroines of the earlier films harbor unwarranted suspicions of their husbands, while in the later films another male character is introduced who is thoroughly benevolent and succeeds in rescuing the heroine. Still, the Gothic woman’s film differs from the conventional films preceding it because, for the first time, the heroine puts up some degree of resistance to compliance with traditional societal demands. Indeed, the primary focus shifts from purely romance to violence and mystery, qualities shared with other genres such as film noir and horror. This transgression by the plotline and the heroine of conventional expectations destabilizes and exposes gaps in the normative cinema structure, and the ambiguity created by this uncertainty is the source of suspense.
Epitomizing the transgression beyond traditional boundaries is Rebecca, who represents the exact opposite of the young wife’s demure, conventional femininity. Symbolized by the turbulent, crashing waves of the sea, Rebecca’s uncontrollable, unpredictable power creates a constant source of tension and disruption throughout the film. Whenever the possibility of calm or resolution arises, a monogrammed belonging of Rebecca’s may appear, thrusting the plot back into uncertainty and chaos. This atmosphere of paranoia and fear is highly characteristic of the Gothic woman’s film, and the transgression of traditionally feminine societal norms formed a basis for the eventual development of the feminist movement.
Corliss, Mary. “Alfred Hitchcock: Behind the Silhouette.” MoMA, Vol. 2, No. 5 (Jun., 1999), pp. 12-14.
In her brief introductory note to a MoMA exhibition, Mary Corliss departs from the discussion of Hitchcock’s films to explore the nature of the man behind their creation. Contradictory to the chaotic, unstructured world often portrayed in his paradigmatic films, Alfred Hitchcock was much more a creature of habit and order than of whim and passion. Corliss explains that Hitchcock thrived in a familiar environment, for it was from this atmosphere of comfortable stability which the brilliance of his films emerged.
The degree of control Hitchcock exercised was unusual in the film industry, which was often a collaboration among multiple creative minds, including directors, actors, technicians, studio heads, and many others. He regarded his own preparation as the most important part of the process – his moments of inspiration, imagination, and the capturing of these gems through extensive and deliberate planning were paramount to cinematic success. In fact, Hitchcock even claimed to be bored by the actual shooting, for it was apparently dull in comparison to the elaborate grand design he had formulated in his head.
Through his films, Hitchcock strived to explore the most deep-seated fears of humanity, and depict them cinematically with electric energy. He was fully aware of the distinctive feeling of pleasure associated with secondhand fear as opposed to real-life panic, and exploited this adrenaline craze to contribute to the success of his films. Similarly, despite his reference to actors as mere ‘cattle’ carrying out his creative designs, Hitchcock employed stars to ensure the success of his films. Famous icons such as Cary Grant, Ingrid Bergman, and Grace Kelly were frequent members of the cast in Hitchcock films, and thus an important aspect of his success. Rebecca is no exception, featuring Laurence Oliver and Joan Fontaine as Maxim deWinter and his young bride. Combining Hitchcock’s talent and prestige and the popularity of the lead stars, Rebecca was bound to be a success among all audiences, not only female.
Salt, Barry. “Film Style and Technology in the Forties.” Film Quarterly, Vol. 31, No. 1 (Autumn, 1977), pp. 46-57.
Barry’s discussion of film technology includes abundant technical details regarding specific advances made in each category of filmmaking during the 1940’s. He begins by explaining that the most widely-used 35mm camera in the 1940’s was the Cunningham Combat Camera, but after World War II, 16mm footage was able to be converted to 35mm use. The first 16mm camera able to record synchronous sound filming was the Berndt-Maurer pro camera, but it was replaced in 1942 by the Auricon single sound system camera which is still used today. A major trend beginning in 1939 is that toward longer takes, with a measured increase in average shot length among films progressively later in the forties. The ability to produce longer takes arose partially due to increased camera mobility, as structures such as crab collies allowed for ease and freedom of camera movement.
Modern zoom lenses arose in the late forties, and the use of new coated lenses allowed for increased clarity in “against the light” filming situations such as the projector scene in Rebecca between Maxim and his young wife, their white faces cast starkly against a dense black background. Also, angle-reverse angle cutting first proliferated in the forties. Hitchcock in particular is known for using point of view shots, such as the eyeline match, more than other directors, and these make up a large proportion of his angle-reverse angle shots. This technique was also an effective way of ensuring audience involvement, for it allows the spectator to feel as if he is actually present and viewing the scene through the eyes of a character. Further, the angle-reverse angle shot is effective because much more emotion can be detected on an actor’s entire face than from his profile alone, so the intricacies of acting are more acutely communicated using angle-reverse angle. Finally, this filming technique provides the audience with changing views and thus sufficient visual stimulation to maintain their interest.
A final innovation of the forties was in the area of lighting. In 1940, small spotlights were introduced with photoflood bulbs. Interestingly, the most notable increase in costs for studios based on lighting was the higher wages required to pay the additional electricians on staff. The forties were also a period of increased on-location shooting. However, there were no major advances in optical effects or sound recording during the forties. The increased average shot length is the most notable trend in film technique that occurred during that decade, a technique which was used frequently by Hitchcock and contributes to both audience engagement and direct acknowledgement of the feminine perspective in Rebecca.
Hingham, Charles. “Hitchcock’s World.” Film Quarterly, Vol. 16, No. 2, With a Special Survey: Our Resources for Film Scholarship (Winter, 1962-63), pp. 3-16.
Despite hackneyed declarations of Alfred Hitchcock as one of the premier film directors of all time, Charles Hingham examines the validity of these sweeping claims, particularly in regard to Hitchcock’s ability, or lack thereof, to convincingly portray human passion. Hingham asserts that, while Hitchcock is a master at fabricating suspense and fear, he proves unable to depict either intellectual or physical passion. He is the master of exploiting the audience’s empathies, vulnerabilities, and repressed desires, yet often fails to effectively render the depth of human emotion on screen.
To Hitchcock, actors were merely tools which he could manipulate within the greater sphere of his cinematic vision. Enjoying total control over the resources available to him and, arguably, his audience, Hingham declares that film was a sort of game for Hitchcock, an arena for his free manipulation. Hitchcock’s films, he argues, are highly stylized and unrealistic, almost abstract in a way, and while they do not lack calculated, educated technique, the ultimate effect is more theatrical than convincing.
Rebecca is uncharacteristic of Hitchcock’s style with its neat, feminine storyline, and Hingham declares that the twisted infatuation of Mrs. Danvers with Rebecca is the sole element retaining the characteristically disturbing, ambiguous Hitchcockian quality. For Hitchcock, the plot of a film was vastly subordinate to the stylistic and visual ways in which this framework could be exploited to affect the audience.