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In this article, Tania Modelski offers a feminist interpretation of Blackmail. She explores the issues raised by attempted rape and the silencing of women. She notes that the painting of the jester is used to put women back in their place. The jester represents the laughing male to both Alice and her fiancé Frank. The jester shames Alice and stops her laughter at the end of the film. As for Frank, the jester reminds him that he has been had by Alice when he finds her glove in the studio. Essentially, it reminds Alice that she is the joke and not the one in control and laughs at Frank that for Alice's deception towards him.

 

While Modelski argues that Alice is objectified and not given a voice, I would argue that the jester in the film doesn't win. The portrait of the jester that condemns and shames Alice is stabbed and carted off by the police at the end of the film. The jester is punished for its crime of passing judgment. While the males in the movie attempt to speak for Alice and keep her from speaking, they are not entirely successful. Alice takes control of her anxieties towards her sexuality and usurps the male role by killing Crewe and stabbing the portrait.

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In response to a letter from a male critic, Tania Modelski argues that male critics specifically give Alice the trial that she does not receive in Blackmail. She asserts that the law is patriarchal and that since it is considered impartial the male view of justice becomes the accepted one. It is then interesting that Hitchcock did leave out the trial and judgment of Alice that Modelski claims is prevalent in the male perspective of the film. Perhaps it is an acknowledgment by Hitchcock that the law is not impartial and would have been unfair to Alice. By removing the judgment of Alice in the film, Hitchcock might be trying to remove a primarily male perspective.

Harbord, Janet.  “Between Identification and Desire: Rereading ‘Rebecca.’”  Feminist Review, No. 53, Speaking Out: Researching and Representing Women (Summer, 1996), pp. 95-107.

Janet Harbord begins her discussion by introducing the tangents between psychoanalysis and the romance novel – though they seem to be totally separate disciplines, both engage a dialogue between past and present, defining time as an inevitable sign of progress.  The appeal of repetition arises due to the comfort inherent in familiar patterns, bringing to the forefront the fundamental human tendency towards stability, sought after both in psychoanalysis and romance narratives.  Furthermore, that which is forbidden also appeals to us equally as much, though often more fleetingly so, and it is upon this basis that Harbord suggests the implications of homosexual desire in Rebecca.

Interestingly, it is the very normative, repressive structure so often found in romance narratives that encourages the breaking of such boundaries through textual exploration of possibilities apart from the conventional.  Thus, quite opposite from the championing of the traditional heterosexual household, romance narratives such as Rebecca in fact often subtly subvert accepted cultural values by implying the option of other alternatives – in this case, lesbian desire.  Such storylines appeal primarily to women for the simple reason of reflexivity, for as women question their own societal and sexual roles, literature and film provide a useful avenue for self-reflection and relief in resolving the conundrum of individual identity.

Distinctive visual symbolism in Rebecca enhances the exploration of issues such as class, gender, ethnicity, and sexuality.  Rebecca herself, an eerily absent center of desire throughout the film, serves as the ghostly epitome of the white, upper class married woman, yet simultaneously represents raw sexuality and hence evokes lesbian desire.  The symbolic emphasis on her clothing, for example, introduces the fundamental dichotomy between the exterior façade as opposed to the true nature of an individual.  Ultimately, Rebecca’s appeal is her transgression of traditionally delineated boundaries, as she crosses lines of class, gender, and, most centrally, female sexuality.

Alfred Hitchcocks "Rebecca" is an iconic Gothic romance adapted from Daphne DuMauriers famous novel, and was successful enough with contemporary audiences to win Best Picture in 1940. Constructed through Hitchcocks calculated, deliberate technique, the haunting absence of Rebecca serves as a focal point of mystery and desire in the film, subtly exploring the societal and sexual role of women and questioning the ideal definition of femininity.

Wheatley, Kim.  “Gender Politics and the Gothic in Alfred Hitchcock’s ‘Rebecca.’”  Gothic Studies, Vol. 4, No. 2 (Nov., 2002), pp. 133-145.

