1Alfred Hitchcock’s film of Daphne de Maurier’s best-seller Rebecca was his first movie for Hollywood’s Selznick Studios and was made in 1939-1940. It is a classic work which won the Academy Award for Best Picture in 1940 and which is better, in the opinion of most commentators, than the novel on which it was based, but it is also one which has been open to various interpretations. Harris and Lacey define it as “a woman’s picture, a Gothic intrigue with little humour. It is not a Hitchcock story, but it has elements that excited Hitchcock’s interest1”. David Sterritt refers to “a Gas-Light type atmosphere of domestic morbidity2” while the not always flattering Time Out 1989 Film Guide mentions “a gripping blend of detective story, gothic romance and psychological drama3”. The latter term is echoed by Ephraim Katz’s description “suspenseful psychological drama4”. The diversity of these comments is sufficient to indicate that the work is complex and may be considered in different ways and the notions of ambiguity and uncertainty are one way to reconcile these contradictory factors. Ambiguity is itself an equivocal term. Standard dictionary definitions of the word ambiguous, “having more than one possible meaning” or “difficult to understand or classify” could certainly cover aspects of the movie, but the meaning of ambiguity as a term of literary criticism is equally helpful. William Empson’s classic Seven Types of Ambiguity refers, in all-embracing terms, to “any verbal nuance, however slight, which gives room for alternative reactions to the same piece of language5”. Uncertainty surrounded the very making of the movie was fraught with uncertainties : relations between Selznick and Hitchcock were frequently less than cordial and reflected both a clash of strong personalities and the differences between American and British film cultures, the choice of Joan Fontaine as the leading lady did not meet with universal approval and, most importantly for the largely British cast working in Hollywood, the shooting of the film began in September 1939 when firing of a quite different kind started in Poland. The movie is, however, a masterpiece in its own right, and one which sets the yardstick by which other adaptations, and, paradoxically, even Daphne du Maurier’s novel itself can be judged. Ambiguity and Uncertainty is certainly a large subject, sufficiently broad to do justice to the intricacies of the movie, and not unrelated, as we shall see, to the themes of dominance, femininity and masculinity. This study will exploit the double meaning of ambiguity, firstly by applying the normal sense of the word to the characters in the film, then by examining the application of Empson’s more technical use of the term to the cinematographic techniques and devices in the film, before finally arguing that the dominant uncertainty of the movie gives a sense of coherence and unity to the work.

2Daphne du Maurier’s novel uses a consistent narrative voice, that of a first person homodiegetic narrator of both limited understanding and less than total frankness. The title sequence of Hitchcock’s film is accompanied by an out-of-shot commentary by that same narrator (the second Mrs de Winter), but once the development of the intrigue begins, this guidance also disappears, leaving the viewer to draw his own conclusions about the characters and events. He finds himself in the same uncertain position as the naïve heroine herself and the difficulties of interpretation are complicated by the lack of explanation, by the technique of the objective camera, by the underplaying of emotional reactions and by the sparing use of revealing close-ups. It is rapidly clear that the centre of interest is to be the second Mrs de Winter, but she is placed, from the beginning, in a position of inferiority, dependent on other characters whose motives and behaviour are, to say the least, equivocal.

