Big house, big haunting

Rebecca

(1940)

For the love of god, you one-percenters out there, screen your servants!

I think I've figured out why this is great: by opposing Olivier's grandiose overacting to a perfectly plain, naturalistic style by Fontaine, Hitchcock somehow makes the unbelievably mismatched pair somehow believable. The haunting is about as creepy as anything he ever gave us, of course, but unless we really care about the improbable couple in improbable love, then how invested will we be?

Raise a glass to Joan Fontaine, by the way, who died about a month ago.