A Touch of Zen (Hsia Nu) 1969 **

The term wuxia is defined by the famous Chinese historian Sima Qian as: “honest in words, effective in action, faithful in keeping promises, fearless in offering one’s own life to free the righteous from bondage.” The wuxia warrior embodies all of these characteristics. It is the code by which they live.  Today, most film critics regard director King Hu as the pioneering figure in the wuxia film genre. While the genre itself predates King Hu’s first film by more than forty years, it was his visionary use of cinematography, choreography, and color that transformed the martial arts film industry. 

Of the seventeen films he directed, the best and most critically acclaimed is A Touch of Zen (Hsia Nu). Originally, the epic 200 minute film was broken into two parts. The first part was filmed in 1969 and released the following year, but eventually both parts of the film were seamlessly put together and released to the world in 1971. For his efforts, King Hu was awarded the Special Technical Award for Superior Technique at the 1975 Cannes Film Festival and the film itself was nominated for the Golden Palm—these honors also made A Touch of Zen the first Chinese film ever recognized by the Festival. 

Set during the early Ming Dynasty, the story’s heroine is Yang Hui Ching (Feng Hsu), the daughter of an official to the Emperor. When her father is murdered for trying to warn the Emperor about a corrupt eunuch named Wei, she must go on the run with General Shi (Pal Ying), a loyal aide of her father. They end up in an abandoned estate in a small town outside Peking.  They meet clumsy scholar Ku Sheng-chai (Shih Chun) and a romantic relationship eventually develops between the scholar and Yang. When her past comes calling, Yang and company must face off with East Chamber guards in the famous bamboo forest battle, the haunted estate sequence and the final showdown between Abbot Hui Yuan (Roy Chiao at his best) and Eunuch Wei’s chief commander Hsu Hsien-Chen(Han Ying-Chieh).

The cinematography of A Touch of Zen is primarily focused on capturing the serenity of nature and comes off as almost metaphysical in character. King Hu had a habit of setting his battle scenes in peaceful, picturesque locations.  The bamboo forest scene (which Ang Lee’s Crouching Tiger and Hidden Dragon borrowed heavily from) is ethereally shot, with mist lofting lazily by and an almost deafening stillness weighing down the swift battle scene.  There’s nothing like watching the fighters bouncing/gliding amongst the towering trees while they fight to the death. Hu also employs mist and eerie imagery when capturing the scenes at the haunted estate.

It is obvious that when Hu choreographed his fight sequences he had in mind what he’d seen at the Peking Opera. Everything is precisely orchestrated and flows seamlessly.  Again, the bamboo forest sequence shows Hu’s artistic vision, with the ensuing chase of the eunuch’s two guards through the forest.  Captured with both long and close shots, as well as with quick cuts, Hu sets a mesmerizing pace.  And, when Yang does her human ladder-climbing move off Ku it is sight to behold.  In addition, the final battle between Abbot Hui and Hsu is almost transcendental to watch—especially with the underlying Buddhist message that true enlightenment transcends even death.

A Touch of Zen is a film that has to be seen to be appreciated. If you are a fan of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon or The House of Flying Daggers, then you should enjoy this film. Ang Lee has said that his main inspiration for Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon was this King Hu classic. However, be warned, it is long.  You might want to take a break after the bamboo forest sequence and then come back to it.  The first part of the film is much more character driven, while the second half of the film goes along at a much quicker pace and contains most of the fight scenes.  So if you want to call yourself a kung-fu or wuxia fan and still look at yourself in the mirror, then you must watch this film.

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Come Drink with Me (Da Zui Xia) 1966 **

The protagonist of Come Drink With Me (1966) is a petite Chinese woman named Golden Swallow (Cheng Pei-pei…yes, the same lady from Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon). Based on this description, you might assume this is one of those Chinese teahouse stories where the main character is either a peasant or a princess who finds herself caught in a love triangle. You would be wrong, but at least you were right about their being a teahouse.  No, Golden Swallow is a sword-wielding badass who likes to lure her adversaries into a false sense of security by sipping tea before she uses her two daggers to slice them up. 

