Hitchcock Got “Rebecca” Dead Wrong

Theme Essay by Elizabeth Langosy 

Sucking the Soul out of a Classic Novel

 


Quick! Name the book that begins like this:

Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.

Cover of Rebecca, by Daphne du Maurier Yes, dear readers, it’s Rebecca, Daphne du Maurier’s 1938 novel and one of my personal “stranded on a desert island” picks. Sinking into that sentence—and the ones that follow in the brief first chapter—is like sharing a close friend’s confidences or exploring the journal of a beloved, long-gone relative.

In fact, the entire book is a glimpse into the narrator’s psyche, which makes it perfect material for an Alfred Hitchcock movie—or so you'd think. Over the years, I've watched many filmed adaptations of Rebecca, and almost every one has undermined du Maurier's novel. How laughably off-track they've been provides a good case study of why some books are not easily translated to film.

I discovered Rebecca when I was a shy and solitary teenager, newly acquainted with the joys of gothic novels. I devoured the works of Victoria Holt, Mary Stewart, and other writers whose heroines all seemed to start out as live-in governess to the children of a young widower and go on to become mistress of the manor. The manor was always located on the stormy coast of Cornwall. The widower was always broodingly handsome and haunted by the death of his wife.

The thought that I could one day be that governess—on my own in a new place, without my family, heroically making a new life—got me through many a lonely evening. If the heroines whose bereft lives seemed so similar to mine were able to reach their full potential in such a dramatic way, I could, too.

When I worked my way through the library shelves to Rebecca, I realized within a few pages that this was not a gothic novel, despite the dramatic cover image of Manderley, a manor house by the sea, and the character of Maxim de Winter, a striking man grieving the recent death of his wife, Rebecca.

Daphne du Maurier, c.1930; public domain

In Rebecca, the young heroine becomes Maxim’s new wife and the mistress of the manor before she realizes what’s hit her. A girl so inconsequential to the world she inhabits that her given name is never mentioned, she’s drawn by love into a situation that highlights her lack of worldliness at every turn.

Even her description of herself is significant: “straight, bobbed hair and youthful unpowdered face, dressed in an ill-fitting coat and skirt and a jumper of my own creation.”

Du Maurier shows not only the trappings of the haut monde that surround (and flummox) the new Mrs. de Winter, but also the complexity of her inner thoughts. And these thoughts are the soul that’s been sucked out of nearly every subsequent incarnation of Rebecca.

Here's the young wife in the book, fantasizing about an alternate life with Maxim as they travel to Manderley after meeting and marrying in Monte Carlo:

...Maxim could lean over a cottage gate in the evenings, smoking a pipe, proud of a very tall hollyhock he had grown himself, while I bustled in my kitchen, clean as a pin, laying the table for supper. There would be an alarm clock on the dresser ticking loudly, and a row of shining plates, while after supper Maxim would read his paper, boots on the fender, and I would reach for a great pile of mending in the dresser drawer.

Other young women—say, the characters in the novels by Victoria Holt—would be dreaming of the mansion they'd inhabit and the tea served on a silver platter by the butler.

Du Maurier created terrific characters out of a sentence or two. Here’s her depiction of the wealthy American Mrs. Van Hopper, who has hired our heroine as a companion at the start of the book:

She would precede me into lunch, her short body ill-balanced upon tottering, high heels, her fussy, frilly blouse a compliment to her large bosom and swinging hips, her new hat pierced with a monster quill aslant upon her head, exposing a wide expanse of forehead bare as a schoolboy’s knee.

And here’s the first glimpse of the terrifying Mrs. Danvers, housekeeper of Manderley:

Someone advanced from the sea of faces, someone tall and gaunt, dressed in deep black, whose prominent cheek-bones and great, hollow eyes gave her a skull’s face, parchment-white, set on a skeleton’s frame.

The housekeeper undercuts the new Mrs. de Winter at every turn, while constantly reminding her that Rebecca was on top of everything from the most suitable accompaniment for roast veal to the appropriate attire for a ball. In one eerie scene, depicted in all the filmed versions, Mrs. Danvers describes how she prepares a now-unused bedroom for her former mistress each evening, removing Rebecca’s nightdress from its embroidered case and arranging it lovingly on the bed.

