“Last Night I dreamed I went to Manderley again.”

In the film Rebecca Joan Fontaine, a paid companion to an obnoxious, bombastic society woman, meets handsome widower, Maxim de Winter (Lawrence Olivier) in Monte Carlo. It appears that the first Mrs. de Winter died in a tragic and mysterious boating accident. An unlikely romance develops between the companion and Maxim, and they marry. After a brief honeymoon, the newyweds return to Maxim’s splendid mansion, Manderley, in Cornwall. The second Mrs. De Winter finds that she is under the shadow of Maxim’s first wife, the paragon–Rebecca.

The interesting thing to me about the film is that Rebecca is just a memory–but such a powerful one. She no longer exists when the film begins and yet her presence is felt throughout the film. This is underscored by the fact that the second Mrs de Winter is never called by her first name, so she just ‘borrows’ Rebecca’s identity, in a sense. By the time the film concludes, I had a very strong sense of Rebecca’s character, and even though the film included no flashback sequences and no photographs of Rebecca, nonetheless she was as strong a presence as Olivier or Fontaine. Everyone who knew her has a different memory–and no two memories of Rebecca are quite the same.

My favourite performance in the film came from George Sanders. He is splendid as roguish, slimy cousin Jack. He drips with malevolent sarcasm, and clearly thinks very little of the simpering new Mrs. de Winter. Another excellent performance comes from Judith Anderson as Mrs. Danvers. Danvers serves as the prototype of all future evil housekeepers (I particularly thought of Frau Blucher–played by Cloris Leachman in Young Frankenstein).

The film Rebecca is based on the excellent novel by Daphne Du Maurier. The film remained faithful to the novel–the only criticism I have of the film was that I thought Joan Fontaine played the role with too much emphasis on being a total ninny. Alfred Hitchcock as the director guarantees suspense, and he delivers it again and again in the subtlest of ways. It’s no wonder that Criterion selected this film for DVD.

“You always forget that punishment is part of the scheme.”

Alfred Hitchcock’s film The Paradine Case begins with a beautiful woman, Maddalena Paradine (Alida Valli) calmly playing the piano right before she is arrested for the murder of her husband. At one point, she pauses and looks up at the portrait of her husband hanging on the wall next to the piano, and a shadow of a different emotion passes across her face. Is it sadness? Grief? It’s impossible to tell. That single shot of Valli’s perfectly sculptured face registers something…but what? And that scene is just one example of this perfectly constructed Hitchcock film.

The Paradine Case revolves around the question of whether or not Mrs. Paradine murdered her elderly, blind wealthy husband. Highly skilled barrister Edward Keane (Gregory Peck) is employed to defend her, and in spite of the fact he’s happily married to Gay (Ann Todd), in the course of the pre-trial consultations, Keane falls under the spell of Mrs. Paradine–the fascinating, enigmatic, elusive dark beauty. She frankly admits that she had a shady past, and makes no apologies for it. She also admits that her life improved immeasurably when she married the elderly and extremely wealthy Colonel Paradine. There is no real sense of what sort of person the Colonel was, or what their marriage was like, but Keane immediately begins building a case that Mrs. Paradine was the devoted, lovely wife who sacrificed herself to her husband’s many needs.

The film’s pre-trial build-up is perfect. Two separate domestic scenes illustrate the decline of Keane’s marriage as his fascination with Mrs. Paradine deepens. In the first domestic scene, Keane comes home late at night, and he’s met by his lovely devoted wife who fusses him into bed with wifely attentions. But their relationship deteriorates rapidly once he takes the case, and the next domestic scene between the Keanes is evidence of the toll the case has taken on their marriage. The film touches on the idea of class. Keane moves in affluent society, but there are hints that his life has not always been like this. Mrs. Paradine is a newcomer to the upper classes, and this fact rears its head at several points during the film–especially when she’s questioned regarding her husband’s loyal valet Andre (Louis Jourdan).

One of Keane’s greatest flaws, apparently, is to get too emotional during a trial. This is his Achilles’ Heel, and perhaps the explanation for this can be found in the fact that Keane is essentially an idealist. The sagacious Paradine family solicitor Simon Flaquer (Charles Coburn) hopes that Keane won’t have to argue his case in front of the cantankerous but formidable Judge Horfield (Charles Laughton)–a man who dominates his timid wife (Ethel Barrymore) with nasty comments about the female sex and who casts his lascivious eyes on Keane’s sadly neglected and under appreciated wife. The drama between these strong characters–Mrs. Paradine, Edward and Gay Keane, Judge Horfield, and Simon Flaquer (splendid performances by all) plays out against the question of Mrs. Paradine’s guilt. If she did indeed murder her elderly frail husband, then she is capable of a monstrous act, and as Keane becomes increasingly involved in the case, he leaves his good sense and judgment behind while struggling in the vortex of his passion.

“We’re not in England now.”

In an overcrowded inn in the Alps, a motley assortment of travelers gather waiting for the next train. There’s a sweet elderly governess, Miss Froy (May Whity), a young girl, Iris Henderson (Margaret Lockwood) who’s returning to England to get married, 2 bored Englishmen, an adulterous couple, and a free-spirited young musician Gilbert Redman (Michael Redgrave). The travelers board the train, and Iris strikes up a friendship with Miss Froy. However, when Iris wakes from a short nap, Miss Froy has disappeared, but fellow passengers deny that Miss Froy even existed. Stuck on the fast-moving train with no one who believes her story about the missing governess, Iris insists that something has happened to Miss Froy. With everyone implying that Iris hallucinated or dreamt the existence of Miss Froy, Iris turns to Redman for help.

“The Lady Vanishes” is a splendid classic Hitchcock film. It begins with the bucolic simplicity of the inn and then the film’s focus gradually shifts to the sinister realization that Iris is surrounded by people she can’t trust. The film’s sinister atmosphere is heightened by the atmospheric, desperate train journey. The film includes some of Hitchcock’s favourite themes: the ordinary person thrust into extraordinary circumstances and the reliability of the visual. The inexpensive Delta DVD is decent quality and a fair print for its time. Extras include an introduction by Tony Curtis and some additional footage.