Director King Hu truly revolutionized the martial arts film genre with this 1966 classic.  The overall production standards and fight sequence designs were a great leap forward for Hong Kong cinema.  Concentrating on the areas of color and movement, King Hu creates a martial arts film full of grace and style. His lead actress’s ballet training no doubt helped with the overall gracefulness of her character’s deft movements. Watching her precise and fluid movements in the fight sequences is something to behold.  It is strange to say, but watching her engage in these acts of violence one is reminded of a beautifully choreographed Chinese opera. And she does all this wearing long gowns and large hats, which I suppose makes her seem even more skilled, as no doubt it was not easy to maneuver in such costumes. King Hu deliberately chose Cheng Pei-pei for Golden Swallow because of her ballet background. An admirer of Peking Opera, King Hu constructed his fight sequences based on the principles of dance.

In addition, King Hu benefits from his other star, Yueh Hua, who plays Drunken Cat, a drunken beggar who assists Golden Swallow in her quest to free her brother, a local government official, from a group of bandits. We first meet Drunken Cat when Golden Swallow meets with the bandits at a teahouse to negotiate the release of her brother. Things escalate when she refuses to trade the bandits’ leader for her brother—enter Drunken Cat as her secret weapon. More than ten years before Jackie Chan played a drunken master, it was Hua Yueh who brought this martial arts technique to the big screen. It is rumored that he consumed two bottles of wine before filming his fight sequences. It is quite comical to listen to him sing songs from famous Peking Opera’s to help Golden Swallow. 

Though they have completely different personalities, Drunken Cat and Golden Swallow work well together.  He serves as a wise advisor and capable accomplice. She’s a hothead who often acts before she thinks. It is through one of Drunken Cat’s opera songs that Golden Swallow finds the bandits’ hideout—a spectacularly designed Buddhist temple. The realistic-looking temple was entirely constructed on the Shaw Brothers’ lot. When Golden Swallow is injured there by a poisoned dart, it is Drunken Cat who nurses her back to health and helps her plan her assault on the temple.  Of course, Drunken Cat has his own debt to settle with his brother (Chan Hung Lit), who is both a criminal and an abbot at the temple.  As such, there is eventually a  showdown between the two brothers…and Golden Swallow has her own showdown with the bandits—but in an interesting twist she has a mini-army of female warriors who help her defeat them. 

Come Drink With Me might not be the best martial arts film of all time, but it certainly is one of the most important. King Hu truly changed the Wuxi genre by creating fight sequences that could be viewed as both artistic and powerful. A sequel, Golden Swallow, followed two years later, but it was not as good as the original and there is no Drunken Cat.  However, King Hu would score another hit in 1971, with his best film A Touch of Zen.

 

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Song at Midnight (Ye Ban Ge Sheng) 1937 **

To say Song at Midnight (Ye Ban Ge Sheng) is completely unknown to contemporary film audiences would be an understatement. Yet, it is considered by many film historians to be one of the best Chinese films of the early sound era. There are many things to admire about this 1937 picture, but I would like to focus on its unusual take on a classic tale and its outstanding set design.

There have been many film adaptations of Gaston Leroux’s novel The Phantom of the Opera (most notably the 1925 classic starring Lon Chaney), but Song at Midnight is perhaps the most unusual. Director and screenwriter Ma-Xu Weibang took a chance when he took liberties with Leroux’s original story, but his gamble paid off in the end. Instead of making the protégé a female opera singer, Ma-Xu decided that the story would work better if the singer were a male.  This really changes the story’s dynamics and it also ends up making the Phantom a more sympathetic character.

The story takes place at a run-down theater, where 10 years earlier the great opera singer Song Danping (Jin Shan) died.  Well, he didn’t really die, but everybody thinks he did. Evidently he has been skulking about making the locals believe the place is haunted, while waiting for someone with a voice as gifted as his own to make into the greatest opera singer in China.  You see, Song was once a great singer, as well as a  revolutionary himself, but then he went and fell in love with Li Xiaoxia (Woo Ping), the daughter of a vindictive feudal lord and the would-be girlfriend of Tang Jun. This is also an important element of Ma-Xu adaptation, because in the 1930s China was in the midst of political turmoil. In the end, Tang throws nitric acid in Song’s face and he is horribly disfigured. He decides to let the world (besides a few friends), and Li, think he’s dead. And, so when Song hears the voice of Sun Xiao-au he has the “voice” and face he needs to make a comeback—and to bring love back to Li.  This is what makes the adaptation so unusual, Song and Sun are more like Cyrano and Christian from Cyrano de Bergerac than the original story of the Phantom and his case of unrequited love with Christine. Of course, things turn a bit nasty when Song learns that Sun has his own fiancee, but in the end, the Phantom of this story ends up being a hero, even though he doesn’t have a happy ending.  Quite simply, it is wonderfully woven story and such a great spin on the traditional Phantom tale.