3We first see her as the paid companion of Mrs Van Hopper, a minor character described by Donald Spoto as a “vulgar American dowager6”, whose evident social ambitions have more than a touch of the comic. Her attitude to the young lady is ambiguous as she oscillates between the roles of employer and chaperon while encouraging initial contacts with Maxim de Winter, and she cannot decide, when she learns of the lady’s engagement whether to rejoice at the romanticism of a whirlwind marriage or to chastise the suggestion of grave sexual impropriety which must have led to it. The point is important in as far as it immediately presents the heroine in a situation of uncertainty and dependence and one in which she is not the mistress of her fate. In fact, she is presented almost exclusively in negative fashion. Before her marriage, she is unnamed, even after it the only identity she has is that supplied by her husband’s surname. She modifies her appearance according to the advice others give her, her interests are limited and her lack of self confidence is revealed by the repeated motifs of an averted downward gaze and the nervous wringing of her hands while her mental gauchness is matched by her physical awkwardness. Other characters put the emphasis on her youth, her own self-esteem is low and her dependent status is revealed by the references to her by such epithets as “Cinderella” or “the child”. Her accomplishments (a little painting), interests and experience are equally limited and we may reasonably wonder about her motives in accepting de Winter’s proposal of marriage. The viewer is forced to argue or reason negatively, for the movie gives no cleat answer to these questions and we may doubt that the lady herself has any conscious knowledge of her own reasons. The emotional or romantic attachment between the two is far from explicit, her fond memories of her father may suggest some Freudian attachment to an older man while a simple naïve and immature passion can also nor be ruled out. The subconscious masochistic desire motivated by a massive inferiority complex suggested by some critics is undoubtedly a possible hypothesis. At a more mundane level, marriage (in general) offers financial security and with it a measure of much-needed independence, but her accepting a proposal for this reason would seem to imply a degree of calculation she does not possess. The real obstacle to progress is her unawareness of her husband’s true relationship with his first wife and her failure to realise, for much of the movie, that he is in search of a new start rather than the second Rebecca she strives inconsistently and of course unsuccessfully to be. In these circumstances, there is little chance of progress towards mature understanding, and the discovery of the truth, when it is imposed upon her by de Winter’s confession of his real relationship with his former wife, is both sudden and a total surprise. Once she knows she no longer has to imitate or compete with Rebecca, she does become the kind of supportive and comforting individual her husband had long wanted her to be.

4If the understanding of the problem is difficult for the viewer, it is doubly so for the young lady. She is, after all, enclosed in an ambiguous world, in which affection and emotion are both limited, where her companions are much older than herself and are privy to information which has been denied her. The sinister housekeeper, Mrs Danvers, is not only the personification of cold-blooded efficiency and implacably malicious and unexplained hostility as far as her new mistress is concerned, but also appears unhealthily obsessed by memory of the first Mrs de Winter. There is at least an unspoken suggestion that their relationship went beyond that of mistress and confidante. Finally, in this ambiguous world, there is the enigmatic Maxim de Winter himself, refined, good humoured and violently ill-tempered by turns, torn between a past he cannot escape and a present he is unable to enjoy. In his case too, the reasons for a second marriage are not immediately apparent. Contrary to the opinion expressed by Mrs Van Hopper, he is neither an unhappy or lonely widower, but he is caught between the desire to start afresh and the need to keep up the family traditions of the past. His relationship with his new wife may be passionate, paternal, platonic or Faustian, or indeed none of these, but he cannot free himself from the straitjacket of the family home which attracts and finally repels him in equal measure. Subconsciously too, he needs to reassert his masculinity. The household at Manderley was dominated by his former wife, whose beauty, brains and breeding were universally admired. In order to maintain appearances, he himself was forced to play the undignified role of the cuckold, exacerbated by the fact that Rebecca’s displays of sexual licence became increasingly numerous and embarrassingly overt. If he was not the master of the marriage bed, no more was he the master of the household. Rebecca dominated this domestic sphere also and after her death this feminine control of the house continues, for his dependence on the skills of Mrs Danvers is only increased by his new wife’s inexperience and fragility and his own apparent indifference.

5The viewer therefore observes the characters in a paradoxical and ambiguous situation which one might summarise as follows : the servant is more powerful than the mistress, the living characters are inferior to the dead one (Rebecca), and at the heart of the setting is absence or emptiness. The second Mrs de Winter, although she refuses to recognise herself when referred to in this way, is present, but defined in negative terms, while the dead Rebecca is the all-powerful influence. She is variously idealised, by those who attended her parties or who fell under the spell of her social skills and physical charm, idolised, by Mrs Danvers who keeps her room like some private museum or shrine, reified, by being reduced to such personal but not intimate objects as her address book7 or hair brushes and evoked as a personified presence, before being triumphantly resurrected by de Winter’s belief that she has won. Hitchcock is careful to maintain the mystery surrounding her personality by avoiding all visual representation of her. In this way, both the viewer and the second Mrs de Winter are obliged to reach conclusions on insufficient and unclear evidence, which, of course contributes to the ambient uncertainty ; this uncertainty is itself exacerbated by the conflicting and ambiguous signals given by the cinematographic techniques.