Shortly after the publication of Rebecca, du Maurier herself adapted it as a stage play that appears (from snippets available on Google Books) to begin when Maxim and his new wife arrive at Manderley, rather than in Monte Carlo. In 1940, the play had a successful London run of over 350 performances. The same year, Hitchcock’s Academy Award-winning film version was released in the United States. Poster for Hitchcock film of Rebecca

Hitchcock cast Joan Fontaine in the role of the young wife. With her flirty smile and curled hair, she seems to be constantly biting her cheek to remind herself that she’s meant to be shy and unworldly. Laurence Olivier makes a dashing Maxim de Winter, perfectly in keeping with du Maurier’s description, but Judith Anderson looks nothing like the skeletal housekeeper described in the book. She does act creepy, though.

I loathe the beginning of the movie, which offers a truncated version of the opening lines, intoned in Fountaine’s too-sophisticated voice, as the camera sweeps down the overgrown drive leading to Manderley. In one of many other fabricated scenes, our heroine rescues Maxim from an intended suicide jump that conveniently occurs at the spot where she sits sketching in the middle of nowhere.

The Hitchcock movie marked the beginning of Rebecca as ghost story. (If you can’t depict the inner torments of a character, you must invent some external ones.) The package copy of the DVD I recently borrowed from the library warns the viewer, complete with dramatic bolding and capitalization:

After a whirlwind romance, MYSTERIOUS WIDOWER Maxim de Winter brings his shy, young bride home to his IMPOSING ESTATE, Manderley. But the new Mrs. de Winter finds her married life dominated by the sinister, almost spectral influence of Maxim’s late wife: the brilliant, ravishingly BEAUTIFUL Rebecca, who, she suspects, still rules both Manderley and Maxim from BEYOND the GRAVE!

The even more absurd 2003 Masterpiece Theater production appears to be based on Hitchcock’s film rather than on the book. The two-part series begins with Masterpiece host Russell Baker informing viewers that they’re about to see “the most popular ghost story to come out of England since Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol.” Then he portentously adds: “At the center of the story is a haunted house.” PBS version of Rebecca

Ah, Manderley. How far you have strayed from your noble beginnings. You are now possessed by Rebecca—or at least by her enormous head, whose staring eyes and plucked eyebrows fill the screen whenever there’s a hint of trouble or doom.

In this PBS television incarnation, our heroine’s opening dream of Manderley is dropped altogether in favor of the fabricated cliff-side sequence of the distraught Maxim and his artistic bride-to-be. The scene cuts to a stormy sea with a capsized boat that’s quickly replaced by Rebecca’s monstrous eyes. Trouble’s ahead!

By the time they’re back in Monte Carlo and Mrs. Van Hopper appears, all is lost. Rather than the figure described by du Maurier—with her large bosom, swaying hips, and broad forehead—Mrs. VH is played by Faye Dunaway. A fairly sexy Dunaway, too, who flirts with Maxim rather than just trying to ingratiate herself with a European aristocrat, as the book’s Mrs. VH does.

Charles Dance looks nothing like du Maurier’s description of Maxim, and Emilia Fox—although possessing the requisite bob—is altogether too self-possessed as our heroine. In scenes created just for this production, Maxim and his future bride cavort in the ocean, go boating, laugh, and cuddle. Back at Manderley, even Diana Rigg’s acting prowess—she won an Emmy for her role—cannot compensate for her inappropriateness for the role of Mrs. Danvers.

Oh, send me back to the wonderful 1979 BBC production of Rebecca, the one that’s so mired in rights issues that it never has come out on DVD, the one you can only glimpse in pirated YouTube videos. I first saw it when it appeared on Masterpiece Mystery in March 1980 and have futilely sought a copy of it ever since. Although this adaptation takes four hours to tell the story, it replicates as closely as possible du Maurier’s depiction of the characters and events. 1979 Rebecca with BBC image

At the start, our heroine is sitting over tea, sharing her dream and subsequent thoughts with an unseen friend (much as they’re shared with readers of the book). Joanna David plays the part of the young bride to perfection, right down to her outmoded clothing and hesitant manner. Elspeth March is stout and overbearing as Mrs. Van Hopper, Jeremy Brett gives an outstanding performance as Maxim, and Anna Massey is brilliant as Mrs. Danvers. Although Rebecca’s presence lingers everywhere—in the “R” that embellishes napkins and stationery, the positioning of the floral arrangements, and the special sauces served at dinner—there’s not a spectral eyebrow to be seen.