Besides having a great story, Song at Midnight is also a visual treat. Ma-Xu was a not only a fan of Tod Browning’s Universal monster films, he was also an admirer of German expressionism, most notably the works of Fritz Lang and Robert Wiene. Ma-Xu put together a film heavy with gothic atmosphere and haunting images. Ma-Xu sets the mood from the very beginning, by introducing the audience to the cobweb infested theater at night, and having a mysterious man lurking in the shadows. From that point on the scene is set and what follows truly comes from an artistic mind.

One of the most notable images is when we first see the Phantom’s face. Via flashback and with a handheld camera, we watch over Song’s shoulder as he slowly unrolls his bandages in front of a mirror.  Not only his reaction is captured in a pristine moment, but the framing of the reactions of those around him are superbly done as well. You can almost feel the recoil of those looking at his disfigured face. When he smashes the mirror it means so much more than just shattered glass all over the floor.

Overall, this is an interesting film to watch.  I’m always curious to see how certain genres took form in different countries.  Ma-Xu borrows heavily from the Universal monster films, especially the opening sequence and the finale with the torch wielding crowd. Of course, it is the reinterpretation of Gaston Leroux’s story that I find the most intriguing.  Sometimes when screenwriters make changes to original stories things don’t work out well, but in this case it was a refreshing retelling of a classic tale.

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Sabotage (1936) **

I recently wrote a review of The 39 Steps and based on the comments it elicited I came to the conclusion that Hitchcock’s pre-Hollywood films are often overlooked or even forgotten.  I’m sure there are many reasons for this, but I think many of his early British films should be watched to understand how his directorial vision developed.  You don’t just wake up one day and direct Notorious or Rear Window. As such, I think Hitchcock’s earlier films provide excellent examples of how he honed his style over a period of many years. Sabotage (1936) is one of those forgotten gems that one should watch to gain more insight into the Hitchcockian vision.

Based on the novel The Secret Agent by Joseph Conrad, Sabotage is a suspenseful thriller about an international terrorist group (or saboteurs) who hold London in a state of anxiety through their rampant bombings across the city. Though not designated as Nazis by Hitchcock, many film historians believe that is exactly who the saboteurs were meant to represent. This makes sense, as Germany and Italy had just signed the Rome-Berlin Axis and many Western European nations were growing alarmed by Germany’s growing militarism. There were even rumors that German spies were attempting to infiltrate Britain and create public unrest.  As such, the film’s saboteurs serve both an artistic and political purpose for Hitchcock.

The film opens metaphorically with a close-up shot of a flashing light bulb (a warning signal?) and then transitions into a shot of a crowded London street right before a blackout.  In true Hitchcockian fashion, the film cuts back to the flashing light bulb and we watch as the light slows its pace and then goes completely out upon the blackout. Another quick cut takes us to the Bijou,a movie theatre run by Karl Verloc (Oskar Homolka). Dressed in the typical accoutrement of a shady figure—a dark overcoat—Verloc seems to be sneaking back into his home just after the blackout hits. When he lays down on the couch and covers his face with a newspaper you instantly know something just isn’t kosher. When his wife (Sylvia Sidney) comes to complain that the theatre’s patrons want their money back he tells her to give it to them, hinting that they don’t have to worry about money any more.  Why?

Soon we are introduced to Mrs. Verloc’s little brother Stevie (Desmond Tester). Stevie encompasses all that is innocent and good, which is reinforced by his helpfulness and trusting nature. Through Stevie we meet Mr. Spencer (John Loder), the street grocer…well, actually he’s not really a grocer but an undercover Scotland Yard detective who suspects Mr. Verloc is involved with the saboteur group. Spencer and Verloc engage one another in the typical Hitchcockian game of cat and mouse. Verloc comes off as cool and detached whenever Spencer makes suggestive comments about the bombings taking place in London. 

