Review: Theatre in the Round Players resurrect the spirit of Rebecca
Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again. So famously beings Daphne du Mauier’s enduring novel Rebecca, the deeply atmospheric tale of a young bride living under the intrusive shadow of her husband’s deceased first wife. Popularized by Alfred Hitchcock’s 1940 film adaptation, Rebecca has continued (much like the title character) to haunt the corridors of public consciousness, emerging as an influence on artists working in virtually every field. Returning to the source material (and the du Mauier penned stage version that ran in London from 1939-1940), Theatre in the Round Players’ new production conjures the ghostly spirit of Rebecca by focusing on the character’s enigmatic and pervasive presence, evoking a spellbinding mystery that only begins to lose its hold late in the play’s exposition heavy second act.
Establishing suspense demands an emphasis on the unknown. In Rebecca such unknowns are presented from the first moment the wealthy Maxim de Winter returns to his Manderley estate with his new bride, the much younger and inexperienced Mrs. de Winter. Within minutes of their arrival, Mrs. de Winter is subject to unrelenting (and generally unflattering) comparisons to Rebecca. Though dead for nearly a year, Rebecca’s hold on Manderley is ubiquitously demonstrated, from the arrangement of the furnishings to the maintenance of the daily schedule. Through the obsessive devotion of Rebecca’s personal attendant, Mrs. Danvers, Manderley remains locked in the past, an ornate shrine to her late mistress. Further frustrating Mrs. de Winter’s struggle to adapt is her husband’s stern unwillingness to even discuss Rebecca, a trait the new bride interprets as an unresolved love that will always make his affection cold by comparison. But as Mrs. de Winter learns more of Manderley’s tragic history, such assumptions will transform into something quite different – and considerably darker – than what she initially feared.
Immediately setting the foreboding mood is a brief opening scene of a violently stormy night replete with flashing lightning and explosive thunder. In the midst of such upheaval, a shadowy woman clad in a white gown slowly descends a flight of stairs in a seemingly disused hall. As she exits the scene, a burst of wind blows the linen coverings off the furniture. Manderley, it would seem, is open for visitors.
Such a stirring opening exemplifies the key collaboration between lighting designer Peter W. Mitchell and sound designer Lynn Musgrave. Throughout the production, lighting and sound work in close conjunction to maintain a looming mood of ominous foreshadowing. Often the effects are subtle, underlying the tension until rising to the surface at the moment of revelation.
At the center of this dramatic tempest, of course, is the new Mrs. de Winter. The character’s essential meekness is absolutely captured by a well-tuned portrayal by Mary Lynn Mennicke. Through Mennicke’s performance, it’s easy to see how the world-weary Maxim would be comforted by Mrs. de Winter’s youthful beauty and unpretentious charm. Contrasting the ostentatious grandeur of Manderley, Mennicke aptly displays why Mrs. de Winter’s humility would make the character feel so out of place that she would hide an innocently broken trinket rather than report the accident. Until Mrs. de Winter learns to assert her own will, she will always be occupying another woman’s home, a dilemma that Mennicke draws out in a richly evolving performance.
In this battle of wills between Mrs. de Winter and Rebecca, the deceased speaks most forcefully through her earthly minion, Mrs. Danvers. As played by Kristen C. Mathisen, Mrs. Danvers epitomizes a compulsive need to maintain the will of her former mistress. Death has done nothing to assuage her loyalty or possessiveness, a fact made chillingly clear by a scene is which Danvers advises Mrs. de Winter on a final means of leaving Manderley. But there’s something else behind Danvers’ hostility, a kind of desperate and delusional adherence to the past that Mathisen’s performance carefully develops as the storyline progresses.
Maxim de Winter proves an equally involving character thanks to a fine performance by John Adler. Unlike some other takes on Maxim, Adler brings a warmth to the role that goes a long way to forgiving the character’s later mood swings. Through Adler’s performance, we see the lighthearted side of Maxim, a side long denied until Mrs. de Winter arrived to bring it out. Being allowed to see both sides of Maxim, it’s made clear that the character’s very soul is at stake in the war being waged between Manderley’s living and dead.
Not all of the play’s roles were perfectly handled. The opening night performance suffered from a number of stumbled deliveries and at least one noticeably inconsistent accent. Nevertheless, such issues hardly dampened the prevailing mood. More problematic is a narrative that becomes overly verbose late in the second act, laboriously explaining away a last minute complication with extended dialogue rather than any kind of stage action. The result slows down what had been – up to that point – an engagingly paced work of romantic suspense. Including this final complication doesn’t derail the production, but it does hamper the momentum at a climactic juncture.
That said, Rebecca does succeed at its most ambitious task; depicting the late title character as an ominous force imposing her vengeful will to crush the souls of those who would dare live without her. Though unseen, the spirit of Rebecca remains ever-present and malevolent, driving a haunting production ideally suited for a dark autumn evening.
Rebecca runs through November 8th.