Yesterday it was Rebecca; this evening Jane Eyre. Two wonderful Gothic films, with Joan Fontaine as the lead, long shots through archways, dark secrets, and dodgy first wives. Rebecca is the classic, taking the Oscar for Best Picture in 1940 thanks to Hitchcock's direction. Jane Eyre is more of a standard studio pic from 1944; you can tell it's studio-bound and cheaper, the photography is grainier, less lush, and there are gaps in the narrative. And yet, Jane Eyre wins every time for me. Why? Because in the battle between Laurence Olivier as Maxim de Winter and Orson Welles as Edward Rochester, it's simply no contest. Orson Welles every time. I've had the hugest thing for him ever since watching the bewildering Lady from Shanghai at the age of 12. Then of course, came Citizen Kane, his narration in The Magnificent Ambersons, and (most wonderfully) his Harry Lime in The Third Man. That scene where you first see his face, with the kitten at his feet? Swoon! Not for me the bland appeal of George Michael or Simon le Bon. No wonder I didn't have any friends at school ... so out of step with my era.
Best of all, this is course work! It certainly beats my undergraduate life of reading articles in the Journal of Roman Studies. Right, time to order Carrie and La Belle et Bete from LoveFilm.
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