It is really enjoying to watch these two actors play off one another, especially when you throw in Sylvia Sidney as the unassuming wife. In addition, Verloc is the traditional quiet and unassuming Hitchcockian villain. He doesn’t seem particularly menacing (at least until the end of the film) and seems like an inconspicuous personality. In addition, like in so many Hitchcock films, the line between villain and hero becomes blurred when Spencer begins to have feeling for Mrs. Verloc and even when Mrs. Verloc reaps her revenge at the end of the film.  Hitchcock had a habit of blurring this line, in such films as Marnie, Notorious, and some would say even Psycho. It is also interesting to note that John Loder was not Hitchcock’s first choice for the role of Spencer. Instead, he hoped to work once again with his The 39 Steps leading man, Robert Donat, but the actor was being treated for severe asthma at the time.

The puzzle pieces start to take shape when Verloc and an accomplice meet at an aquarium and discuss the city’s reaction to the recent bombing. A newspaper headline reads: “London Laughs at Blackout”. Evidently no one was hurt in the blast and this means Verloc isn’t getting paid.  He’s told he must deliver a bomb that will do substantial damage before he gets his money.  In a rather creative shot (at least for 1936), we see Verloc staring into a fish tank as he imagines as a collapsing building in Piccadilly.  This scene is especially effective, as Hitchcock uses shadows to evoke a sense of sinister unease.

Eventually a plan is put into action to detonate a time bomb at 1:45 on a Saturday afternoon. A note reads: “London must not laugh on Saturday”—yes, the opposite reaction is, of course, the outcome. In a strange twist (but not strange for Hitchcock), Verloc gets Stevie to deliver the bomb, which is disguised in a film reel/roll of Bartholomew the Strangler (a nudge toward the St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre of 1572?). Ah, but you never send a child to do a man’s work, now do you? Instead of promptly delivering the “package” Stevie attends a a street show and a parade and finds himself tardily boarding a bus for his destination. The bus, and everyone on it including Stevie, goes kaboom.  It is said that this was one of Hitchcock's’ greatest film regrets—he had violated his own rule of never harming a character with whom his audience had come to sympathize.  In the end, we are privy to the unraveling of Mrs. Verloc and the eventual comeuppance of Mr. Verloc. 

The film is tension filled, especially little Stevie’s errand from hell and the showdown between husband and wife. The bomb delivery sequence is nearly 10 minutes long and is taut with suspense. The showdown between the Verlocs is rife with unspoken anxiety and edited with shots of uneasy close-ups. In addition, Hitchcock uses the theatre setting as a clever device to mix reality with fiction, as in the scene where Spencer is visiting the Verloc’s and he hears screams and shots ring out.  After recovering from being startled, he comments, “I thought someone was being murdered.” And, then with a wonderful comeback, Verloc responds, “Someone probably is.” Priceless, and filled with so many undertones!

Sabotage is perhaps one of Hitchcock’s darkest films—what with killing an innocent child. It is also one of his few films that doesn’t contain a true mystery. Shortly after the film starts everyone knows who the bomber is and there is nothing to truly unravel. Instead, it is purely a suspense film.  As such, it is a rather unique Hitchcock vehicle. 

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The 39 Steps (1935) **1/2

In his 18th effort, legendary British director Alfred Hitchcock created a film that brought him to the notice of American audiences and Hollywood. The film, The 39 Steps (1935), also introduced two classic Hitchcockian themes: the MacGuffin and the average, innocent man (Robert Donat) who finds himself forced into extraordinary circumstances to prove his innocence.  In addition to these two themes, the film also has another classic Hitchcock element: an icy blonde heroine (Madeline Carroll).  You combine these three components with a masterfully plotted script and you have the first of many classic Hitchcock films.

The screenplay was based on John Buchan’s 1915 novel of the same name. While Charles Bennett is given the screenwriting credit, both Hitchcock and his often used dialogue writer Ian Hay (an author in his own right) also contributed to the film’s tightly-constructed script. As most Hitchcock fans know, he wanted a script that was visual in nature so his favorite directorial tool, the storyboard, could be precisely created to match the script.  I once read somewhere that Hitchcock’s storyboards were so precise that he never looked through the viewfinder while directing—he didn’t need to. Even today, Hitchcock’s storyboards are something to marvel. Perhaps that is why Cinemek created a Hitchcock storyboard app for the iPhone? 

