While “remakes” tend to get a hard pass from me, Ben Wheatley’s Rebecca is the kind that draws my attention for three reasons. It’s more a re-adaptation of a book rather than a remake of a previous film. It’s re-adapting a story that I don’t consider to be a stone-cold classic and can be improved upon — some may disagree, but the 1938 Rebecca isn’t a movie I consider seminal in Alfred Hitchcock’s filmography, though it is quite a good film in its own right. Finally, there’s a major filmmaker who I love — Wheatley — attached to the project. I hoped this could be something that lived side by side with its previous iteration the same way the Coen Brothers’ True Grit lives in mutual respect alongside Henry Hathaway’s original 1969 adaptation featuring an immortal John Wayne performance.  

Frankly speaking, however, Ben Wheatley’s Rebecca is not a good movie. Furthermore, it’s a movie which embodies the sort of unimaginative and overproduced nature of many “modernizations” by major studios. Wheatley’s take on Rebecca mostly follows obediently with the events of the book and Hitchcock’s movie. A young lady’s companion (Lily James) comes with her madame Mrs. Edyth Van Hopper (Ann Dowd), a rich socialite who comes to Monte Carlo on holiday. The wealthy English widower Maxime de Winter (Armie Hammer) is also there and falls for Laura, who — after a few excursions around the coast — accompanies him as his wife, the “new” Mrs. de Winter, to his home dubbed “Manderley.” There, his ominously dour housekeeper Ms. Danvers (Kristin Scott Thomas) helps her get settled. Mrs. de Winter finds herself in the shadow of Maxime’s former wife, Rebecca, who seemed to cast a large influence on the house, its guests and especially Ms. Danvers. 

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There is a porcelain sheen to Rebecca that coats the movie with a lavish décor and color — gold and cerulean Monte Cristo, lush greens of Manderley’s yards/gardens and the cool nourish blues of the mansions insides — that somehow add close to zero uplift to the dull tone of its ongoing events. In fact, it is quite clear that Rebecca’s look and feel are meant to sensorially overwhelm so as to distract the viewer from its complete lack of emotional density. The tonal fluctuations and moods that are so clearly apparent and affecting in Hitchcock’s version, which featured an ample dose of comedy and sarcasm to complement the dark and haunting nature of the story’s backbone, help keep viewers emotionally invested in the plot and mystery. Hitchcock has always been a master of balancing moods, and his horror has always had a bit of fun to it, but that’s also Wheatley’s bread and butter. 

Wheatley’s Sightseers (2012) and A Field in England (2013) are horror films which mix delirious surreal moments of pure terror with an air of comedic hijinks and exaggerated character personalities. Rebecca, however, feels sanded out, erased of all imperfection, identity and mystery. Wheatley mentioned in an interview that when he read the script first, he was still “surprised” despite knowing the story, suggesting this movie had enough twists and quirks to separate it as a distinct vision beyond either the book or first film. I didn’t get that at all. What discrepancies do exist in Wheatley’s Rebecca are a lazy manufacturing of narrative signals. 

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Post-modern filmmaking brought in narrative overhaul to cinema that by and large experimented with linearity of events either temporally or, even further as with David Lynch, inter-dimensionally. Rebecca is rife with the former, mostly used as foreshadowing. There are several moments in the movie which cut away from present action to feature montages of direct symbolism — a gun clicking, a mysterious silhouette, a flame, a body in the water. These are effective methods of drawing the audience in, but Rebecca’s color scheme and elaborately in-your-face art design are dabbled in like salt and pepper so as to mask the stultifying one-note treatment of the film’s main plot. It also makes for a mildly insulting insistence that either du Maurier’s story isn’t compelling enough to grab people by its own accord or, and much more likely, that audiences are too easily distracted and unengaged when watching anything now that they must be roped in by turning the movie into a game of adult Blues Clues.  

Besides a totally uninspired and seemingly off-brand Wheatley, who’s direction has never been so unadventurous, a major culprit of Rebecca’s emotional vacancy is the terrible acting and chemistry of the two leads. Hammer has already gotten a few cuts and bruises from reviews describing him as not only giving a poor performance but being a bad actor in general, but let me draw some attention to the near-equally mediocre James, who tries to fill Joan Fontaine’s shoes. 

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James is wooden, unable to balance the proper discomfort and whelmed nature of Mrs. de Winter with the deep emotional connection she feels with Maxime. James’ interpretation is one of a klutz, one who stumbles on words yet is too smart and at ease in her new surroundings to be believed as someone living under the shadow of a colossal ghost like Rebecca. The dynamic between Mrs. de Winter and Ms. Danvers is different here, with the latter giving a Cinderella’s stepmother vibe rather than something more enigmatic and intriguing. Thomas and Dowd deliver strong performances, but these two supremely-talented actresses are nudged into stereotypes that once again forgo subtlety to make up for the fact that the de Winter couple are so thoroughly beige and forgettable. 

Harping on classic movies and old films as monumentally better than the cinema of today will induce eye-rolls and “boomer” accusations, but there is something clearly wrong with the way the new Rebecca is constructed. It’s a movie of aesthetic dominance and narrative mundanity, with the former desperately trying to make up as much ground as it can for the latter. Rebecca is indeed eye-catching, but none of the images last — none of the colors do anything other than provide good screen caps that one might use as a desktop background. It’s why I don’t quite buy the idea that Wheatley took this project on with a full heart and full control. I know his films, I’ve seen all of them. Netflix movies, by and large, are designed with the intention of lasting as still images for memes and pictures for people to pass around online, no matter what the director’s supposed vision may be. Moving forward, Wheatley will have to examine what made his films before Rebecca so successful and unique.

Soham Gadre (@SohamGadre) is a writer/filmmaker based in Washington, D.C. He has contributed to publications such as Bustle, Frameland and Film Inquiry. Soham is currently in production for his first short film. All of his film and writing work can be found at extrasensoryfilms.com.