Rebecca (1940) was Hitchcock’s first American project, and was itself an adaptation of the 1938 novel by Daphne Du Maurier. As an adaptation of a novel, Rebecca is interesting in the way it visualises the genre of gothic horror (or in this case, more of a thriller) for the big screen. Hitchcock uses careful camera movements, mise-en-scene, and set lighting to create a compelling narrative of tension, suspense and cinematic moments filled with visual symbolism, very much faithful to the brooding, ominous nature of the literary genre.

The movie opens with the static shot of a moon slowly shrouded with clouds, before fading to a shot of the Menderley manor gates. The gate to the Menderley manor looks elaborate and old, yet sinister with a sense of foreboding, further amplified with the setting of the shot being at night. The voyeuristic shot peering through the branches to look at the house is reminiscent of the ominous scene setting shots at the beginning of The Cabinet of Dr Caligari, but Hitchcock takes that shot one step further. As the scene proceeds with a young woman’s narrative voiceover (Joan Fontaine), we are slowly led into the manor through the gate and into a long twisted lane, filled with fog that slowly part to reveal the grand Menderley manor. It is interesting to note that this slow-moving, roving long shot through the gate and the grand reveal of the manor is paired faithfully scene by scene with Joan Fontaine’s voiceover of a dream that she had of her walking into the place, e.g. from her at first being unable to enter (coupled with the hesitant movement of the camera at the front of the gate) before slowly moving in. Coupled together, the visuals and the sound produce an eerie, first-person viewpoint as if that of a spirit, allowing the viewer to be the in the shoes of the young woman experiencing the dream itself, creating a surreal, dream-like suspense that builds the atmosphere of the film. With this opening shot alone, the viewer is able to understand – this is not a plain romantic film, rather there lies deeper undercurrents within.

This sense of foreboding is carried into the next shot of the film – the first meeting of Maxim de Winter and the young woman starts with a shot staring straight at Maxim’s shoes at the edge of the cliff, as if he is about to jump. With the escalating music, it seems so until his concentration is broken by the young woman, who he then brushes off brusquely as he walks away. This less than romantic encounter (or rather one could even say ominous) gives a hint of the tension between the two people as well as the general mood of the film, once again playing very well into the gothic horror genre.

The scenes of Maxim’s courtship of the young woman stay generally cheerful, but take a stark turn as they arrive back at the manor after the honeymoon. The Menderley manor is typical of the gothic genre – old and historical and possibly harbouring lots of secrets, and Hitchcock successfully uses the grandiose set to create an effective juxtaposition with the helpless naiveté of the new wife. In the manor, everything seems to be built larger than life – the large doors that servants open for her, the huge windows and staircases that seem to loom over her, the tables laden with lavish silverware, even the table where she has breakfast at – seems to be built so much larger that Joan Fontaine’s figure shrinks in comparison. In the scene where she has breakfast right after she arrived at the manor, the camera follows her figure from the spread as she walks to her seat, before panning out to show the audience the full scale of the grand dining table of which she only takes a corner of. This careful planning and execution of camera movement, along with the lavish mise-en-scene, effectively exaggerates the scene to highlight the metaphorical displacement of the young woman in her new and unfamiliar environment.

As the story develops, the uses of lighting and mise-en-scene become more dramatic. In the scene where the heroine views some films strips with Maxim, the scene seems to tighten in tension unknowingly. As the heroine converses with Maxim, the light of the film projector flickers on their faces, showing only momentary glimpses of facial expressions. Along with the flickering noise of the moving film strip, the scene slowly builds tension until Maxim abruptly stands in front of the projector, essentially blocking most of the only source of light and creating strong and stark silhouettes on his face, showing only one side. This dramatic shift in lighting also brings about sudden change in mood, leading to the climax of the scene – where Maxim visibly angers and demands to know of the ‘gossip’ that the heroine speaks of. With the harsh lighting on Maxim’s face, he develops a menacing side previously unknown, throwing new possibilities to the viewer – is it possible that Maxim holds secrets that he does not want her to know? With this effective use of lighting to create a sudden shift in mood, along with the eerie soundtrack and flickering sound effects, Hitchcock builds up the scene much like how a gothic novel would, subtly and slowly to build up tension only to heighten to a dramatic climax. The coupling of lighting and sounds also contributes to the general ominous mood of the film as the heroine slowly learns more about her new spouse and the narrative moves on.

Thus, by carefully planning out the camera movement, mise-en-scene and the lighting of each shot, Hitchcock is able to slowly build a world of dream-like world of secrets and suspense that not only escalates the tension towards the climax, but also expresses visually the mental state as well as the relationships of the characters in the film.