The story takes place over a four-day period in both London and the Scottish highlands. As with most Hitchcock films, The 39 Steps begins innocently enough, with the film’s hero, Richard Hannay (Donat) attending a vaudeville show starring Mr. Memory (Wylie Watson).  However, his life soon becomes complicated when he takes Annabella Smith (Lucie Mannheim) back to his rented room after shots are fired in the theatre. Unbeknownst to him, Ms. Smith is a secret double agent hiding from two men from an organization known as, you didn’t guess it, the 39 Steps, that want to kill her.  The poor sap even jokes about it when she lets him in on her predicament. He stops laughing when she ends up with a knife in her back and two men outside his window seem like they might want to kill him, too.  And, so with the knowledge that Ms. Smith was supposed to stop British military secrets from being smuggled out of the country by a spy missing the top of his little finger and who works for the 39 Steps, Hannay sets out to do her job. First step, pry the map of Scotland out of her cold, dead hand, and notice that she’s circled the town of Alt-na-Shellach. Second step, get out of the building without being noticed by two men outside. He does this by borrowing the milkman’s hat and coat and then he takes a train to Scotland.

Whilst on this train, two very important things happen. First, he learns that Ms. Smith’s body has been found and that he is the prime suspect. This leads to the other important thing: to avoid identification he pops into the compartment of our Hitchcockian icy blonde, Pamela (Carroll). Perhaps she was mad that he kissed her before a proper introduction, but once she catches her breath she alerts the police to his presence and he has to make another daring escape.  Don’t worry, they’ll meet again.

Not able to make it on foot to Alt-na-Shellach before dark, Hannay finds shelter with a religious fanatic (John Laurie) and his young wife Margaret (a very young Peggy Ashcroft). Unlike Pamela, Margaret helps Hannay escape the police when her jealous and greedy husband tries to turn him in for a reward. Hannay then finds his way to the house of Professor Jordan (Godfrey Tearle), the man whom he mistakenly believes is Ms. Smith’s ally. This myth is soon dispelled when Jordan shows him his deformed little finger and shoots him point blank. Ah, thank goodness Margaret had given Hannay her husband’s coat as a disguise—it had a thick prayer book in its breast-pocket. You gotta love, Hitch!

He ends up in the local sheriff’s office recounting the events that led to his would-be murder and narrow escape. He finds himself handcuffed (but by only one wrist) and ready to be turned over to London authorities when he makes yet another escape.  This time he hides out at political rally where he meets up with Pamela again. She evidently doesn’t like him, because she alerts the authorities once again. Ah, but she alerts the “wrong” authorities this time, and she finds herself being taken to the professor’s house with Hannay. Conveniently, the spies handcuff Pamela and Hannay together. And, so when he makes yet another escape she has to come along too—she’s actually drug, but that’s just semantics. Anyway, this leads to some rather interesting scenes at an inn between the warring couple. Carroll is your typical Hitchcock ice queen—eventually she melts. She and Donat do a nice job of playing off one another, and the love-hate relationship that develops between their characters is palpable.

This being a suspense film, I won’t give away the ending.  All I’ll say is that it takes place at the London Palladium and it is quite circular.  However, it is Hitchcock’s newfound love of the MacGuffin that makes the ending so enjoyable. What are the 39 Steps and how can the military secrets be smuggled out of the country without detection? It is, as my old friend M. Night Shyamalan would say, a twist. And, what is a good suspense film without an even better twist? Hitchcock would use the MacGuffin device in many of his best films, such as  Vertigo, The Lady Vanishes, North by Northwest, The Man Who Knew Too Much, and, of course, Notorious.

Not my favorite Hitchcock film, that honor rests with Notorious, The 39 Steps is still an enjoyable piece of cinema.  I really think this film helped shape and define Hitchcock’s style for the rest of his career.

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3-Iron (Bin-Jip) 2004, **

This strange, but watchable Korean film from director Kim Ki-duk is in a category all its own. Short on dialogue and long on psychological motivations, it truly is a cerebral film. While the film is only 90 minutes long, it seems much longer—not that this is necessarily a bad thing, but its overall pacing is something that might deter some viewers.

Lee Hyun-Kyoon (AKA Jae Hee) gives an extremely subdued performance as Tae-suk, an over-accommodating uninvited house watcher.  Confused? I was at first, too.  Tae-suk has a strange racket: he tapes take-out menus over the keyholes of prospective houses he might want to “watch”.  He returns days later to see if any of his menus are still in place. When he finds one he breaks into the house and makes himself at home. Yet, instead of robbing these places he does the owner’s unwashed laundry, waters and prunes plants, and fixes broken things. Mind you, all of this is done in silence, with intermittent music by Sivian and an occasional TV or answering machine voice.  The premise is so bizarre that it takes awhile before you truly grasp what’s happening.