6Empson’s Seven Types of Ambiguity focuses on the role of author and reader (or in movie terms film-maker and viewer). Without wishing to enter into the complexities of the term “author” when applied to a film director, it is clear that the question of illustration, on the one hand, and interpretation, on the other, are essential parts of the film making and film-viewing process. Of Empson’s seven categories of ambiguity, the highest four, which he defines respectively as “revealing the complicated state of mind of the author” ; “a fortunate confusion” ; “situations in which the reader is forced to invent interpretations” and “those which, by their contradictions, reveal a division in the author’s mind” are probably not appropriate to our study. On the other hand, what he refers to as “a detail effective in several ways at once” ; “cases where two or more meanings are resolved into one” and “examples where apparently unconnected meanings are conveyed simultaneously8” are notions imporrant for rhe viewer who, whatever the circumstances, always strives to interpret what is portrayed. In Rebecca, with its prevailing uncertainty the danger may therefore be rhat of overinterpreting, of underinterpreting or simply misinterpreting details and the techniques used by Hitchcock deliberately allow of such ambiguity. Within the movie there are three broad areas of investigation which may be pursued : a general progression or movement, recurrent themes and techniques which give particular and sometimes conflicting signals and isolated, but crucial, incidents, which may be construed in different ways. To complicate matters still further, these various factors are often at work simultaneously. The general movement of the movie can be plotted in manicheistic terms : from light to dark, from optimism and hope to pessimism and guilt, from the romantic escapist setting of the French Riviera to the increasingly harsh and sinister realities of Manderley and its environs. The deterioration is both constant and visible : the viewer cannot fail to notice the change from the sun of France to the less clement surroundings at Manderley nor the most obvious of objective correlatives, a sudden downpour, which heralds the couple’s arrival at their future home. The progression of the film is very clearly linked to the settings. The open sea is always a threatening environment, Monte Carlo is associated with bright daytime scenes in public places, while Manderley is a location whose external picture-postcard splendour is increasingly overshadowed by threatening gothic elements and the viewer cannot forget the film’s title sequence which finishes by revealing the house as but a ghostly shell. If Manderley is ambiguous, then the associations of the cottage on the beach are entirely negative : the creaking door, the sudden appearance of the half-witted Ben and the evocation of illicit passion are all the prelude to the declaration of hate which de Winter makes within the building.

7If this general progression is clear, it must be admitted that the recurrent techniques of the film are rather more ambiguous. The use of light and shade is a dominant element, even in the Monte Carlo scenes, and the presence of horizontal, diagonal and vertical lines can be interpreted as a definite but unspecified threat to the liberty of the characters portrayed. Similarly, the technique of the split screen is a regular feature, once more suggesting uncertainty, division and insecurity. The positions of the characters on screen are obviously important : the tight framing strongly suggests the idea of them as prisoners of their environment and the slow and / or circular camera movements reinforce the same impression. One of the most striking shots is of the dinner table, at the first meal Mr and Mrs de Winter take together. This is a good example of the ability of the camera to suggest different meanings at one and the same time. The slow tracking out allows the viewer’s gaze to dwell initially on the splendour of the fittings and furnishings but what ultimately dominates is the impression of the inordinate length of the table, which marks the physical distance between the husband and wife. It is hard to avoid the conclusion that mental distance is also implied. As the film develops, so the gothic effects begin to take on growing importance : the diffused or filtered light in the distance, the long corridors crossed by shadows and, increasingly, the shots of characters moving slowly (thanks to the tracking of the accompanying camera) and apparently pursued by their own oversized shadows are particularly evocative of some vague but nonetheless real threat.

