Who am I? Who/What determines who I am? Am I able to assert my own identity? Can I change my identity? Can another force his/her identity upon me and overwhelm my own? Does my identity originate from a title or position I hold? What are the connections between place and identity?

These can be pretty tough questions to answer; and, indeed, in our own time different people respond differently to these questions, depending on their worldviews. But in this week’s film, Rebecca, identity is a big deal. Readers of du Maurier’s novel will have noticed this fact sooner than viewers of the film—the story’s protagonist is nameless. She is not Rebecca. The name that holds the story’s title and dominates it throughout is that of one who is dead. Yet even in death, Rebecca reigns supreme over all the people and goings-on at Manderley, including her widowed husband and his new wife. While the new wife remains basically nameless, her husband has a “very impressive array of first names, George Fortescu Maximilian,” Maxim for short. Along with his lengthy identity, though, Maxim possesses a secret about Rebecca and his relationship with her that colors his own identity and gives him a callous and fearful personality. He is overly sensitive regarding himself, lacking sensitivity regarding his new wife, controlling, and emotionally absent—characteristics which stem (supposedly) from his relationship with his previous wife and his perceived role in her demise.

Maxim’s new wife is almost his opposite. She is constantly absorbed with how best to please him, consistently relinquishing any control she might be allowed to exercise and yielding to the threatening assumed power of Mrs. Danvers, the housekeeper. Lacking her own personal name, Maxim’s wife is usually the recipient of endearments such as “dear” and the affection-less “you.” Mrs. Van Hopper, the brash American for whom the protagonist works as a hired companion at the beginning of the film, provides the first identity for the film’s main character when she calls her “Mrs. Sir Manderley” upon learning of her whirlwind engagement to Maxim. This title, while demonstrating the ignorance and uncouthness of Mrs. Van Hopper regarding British titles, also bases the protagonist’s identity on two factors: her future husband and her new home—in other words, another person and a place. Upon taking up residence at Manderley as the lady of the house, the protagonist fails to identify herself by her new name. When she answers a phone call requesting “Mrs. de Winter,” she responds, “Mrs. de Winter? Oh, I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake. Mrs. de Winter’s been dead for over a year. Oh, I mean…” Whether her married name is too new for her to recognize or whether she is hesitant to assume her rightful position, the new Mrs. de Winter at first refuses the only identity offered to her, one based on her husband’s identity. Only later in a bold, yet fruitless attempt to fill her role as head of household, she declares vehemently to Mrs. Danvers, “I am Mrs. de Winter now.” But again, this announcement does not give the protagonist a personal name like “Rebecca,” but only an indication of her marital status and place in the household hierarchy. Yet soon after, the new Mrs. de Winter is tricked by Mrs. Danvers into dressing in the same costume Rebecca did for a ball at Manderley, in effect unintentionally indicating that she wishes to usurp Rebecca’s identity as well as her place in the house. It is in this dress that the poor new wife chases down Mrs. Danvers in Rebecca’s former rooms and is nearly persuaded to commit suicide by jumping to her death on the rocks near the sea below the window.

“Why don’t you go? Why don’t you leave Manderley? He doesn’t need you. He’s got his memories. He doesn’t love you – he wants to be alone again with her. You’ve nothing to stay for. You’ve nothing to live for really, have you? Look down there. It’s easy, isn’t it? Why don’t you? Why don’t you? Go on. Go on. Don’t be afraid!”

