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• 1 2019-05-05T17:20:35-07:00 II. Hitchcock and Selznick 7 plain 2019-05-13T10:17:19-07:00 The essential study of the Hitchcock-Selznick relationship is Leonard Leff’s 1987 Hitchcock and Selznick: The Rich and Strange Collaboration of Alfred Hitchcock and David. O. Selznick in Hollywood. His work traces Selznick’s courtship of Hitchcock, the honeymoon phase of their relationship, and, as Boyd alluded to in the title of his book, the trouble with Rebecca.
  
  The trouble began after Selznick read Hitchcock’s first treatment of the film, dated June 3, 1939, on which he collaborated with Alma Reville, his wife, Phillip MacDonald and Joan Harrison. After reading it for the first time, Selznick penned one of his most legendary memos, nearly 3,000 words long, expressing his view that the treatment of the novel was “a distorted and vulgarized version of a provenly successful work” (Selznick, 1972). And then one of the most commonly cited lines: “We bought Rebecca, and we intend to make Rebecca.”
  
  As someone who viewed in person the same draft Selznick did 80 years ago, I too was shocked at Hitchcock’s first rendition. For example, the second Mrs. de Winter, who goes unnamed in the film and novel, and is referred to as “I” in the final script, is referred to as “Daphne” in this first treatment. Moreover, Hitchcock’s Daphne is completely different from the one Joan Fontaine would eventually bring to life onscreen. In one scene, Max and Daphne go golfing on the grounds of Manderley:

  Max, in great spirits, at last persuades the girl -- who has never played the game -- to try a drive. She does, and, using the club in the weirdest manner, hits a screamer which actually holes in one. Max amazed, says she must be a champion in embryo -- and begins to coach her while continuing his own game. But the perfectly natural result of the coaching is that Daphne can’t even make club and ball meet (McDonald and Harrison, 1939).

  In many ways, the treatment describes a a Hitchcockian woman: a strong, competitive rival to her male counterpart, like Ingrid Bergman in Spellbound (1945) or Grace Kelly in To Catch a Thief (1956). She is incredibly different than du Maurier’s “I,” who is barely able to function due to the psychological strain Rebecca’s shadow and her husband’s mystery place upon her. It was this very point that Selznick made in his memo to Hitchcock. The moments in the novel, Selznick wrote, of “I”’s “nervousness,” “self-consciousness,” and “gaucherie” were “so brilliant in the book that every woman who has read it has adored the girl and has understood her psychology, has cringed with embarrassment for her, yet has understood exactly what was going through her mind (Selznick, 1972).” This memo is essential to understanding Selznick’s function as an author. A diligent reader of the novel, Selznick had a vision for how the story should unfold: it should not deviate from du Maurier’s novel whenever possible. Hitchcock discussed this in his conversation with Truffaut, saying, “He had a theory that people who had read the novel would have been very upset if it had been changed on the screen, and he felt the dictum should also apply to Rebecca (Truffaut, 1940).” Thus, Selznick’s function as an author was to force Hitchcock to adhere to the vision of another author: Daphne du Maurier.

  By way of memos like the above, Selznick asserted his authorship as producer, thus undermining Hitchcock’s. The competing authorial visions between Selznick and Hitchcock would come to define Rebecca. The central point of contention was over adaptation. Hitchcock, as evidenced by the aforementioned memo, wanted to transform du Maurier’s novel into a story of his own. Selznick, on the other hand, wanted to faithfully follow the novel in order to ensure commercial success. In fact, Selznick was so adamant that the film be tied to the novel that, when he was negotiating the release of a version of the novel with scenes and a cover from the movie, he nearly waived the royalty fee. In a memo dated January 26, 1940 that I reviewed in person, Selznick wrote:

  I feel quite differently about this than I did about “(Gone with the) Wind” and think we should do everything possible to help get this edition out and make it important. In fact, feel free if necessary to go so far as to waive royalty in exchange for agreement on their part to spend unusual amount in advertising. What I am after in connection with “Rebecca” is not the profit but the widest possible circulation for the book (Selznick, 1940).

  
  While a one cent royalty fee would eventually be the final negotiated terms, Selznick’s willingness to forgo a profit illustrates his want to have his film as closely associated with du Maurier’s novel as possible. He valued advertising because he believed du Maurier’s story, more so than his or Hitchcock's vision, would drive the film’s success. By exercising his authorship as producer over Hitchcock’s as director, and making Hitchcock adhere to du Maurier’s story and then promoting it as such, Hitchcock’s claim to authorship was undermined not only in the film’s production, but in the press. Thus, Hitchcock became third on the authorship totem pole.