8Plausible interpretations of many of these recurrent techniques are not difficult to imagine ; there is, however, a series of shots where the meaning is much less clear-cut, those of de Winter and his future wife in an open-top motor car. The relative positions on the screen, with the male driver on the left, seem to indicate clearly enough the balance of power between them. The message is, howevet, deliberately ambiguous. The couple hardly look at each other and indeed one feature of the film as a whole is the relative absence of reverse angle shots which are typically used to convey real conversations. As de Winter and his wife sit side by side, at a respectable distance from one another, the viewer cannot but be struck by the unity conveyed by their being pictured within the limits of the windscreen, but at the same time by the number of vertical figures suggesting separation, with notably the line running down the middle of the bonnet. Similarly, the symbolism of the freedom of the open road is suggested, but the couple are enclosed within the tight frame of the windscreen and, significantly, the road stretches out not before, but behind them, suggesting the likely dominance of the past over the present. This repeated motif is therefore deliberately ambiguous, with both positive and negative connotations, which could be seen as representing both the freedom and joy of the moment, for the scenes take place in the early stages of the film, and the difficulties to come.

9Finally, we should consider three of the most significant scenes : the initial cliff sequence, de Winter’s proposal of marriage and the emergence of the couple from the local wedding office after the ceremony has taken place in France. The cliff sequence is strongly ambiguous, with an isolated figure, shortly to be revealed as Maxim de Winter, standing looking distractedly down at the storm-tossed sea. The dominant position of this male figure at the top left of the screen is at once undermined by the suggestion of potential suicide, with the sea serving as an objective correlative of his disturbed mental state. The film uses this sequence in a variety of ways. It enables the first contact between the future Mr and Mrs de Winter to take place, with the latter apparently intervening as the saviour who prevents her future husband from throwing himself to certain death. In fact, this explanation is erroneous and their subsequent conversation ends with the abrupt dismissal of the young lady. Only later does the specific significance of the spot become apparent : it was the place where Rebecca revealed her true nature to her husband of four days, which set the tone for their future lives. The atmosphere surrounding the proposal scene is equally ambiguous. Mrs Van Hopper has decided to leave the hotel in Monte Carlo for the United States and her young companion wishes to try to contact Mr de Winter for the last time, without revealing her intentions to her employer. Her frantic haste and desire to avoid detection are genuine comic effects and when she does manage to find de Winter it is clear that he sees the amusing side of the incident, the more so as he has, apparently, other intentions for the young lady. The proposal itself is made in a tone quite in keeping with this light-hearted, quasi-chivalrous mood, de Winter absents himself to complete dressing in his bathroom which means that the proposal is made in voice-over, allowing the viewer to concentrate on the reaction of the fortunate young lady. At the time the declaration is made, it is possible to conceive of this approach as both discreet, delicate and original, avoiding hurting feelings on either side. On later reflection, as the hesitancy of the relationships between husband and wife come to the fore, the viewer may be tempted to consider the manner of the proposal as excessively casual and wonder about seriousness of de Winter’s romantic intentions. The same impression is given by the sequel to the marriage ceremony in France. The happy couple leave their marriage certificate behind and the local officials are obliged to throw the document down to be caught in the courtyard by de Winter himself. Once mote, the light-heartedness of the moment prevails : the happy bridegroom appears rejuvenated by the prospect of a second marriage, for the certificate is successfully recovered and all seems set fair for the life to come. The ceremony is, however, a hasty affair, without all the normal trimmings of a white wedding and, to emphasise the point, de Winter and his bride pass another (traditional) wedding party on their way to their car. In order to try to compensate for the missing romance, de Winter rapidly purchases an enormous, disproportionately large, bouquet for his bride, a gesture which, although apparently more than satisfying the young lady by its generosity and spontaneity, may leave the viewer once more uncertain as to the implications of such carelessness for the days to come.