This splendid adaptation comes closest to my vision of Rebecca, yet I can’t help thinking of one particular line of dialog that appears in all the versions. As Maxim and his bride drive up to Manderley, he tells her, “Just be yourself, and they’ll all adore you.” In the movie and TV versions, these are the words of a loving and supportive husband reassuring his young wife. In the book, they take on sinister overtones, because readers know exactly how the heroine sees herself, and it’s not as someone who would be adored:

I did not answer him, for I was thinking of that self who long ago bought a picture postcard in a village shop, and came out into the bright sunlight twisting it in her hands, pleased with her purchase, thinking, ‘This will do for my album. “Manderley,” what a lovely name.’ And now I belonged here, this was my home.... I would walk along this drive, strange and unfamiliar to me now, with perfect knowledge, conscious of every twist and turn, marking and approving where the gardeners had worked, here a cutting back of the shrubs, there a lopping of a branch, calling at the lodge by the iron gates on some friendly errand, saying 'Well, how's the leg today?' while the old woman, curious no longer, bade me welcome to her kitchen....

It seemed remote to me, and far too distant, the time when I too should smile and be at ease, and I wished it could come quickly, that I could be old even, with grey hair, and slow of step, having lived here many years, anything but the timid, foolish creature I felt myself to be.

 


Publishing Information

  • Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier (Victor Gollancz, 1938; first American edition: Doubleday, 1938).
  • Rebecca: A Play in Three Acts by Daphne du Maurier (Samuel French, 1939).

  


Elizabeth Langosy

Elizabeth Langosy is the executive editor of Talking Writing.

 

“Maybe it’s just a matter of semantics. Does it shift the paradigm if a film is called a “retelling?” Am I more comfortable with “influenced by” or “based on?” When does an “adaptation” become a new creative work altogether?" — "It’s a Book! It’s a Movie! It’s a…Zombie?"


 

 

Comments

I'm totally with you. I thought Hitchcock's Rebecca flattened the story into a pedestrian ghost-paranoia tale. I came to the novel through the BBC adaptation and my much-treasured copy of the novel is the companion to that (which you've pictured here). About 10 years ago the National Film Theatre showed the series and it was every bit as haunting as I remember, and, I think, does as much justice as possible to the novel. Of course, nothing will be as enthralling as Du Maurier's prose, but that series is very special to me. Thanks for a lovely post, I'm off to tweet

Hum ! Du Maurier said it's a tale about jalousy, the 2nd wife toward the first, it's not a romance
_ in the book she begings as a companion to Mrs Van Hopper and ends a as companion of a mental ill Maxim(Chapter 2)
- the 1979 version is close to the book but...Joanna David was 30 years old, Brett moustache is a real distraction
- for Charles Dance, ok he's blond...in the book there are a lot of mentions of their age difference, that he looks like her father, etc...plus there is chemistry between him and fox...
the end of 1997 version is so "Jane Eyre"

Lorraine, I'm not surprised to hear you also read Victoria Holt. I agree that Eleanor Hibbert's range of work was amazing. I remember especially enjoying the historical novels she wrote as Jean Plaidy and how surprised I was to learn that a number of my favorite authors were actually the same person.

You're going to love Rebecca!

Well, Elizabeth, you've convinced me that I should read Rebecca. I remember seeing the film and thinking that I didn't understand why one of my young women students was so obsessed with it, but now, I remember it was the book, not the film, that had captivated her. So they are not one and the same.
I was delighted to see that you, too, passed through a Victoria Holt phase of life. I devoured every Holt novel as a teenager, even reading her other books published under her other pseudonyms. The thing I loved about her was that each pseudonym meant an entirely different genre of fiction, but all could be counted upon to give me hours of pleasure.
I've added Rebecca to my list of books to read over winter break. I'm sure it will be great company.
Thanks for this.

I read Rebecca at exactly the right moment in my youth and was completely captivated but oblivious to matters of craft. Now I am off to the library (where it will surely be) to read it again and learn from Du Maurier's artistry.