For Rebecca, identity is simple. She is who she is—or she is who she was. As mentioned in the Weekday Warm-up, Rebecca dominates every scene, seemingly claiming ownership of Manderley and all its inhabitants and objects—whether through the words of other characters, the way the household continues to run in the manner she dictated, or her embroidered initials on various objects from her stationery to the handkerchief in her former husband’s pocket. Not only does Rebecca still “own” items in the great house and dictate how the house is run, she also retains a firm hold on the loyalty of Mrs. Danvers. When the protagonist first sees a human form in the window of the supposedly abandoned West Wing, what she discovers upon investigation is the dark, malevolent housekeeper in Rebecca’s old rooms. Disturbingly, Mrs. Danvers gives the new Mrs. de Winter a morbid tour of the rooms, which have been left exactly as Rebecca “liked it.” Her clothes remain; her bed has been made up; her toiletry articles are arranged precisely on her vanity. Furthermore, Mrs. Danvers speaks of Rebecca as of an old lover—even revealing the lingerie kept under the pillow embroidered with a conspicuous R. This is, for me, the most disturbing scene in the film. Not only has Mrs. Danvers preserved Rebecca’s earthly belongings, but she has maintained her identity within the house in both name and practice. Additionally, Mrs. Danvers attempts to recruit her new mistress into the belief that Rebecca’s ghost still haunts Manderley: “Sometimes, when I walk along the corridor, I fancy I hear her just behind me, like a quick light step. I couldn’t mistake it anywhere, not only in this room, but in all the rooms in the house. I can almost hear it now. Do you think the dead come back and watch the living?” Although the new Mrs. de Winter answers in the negative, it is clear what Mrs. Danvers believes; and she allows the memories of her late lady (almost human in their ghostly prevalence in the house) to usurp her own identity. Mrs. Danvers does nothing—is nothing—on her own. Her entire self is determined by the late Rebecca’s wishes.

In the end (spoiler alert!), Rebecca still wins, it seems. She has manipulated and used everyone—even from the grave. Though Maxim’s new wife seems to find herself in her support of her husband, there is more than a little doubt that her husband is not as innocent as he claims to be and her new-found courage and purpose are wasted on a mess that dwarfs her. She remains nameless to the end, despite her resolution to renew her marriage and move on with her life. Maxim himself comes to the shocking realization that his life has been affected more than he dreamed by his first wife and her death. Even his guilt and the emotional instability which threaten his marriage to the protagonist have been ordained by Rebecca. And for Mrs. Danvers, supposedly finally recognizing the extent to which Rebecca manipulated her, the only solution is in a Bertha-like conflagration of Manderley, suicide in the rooms of the deceased woman who refused to allow anyone an identity other than what she chose for him/her.

Do “Nameless” and Maxim actually get their happy ending?

For Me Then…

This film leaves me thinking that maybe the only person who truly knew herself—and all those around her—was Rebecca. She discerned exactly what to say and do every single moment—how to get Maxim to marry her, how to get him to allow her to live her immoral lifestyle and still retain her place as the perfect wife and hostess, how to balance her multiple lovers, how to win the undying love and loyalty of Mrs. Danvers, how to die when and as she wished, how to ruin any future life Maxim would have, how to leave those who knew her in her debt and under her spell—perhaps even how to lead Mrs. Danvers to her fiery end and the destruction of Manderley. One gets the sense that during the entire film Rebecca is somewhere close, laughing from the grave at her diabolical success.

And yet, where is Rebecca? How much of the pain and suffering (and the downright creepiness) that afflicts those who knew her is of their own making? By allowing the identity of Rebecca to dominate their lives, the other characters have sacrificed themselves and their own happiness. In that sense, this eerie movie is kind of a tragedy. And, pity for us, we don’t really get to find out if there are happier days ahead for “Nameless” and Maxim—or are they forever haunted by Rebecca and the memory of her?

I love the past, and so I often dwell on it. But that’s not always healthy! Who of us does not have regret or doubt regarding what has already taken place? Who of us doesn’t desire to change something that we did or that was done to us? These thoughts can really weigh us down. In effect, such regret can damage who we are in the present and how we relate to others. There needs to be a balance between a healthy respect and love for the past—which leads to learning how to deal with the present and the future—and putting the past behind us so as not to continue to relive painful memories that cause anxiety or regrets that just build guilt. For me, my favorite Biblical passage about the past and how to deal with it is Isaiah 46:9-10, “Remember the former things, those of long ago; I am God, and there is no other; I am God, and there is none like me. I make known the end from the beginning, from ancient times, what is still to come. I say: ‘My purpose will stand, and I will do all that I please.’” So for me, the past is God and the present is God and the future is more of God because He is the Beginning and the End. And as a child of God, I can rest in the assurance that my identity is complete and secure in God, regardless of others’ attempted manipulations or indiscretions.