10In fact, the whole movie abounds in uncertainties. If the viewer is unsure of the exact meaning of events, it is not only because of conflicting interpretations or obscure motivations, but because the prevailing mood is one of doubt and because the treatment of the notion of certainty is profoundly paradoxical. Mrs de Winter’s quest for knowledge is a case in point : when the young lady attempts to overhear the conversation between Jack Favell and Mrs Danvers, her hesitant attempt at subterfuge is discovered before it can be put into effect. It is clear from the reaction of others to unfortunate chance remarks concerning sailing and drowning, that they are more aware of past events than she is, but the information is given only in incoherent, piecemeal fashion, while their remarks suggesting complicity, such as “but you know all that”, are full of unconscious irony since neither the heroine nor the viewer are in fact acquainted with the previous incidents. The depth of much of the irony only becomes apparent later, of course. While it is clear that Mrs Van Hopper’s comments on Maxim de Winter, when the widower is observed at the hotel in Monte Carlo, are little more than unfounded rumours, the complexity of the question of knowledge, truth and certainty only emerges when the climax of the film is reached. It is easy enough to state that at the Coroner’s inquest, the idiot Ben knows the truth but is not encouraged to express it, while the audience’s empathy with the de Winters leads it to hope that all will not be revealed. In the event, of course, and here lies a further irony : the full facts about Rebecca’s last days are less dangerous than the preceding uncertainty, for the lady’s being prey to a terminal illness is sufficient argument to justify the hypothesis of suicide. A more traditional dramatic irony now prevails, the roles are reversed for the viewer (and the de Winters) know more than the other, malicious protagonists, who believed themselves to be in possession of the true details.

11A traditional happy ending is, however, out of the question as there still remains the fundamental existential question about truth and certainty itself. The pervasive atmosphere of the film, as we have observed, is one of growing pessimism and gloom as it appears that the dead Rebecca has indeed won and that the mortal souls of Mr and Mrs de Winter are subservient to this sinister presence from beyond the tomb. This interpretation is, however, also too simplistic, for it would express a certainty which the film consistently refuses to assert. Chance events and coincidences are numerous, but their consequences cannot be viewed simply as beneficial or as malevolent. If we take the example of the moment when Mrs Danvers tries to persuade Mrs de Winter to throw herself to her death, to the accompaniment of a suitably frightening, stormy background, then it is clear that the fortuitous incident of the shipwreck serves to break the deadly hypnotic spell which almost brought about the young lady’s demise. The respite is brief, however. The sinking of the vessel leads inevitably to a further stage of the plot development, for the discovery of Rebecca’s sunken craft and dead body put the de Winters under even greater threat. There are then various levels of knowledge and certainty in the movie. Each new discovery or event is revealed as having various effects and interpretations, nothing should be taken automatically at face value and Hitchcock succeeds until the last moment in playing on the emotions and fears of the cinema audience. In these circumstances, the ending of the film and the partial resolution of the mystery can be seen as entirely in accord with the ambient uncertainty and ambiguity.

12The title sequence evokes the element of mystery : the voice-over narrator is only implicitly identified as Mrs de Winter, explanations are absent and the whole development of the movie does no more than return, in cyclical fashion, to the starting point, with the scene of the ruined house of Manderley being paralleled by shots of the catastrophic fire which destroyed the splendid mansion. This conclusion is, however, deliberately open-ended, and the uncertainty it brings is perfectly in accord with the ambiguity and paradox which pervades the whole work. The ending represents a deliberate change from that of the novel. While the latter hints, however laconically, at the life the de Winters lead after leaving Manderley, an existence marked by fear and constant movement to prevent the forces of justice from catching up with the murderous husband, at the time at which the film was made, it was unacceptable for such a crime to be seen to go unpunished9. On the other hand, the screenplay produces a solution which clears de Winter of the charge of murdering Rebecca, which apparently provides evidence supporting the theory of suicide sufficient to satisfy the other characters and to drive Mrs Danvers to a final and fatal act of jealousy, but which leaves open, in the mind of the audience at least, the possibility of his being brought to book for having tried to conceal the real facts of his first wife’s death. The suspense and uncertainty therefore sustain the movie to the very end.

13Raymond Durgnat comments thus on the diverse themes in Rebecca :

With considerable skill Hitchcock accommodates detective-story realism, intimation of the supernatural, a nostalgia for romanticism, even when it is evil, and a reasonably adult drama in which a will to live prevails against the masochism of the hero and heroine10.

14It is undoubtedly true that the presence of such contrasting elements makes for a work of considerable complexity, seriousness and intensity. This study has endeavoured to illustrate that the deliberate and extensive use of ambiguity and uncertainty, exemplified by an undeniable mastery of cinematographic techniques, have combined to produce a film which is both rich in suspense and mystery and which displays, for all its variety, a fundamental thematic unity.