Since this isn’t a performance art film, something has to happen to move the story along, and that’s where Sun-hwa (Lee Seung-yeon) comes into play. Unbeknownst to Tae-suk he breaks into a house where battered housewife Sun-hwa silently watches him in her home.  He is there for quite some time before he even notices she is there.  Not one for human companionship, Tae-suk leaves the home but then decides to teach the abusive husband (Kwon Hyuk-ho) a lesson. Hence, the title of this film: 3-Iron (Bin-Jip). After getting the husband’s attention by practicing golf in his yard, Tae-suk proceeds to hit the man with golf balls when he comes outside to complain. Perhaps it isn’t a naval officer coming to your factory and sweeping you off your feet romantic, but it works for Sun-hwa and she leaves with Tae-suk. Mind you, they have not spoken one word to one another--Really. And, so we now have two strange “house watchers.”

The couple eventually run into some trouble when they discover an elderly dead man in one of the houses.  As if taking care of the plants wasn’t enough, the couple clean the man up and prepare him for burial.  When relatives arrive at the apartment and find the couple they assume Sun-hwa and Tae-suk are murderers and the couple finds themselves in jail. Things aren’t easily cleared up when the suspects take remaining silent to a whole new level, but eventually they are cleared of any crime.

In some strange twist, the abusive husband bribes a police officer to allow him to hit Tae-suk with golf balls. This leads to Tae-suk choking the officer and being taken off to jail while Sun-hwa has to go home with her bastard husband. While in jail, Tae-suk engages in his usual strange behavior: he hits imaginary golf balls with imaginary clubs and plays a game of hide-and-seek inside his cell with the prison guards. This “where is Tae-suk” game is quite interesting to watch…especially when he hides so well that we see him following a guard around the cell. This leads, once he is released from jail, to the even stranger ending of the film.  Having perfected this technique, Tae-suk can rejoin Sun-hwa in her own home without her husband even knowing it—really. It is a film you have to see to understand, and even then, you might find yourself questioning what really has taken place.

Both Lee Seung-yeon and Lee Hyun-Kyoon are really good at conveying their character’s emotions without the use of words. Restrained, nuanced performances are rare in cinema today, but that is how I would describe the work of these two actors. 

Not a film for everyone, 3-Iron is still an innovative film that most viewers will enjoy. However, if you are a dialogue-driven film watcher, this might not be the film for you.

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Rebecca ( 1940) **1/2

(This article is from guest contributor The Lady Eve and first appeared at http://classic-film-tv.blogspot.com/.  The rating in the title is my own.)

By the late 1930's, Hitchcock's reputation was riding high based on several suspense films he'd made in Britain. He came to Hollywood under contract to producer David O. Selznick. Selznick intended Rebecca to rival his previous film, the award-laden Gone With the Wind (1939). The two men had a contentious collaboration on Rebecca but ultimately produced a critical and commercial success that was nominated for 11 Academy Awards. It won two: Best Picture and Best B&W Cinematography.

Rebecca is a favorite of mine, and here are a few reasons why...

A strong sense of atmosphere that underscores the story's gothic quality and mood of vague but insistent foreboding. Manderley, where much of the action occurs, conveys a cavernous and chilly ambiance of inhospitable elegance.

Multi-layered characters, evocative performances. Joan Fontaine is palpably anxious and apprehensive as the second Mrs. de Winter. She doesn't miss a beat and, late in the film, smoothly portrays the young woman's transition as she gains poise and confidence. Laurence Olivier's Maxim de Winter is guilt-riddled, highly strung and volatile...with aristocratic charm. Judith Anderson creates one of Hitchcock's and the screen's great villains as the unbalanced and eventually dangerous Mrs. Danvers. George Sanders as Jack Favell and Florence Bates as Mrs. Van Hopper both play unsavory types, but with comic overtones. Favell is an oily bounder, but a witty one. Van Hopper is insufferably demanding and grandiose - and more than slightly ridiculous.

A final note...Hitchcock reportedly edited "in camera" to prevent Selznick from re-editing his work. Rebecca strikes me as classic Hitchcock with the Selznick treatment: top-notch cast, the finest writers and technicians - and a big budget that shows.

Those are some of my thoughts...but what do you think? What are your opinions, observations and comments...and, if you've read Daphne du Maurier's novel, how would you compare the film to the book?

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