Elizabeth,
Like Anna, I read Rebecca at a time before I was aware of writing styles, good or bad. I only know that I was lost in this classic. It took me to a place so far away.
Downloading to my Kindle~
Thank you for your memories.
Cheryl

Anna and Cheryl, thanks so much for commenting. One of the great pleasures for me in writing this piece was the chance to reread Rebecca. I'd expected to skim through it for details but ended up lingering over every word.

I love Rebecca I think this was the first novel my mum gave me to read. I lovw it and is still one of my favourite books. I did see the movie but can't remember it that well

I've seen the BBC adaptation twice on PBS, once years after the original, and I loved it; I guess I shouldn't bother with the other adaptations? Too bad it's not on DVD. Thanks for explaining about that.

Thanks for commenting, Iga and Jacqueline.

Iga, I wouldn't bother with the other adaptations I mentioned, but there are many versions I haven't seen (or even heard about until I began researching this piece). I honestly have no idea what they're like--although, as you can guess, I don't have high hopes for them. I'll be interested to see what DreamWorks does in its adaptation currently scheduled for release in 2014.

Jacqueline, I imagine you can't remember the movie very well because it was so inferior to the book! I had the same experience when I first watched it long ago.

Roz, I'm delighted to discover another admirer of the BBC adaptation. It's so hard to find that I hadn't imagined many people would have heard of it, much less seen it. And I love hearing that you own the copy of the book with Joanna David on the cover. Mine is an ancient Triangle Books version that (I hate to admit) has Laurence Olivier and Joan Fontaine on the front—along with the spectral image of a blonde Rebecca in a sexy nightgown looming over Manderley.

Isobel, thanks for your comments. They're very interesting, especially du Maurier's statement that the book was about jealousy. I never did see it as a romance, but I thought it was more about the inner turmoil of a timid person thrust into the spotlight. I imagine she'd have felt out of place even if Rebecca hadn't existed—although maybe I'm wrong, since the name of the book is telling. I didn't see Maxim as mentally ill, either. He just seemed distraught to me, as I guess anyone would be under those circumstances (not to give away the ending...). And you're so right that there's chemistry between Dance and Fox, but that's one of the things that seems so wrong to me about the PBS version. Yes, they're meant to be falling in love, but the reticence of the character as depicted by du Maurier becomes lost in the overtly flirty connection between the two.

Count me in as someone who needs to read the book now! I really enjoyed the film, though admittedly it's been a while since I saw it. Rebecca (film) was mentioned in the documentary The Celluloid Closet; supposedly Mrs. Danvers was in love with Rebecca, based on the way she caressed the dead woman's fur coats and talked about her. Was that subtext in the book, or just the way Anderson played Mrs. Danvers?

Fun fact: Laurence Olivier resented Joan Fontaine (who beat out Olivier's love, Vivien Leigh, for the role) and would stare at her hairline rather than make direct eye contact with her.

Ha! Love that fun fact, Wendy! And you will love the book.

Mrs. Danvers was Rebecca's nanny when she was a child and was completely devoted to her. A big part of why she went on about the furs, etc. was her ongoing effort to make the new Mrs. de Winter feel completely inadequate in comparison. Another component was the familiar situation of someone not really believing a loved one is dead and continuing to keep the room tidy, a place set at the table, etc., just in case the person suddenly returns. Those scenes were in the book as well, but not with any connotations that Mrs. Danvers was "in love" with Rebecca--simply that she deeply loved her, going back to early childhood.

Like some of the comments on this site i also read Rebecca when i was at school after seeing the film on TV. I thought the story by Daphne Du Maurier very interesting and athough to some extent it was about jealousy snd love a story of great suspense. In a way i thought it had similar themes to Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte the rich man who marries a younger woman who is quite out of her depth regarding her new position in life. Both Max De Winter and Mr Rochester had secrets which haunted them. And the mad woman who destroys everthing in the end. Ilike Hitchcocks Rebecca as i am also a fan of Laurence Olivier his Max De Winter i thought was very well acted and also Joan Fontaine was well cast as his second wife and Judith Anderson as Mrs Danvers was a tour de force. I have heard it said that Mrs Danvers was gay and was in love with Rebecca that is why she was so obsessed with her but that is just speculation i think.

I was going through some old

I was going through some old video cassettes, deciding which ones to throw away and which to take to Costco and pay to have put on DVDs. What I have is mostly family birthdays, holidays, dance recitals. But I also have the whole Jeremy Brett version of Rebecca, with Debussy's "Reverie" playing hauntingly in the background--a perfect choice, I always thought. It is, I agree, the very best version. I suppose Costco will refuse to put this on a DVD for me. What a shame.

You'd mentioned a futile

You'd mentioned a futile search for the 1980 PBS version of Rebecca, with Joanna David and Jeremy Brett. I found a site (CineFear) that might have what you're looking for - i.e. better than the smudgy YouTube offerings. Since it's on two DVD disks, that's usually indicative of a better-than-average TV or VHS rip. Good luck!

You keep referring to the

You keep referring to the first movie as 'Hitchcock's' and blame him for a poor adaptation of the book. With all due respect, the butchering was at the hand of Selznick, not Hitchcock. It's my understanding that Selznick cut out scenes and rewrote the script at the dismay of, and over protests by, Hitchcock.

Just...no. You have it

Just...no. You have it completely backwards, along with more than a few misconceptions.

First, Selznick bought the book with the notion of filming it faithfully, - he wanted the gloom and sense of foreboding that was part and parcel of a faithful adaption. It was Hitchcock, who'd only read it in rough galley form, who assumed he'd be given free rein to make a Hitchcock "suspense" film, which also meant downplaying the romantic and Gothic overtones. Hitchcock was the one who pushed for departures from the novel, wanting to resort to comic scenes to heighten suspense (as he'd done in earlier films) which would have destroyed that Gothic feel. The fact that in later years he denounced the film, stating that: "The fact is, the story lacks humor" should really tell you all you need to know about whether he *ever* had a good grasp of the book.

Second, rather than Selznick butchering with the script, it was Hitchcock who reworked the original treatment with novelist Philip MacDonald and Joan Harrison (his secretary, who later become his aide/scenarist). The trio made so many unsatisfactory changes, like a comic bit in which Maxim's cigar makes people seasick, as well as including a bunch of friends (more comic relief) to what was supposed to be that solitary Riviera trip, that in Sezlnick's eyes they cheapened the script. This prompted one of his more famous rejection memos, a 10 pager that starts out: “I am shocked and disappointed beyond words." and instructs Hitchcock that: "We bought Rebecca and we intend to make Rebecca."

The reference you make to "cut out scenes" actually refers to this treatment, NOT the finished film. Hitchcock did as Selznick ordered, and adhered to the book - this second treatment attempt was by Hitchcock working with his wife, Alma Reville, along with Michael Hogan, a British writer/actor.

Third, the main problem that hasn't been addressed here was that any treatment, and especially an ending, that was faithful to the book flew in the face of the Hayes Production Code. Basically, a film in which Maxim de Winter was allowed go unpunished for the murder of his first wife - no matter how evil she was - would never have been released, no matter what Hitchcock's "protests" were. Nor could Rebecca be allowed to essentially commit suicide by goading her husband into killing her. Dramatist Robert E. Sherwood was brought in by Selznick to "fix" the ending - and the only acceptable outcome, no matter how much Selznick might have wanted that faithful adaptation, was to have Rebecca die accidentally, hitting her head on ship's tackle. Meh - so much for Gothic.

Hitchcock knew exactly what he was working with, and in addition had almost total control of the finished film since he didn't adhere to the usual practice of filming several completed shots of each scene to allow for a variety of ways to cut it. He had his final cut already worked out before shooting, so that he only filmed exactly what he planned to use in the film. In fact, Selznick was totally freaked out by this process and almost considered tanking the project; his wife had to convince him that the film was excellent (well, given the script constraints the Code had imposed, that is).

Just...no. You have it

Just...no. You have it completely backwards, along with a few misconceptions.

First, Selznick bought the book with the notion of filming it faithfully - he wanted the gloom and sense of foreboding that was part and parcel of a faithful adaption. It was Hitchcock, who'd only read it in rough galley form, who assumed he'd be given free rein to make a Hitchcock "suspense" film, which also meant downplaying the romantic and Gothic overtones. Hitchcock was the one who pushed for departures from the novel, wanting to resort to comic scenes to heighten suspense (as he'd done in earlier films) which would have destroyed that Gothic feel. The fact that in later years he denounced the film, stating that: "The fact is, the story lacks humor" should really tell you all you need to know about whether he *ever* had a good grasp of the book.

Second, rather than Selznick butchering with the script, it was Hitchcock who reworked the original treatment with novelist Philip MacDonald and Joan Harrison (his secretary, who later become his aide/scenarist). The trio made so many unsatisfactory changes, like a comic bit in which Maxim's cigar makes people seasick, as well as including a bunch of friends (more comic relief) to what was supposed to be that solitary Riviera trip, that in Sezlnick's eyes they cheapened the script. This prompted one of his more famous rejection memos, a 10 pager that starts out: “I am shocked and disappointed beyond words." and instructs Hitchcock that: "We bought Rebecca and we intend to make Rebecca."

The reference you make to "cut out scenes" actually refers to this treatment, NOT the finished film. Hitchcock did as Selznick ordered, and adhered to the book - this second treatment attempt was by Hitchcock working with his wife, Alma Reville, along with Michael Hogan, a British writer/actor.

Third, the main problem that hasn't been addressed here was that any treatment, and especially an ending, that was faithful to the book flew in the face of the Hayes Production Code. Basically, a film in which Maxim de Winter was allowed go unpunished for the murder of his first wife - no matter how evil she was - would never have been released, no matter what Hitchcock's "protests" were. Nor could Rebecca be allowed to essentially commit suicide by goading her husband into killing her. Dramatist Robert E. Sherwood was brought in by Selznick to "fix" the ending - and the only acceptable outcome, no matter how much Selznick might have wanted that faithful adaptation, was to have Rebecca die accidentally, hitting her head on ship's tackle. Meh - so much for Gothic.

Hitchcock knew exactly what he was working with, and in addition had almost total control of the finished film since he didn't adhere to the usual practice of filming several completed shots of each scene to allow for a variety of ways to cut it. He had his final cut already worked out before shooting, so that he only filmed exactly what he planned to use in the film. In fact, Selznick was totally freaked out by this process and almost considered tanking the project; his wife had to convince him that the film was excellent (well, given the script constraints the Code had imposed, that is).

Wow!! Ok. I'm sorry that I

Wow!! Ok. I'm sorry that I upset you so much. I didn't realize that you had so much invested in this. Dang!
I said 'it was my understanding', and it was. I didn't state it as absolute fact. Wow!

I'm not "upset" - quite the

I'm not "upset" - quite the contrary. Sorry the comment went to stereo, but really, now. If you're going to go to the trouble of trying to refute the entire premise of this 4-year-old post with what turns out to be inaccurate information, who's the one with the real "investment" here? Even if part of it was couched as "your understanding," do you really think that becoming defensive and huffy if someone dares to tell you that you're wrong is a mature way to react?

lol I'm not the one who's

lol I'm not the one who's 'huffy' and acting immature, and certainly not defensive. I was just shocked that I received such a passionate, detailed, numbered (?) response to such a trivial comment. I didn't realize that anyone, except maybe the people who were a part of the film, were that invested in it....and that's what I mean by that word. You being so adamant about it was very off-putting.
You could have responded to my comment without being so condescending... well, maybe you can't.
I didn't try to refute anything. I very clearly said 'it's my understanding', as I see that you read.
Whatever... I'm going to go play with the grown ups now.

Wait - the supposed

Wait - the supposed revelations in your "trivial" comment would have only served to kneecap the entire premise of this post - but now you "didn't try to refute anything"? Let me ask you - if you saw condescension in my bothering to respond to you by telling you exactly how you had things backward, just how do you think that "With all due respect, the butchering was at the hand of Selznick, not Hitchcock" comes across, if not incredibly patronizing, especially when you couldn't be bothered to be sure of your facts? Because using "it's my understanding" at the end as a disclaimer simply means you can't actually cite your sources - what it *doesn't* mean is that everything you just wrote wasn't written to contradict someone.

Since you cared enough to comment in the first place, before you decided it was so trivial, I took you seriously enough to give you the facts and show where part of your confusion (aka "understanding") could have come from. It's actually an interesting story, because if Hitchcock had been capable of understanding his subject matter as much as Selznick did, he might have been able to work with him and rise above Joan Fontaine's smirking to create a better film, but I fear all you got from that was that your understanding, ego or whatever didn't like being contradicted.

As for "passionate" and "invested" - come on, would you classify the level of "passion" or "investment" that the author of this post displays as something that you'd only expect if she, personally, were involved in the creation of each one of these adaptations? What I posted is not only knowledge that anyone who's studied film history is aware of, but the details are ones that you could have easily researched online for yourself - so why should you be "shocked" that find out that there's more to the topic (that you yourself introduced), than you initially thought? I think the translation here is more along the lines of: "I didn't expect anyone to tell me I was wrong, in such detail, and really I don't like being disagreed with." That may be an unfair characterization, but with all the defensiveness and backpedaling, that's how it comes across.

My last comment to you...I

My last comment to you...I love to learn. I have no problem with someone correcting me or educating me. What I have a problem with is someone being so condescending while they do it.
History is important. Film history, American history, world history... it's all important. But there are ways that are more appropriate to approach someone if you want them to hear that history. For example, if I went into a Lincoln's day celebration and started talking about how he worked his entire adult life to deport all blacks, how do you think that would go over? But if I waited for an appropriate time, an appropriate conversation, with an appropriate person and had that conversation, we could have a productinve dialog that might offend neither of us. See? It's in the delivery, not the facts. Facts are great. But they need to be delivered in a way that makes the hearer feel like they have the opportunity to learn something rather than being chasized for something.
This is so childish. If it makes you feel better, I'm an idiot. You reign supreme as the film history buff to be topped by none other, certainly not me. My opinions are worthless, my reports that I've read are worthless, and I shall never again relay them on this site. I had no right to post anything to begin with because it only proved how stupid I am. Only you have the final say in what happened in the world of film history.
Feel better? This topic isn't that important to me. How I'm treated, is.
I'm done. Grow up.

You may indeed love to learn.

You may indeed love to learn. What you don't appear to love is having to learn anything from anyone else that runs counter to what you've already written. While you've crafted a nice little analogy in which you've decided the best way to break unwelcome [but factual] news is through one-on-one contact with the right person at the right time, it fails on several levels - and not just because, ironically, you actually tried to be the guy who thought it would be fine to drop an unwelcome revelation among the faithful (only with the kicker of not getting your facts straight first). Sorry, but there's no "waiting for an appropriate time/person/opportunity" to present bad news on a webpage, so your analogy is yet still another instruction about how one should tiptoe around your ego to let you save face. There's no other way I could have told you on a webpage that your entire statement was wrong except to tell you that it was. I'm sorry you were wrong. I'm sorry that I took your comment seriously enough to show you how you could have misunderstood the circumstances of the situation, and then to explain the facts of the matter. Far from claiming to be some uber-historian using some arcane facts to unfairly smite you with, I even disclosed that this information can be easily found and verified elsewhere - which I guess could be more bruising if you want to take it that way, but since you were so freaked that I would presume to unleash all these unfair, insider facts on you, what the hell. I used no insults, I didn't defame your ancestry, I didn't tell you you shouldn't be posting here, nor did I call you stupid, dumb or worthless - all I did was I tell you that you were wrong. End of story. If you feel you weren't treated respectfully enough because the delivery wasn't sufficiently soothing, delicate or delivered by personal note on scented paper so as to let you down ever-so-easily, then I suggest you take your own advice. Grow up.

I too just re-read Rebecca

I too just re-read Rebecca for the first time since I was a teenager, some forty odd years ago. It's wonderful the added depth that I see in it now. I plan to see the Hitchcock movie, and I must thank you for drawing my attention to the 1979 series. I watched the first half hour, and it is very true to the style and mood of the book, and certainly the casting of the leads is perfect. I'll be interested to see the rest, especially how they deal with Manderly. I also saw a little of the 'Masterpiece Theatre' version. Hum! There's a motel chain in France called 'Première Classe', which provides accommodation in the most ugly, cheap pre-fabricated concrete boxes imaginable, and I feel the word 'Masterpiece' is applied in the same optimistic spirit to this piece of TV theatre.

Hi, Meredith. Thanks for

Hi, Meredith. Thanks for sharing this information. I went to the site (which is brilliantly bizarre) and found the DVD's. Have you seen them? Are they better quality than you tube?

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