Rebecca represents a new strain of Gothic romance in which the tortured heroine falls in love with a man who plays a dual role in regard to the heroine: he not only offers her relief from danger, but is also a major source of unresolved tension and confusion for her.  Not only does Mr. deWinter play a pivotal role, then, but Manderley itself is undeniably a significant “character.”  Furthermore, Rebecca is made all the more powerful by her very absence.  Through haunting music, symbolism attached to her material possessions, and details such as the camera angle in the boathouse confession scene, Rebecca’s ghostly presence is solidified. 

Even greater emphasis on Rebecca’s omnipresence emerges through the apparent continued loyalty of Jasper the dog, and also through Mrs. Danvers’ unwavering devotion to Rebecca and subsequent disdain for the young wife.  Mrs. Danvers even goes so far as to articulate her musings as to whether the dead continue to observe and dwell among the living.  This voyeuristic pervasion of the plot lends Rebecca an ominous, haunting power and lingering influence. 

However, Wheatley presents the alternative ‘containment thesis’ that Rebecca’s relative power and influence is held at bay and even diminishes over the course of the film.  Her containment is achieved through Maxim’s patriarchal authority, most poignantly evident in his young wife’s reaction during the confession scene, during which she is completely vulnerable and it is revealed that all she desires is his love, relinquishing all hints of independence.  This disproportionate male power held by Maxim is echoed in two other prominent male characters, Frank Crawley and Jack Favell, who provide counterpoints to Maxim’s harsh personality yet exercise similar control over the young heroine.  Even further establishing the trend of patriarchy, only men are present during one of the final scenes of the film, in Dr. Baker’s office, defining negotiations and relationships between men of the utmost importance.  Thus, despite Rebecca’s haunting influence over the course of the film, Wheatley suggests that it is ultimately patriarchy which triumphs in the end.

Tay, Sharon Lin.  “Constructing a Feminist Cinematic Ideology: The Gothic Woman’s Film Beyond Psychoanalysis.”  Women, Vol. 14, No. 3 (Winter, 2003), pp. 263-280.

Distinctive historical and social factors provided for the emergence of the Gothic woman’s film in Hollywood during the 1940’s.  The Second World War elicited an upheaval in the American social hierarchy, necessitating that women enter the work force and thus empowering them to an unprecedented degree.  Also, the movie-going audience changed, with a larger proportion of females in the audience than men, since the majority of them were abroad fighting.  Finally, the cinema adjusted to address this new predominantly feminine audience, introducing female protagonists and feminine plotlines.  Heterosexual marital fulfillment often remained the ultimate goal in these films, with the rejection or failure to comply with this societal standard usually resulting in the heroine’s madness or death. 

When comparing Gothic films from the early 1940’s with those made later in the decade, the heroines of the earlier films harbor unwarranted suspicions of their husbands, while in the later films another male character is introduced who is thoroughly benevolent and succeeds in rescuing the heroine.  Still, the Gothic woman’s film differs from the conventional films preceding it because, for the first time, the heroine puts up some degree of resistance to compliance with traditional societal demands.  Indeed, the primary focus shifts from purely romance to violence and mystery, qualities shared with other genres such as film noir and horror.  This transgression by the plotline and the heroine of conventional expectations destabilizes and exposes gaps in the normative cinema structure, and the ambiguity created by this uncertainty is the source of suspense. 

Epitomizing the transgression beyond traditional boundaries is Rebecca, who represents the exact opposite of the young wife’s demure, conventional femininity.  Symbolized by the turbulent, crashing waves of the sea, Rebecca’s uncontrollable, unpredictable power creates a constant source of tension and disruption throughout the film.  Whenever the possibility of calm or resolution arises, a monogrammed belonging of Rebecca’s may appear, thrusting the plot back into uncertainty and chaos.  This atmosphere of paranoia and fear is highly characteristic of the Gothic woman’s film, and the transgression of traditionally feminine societal norms formed a basis for the eventual development of the feminist movement.

    In Modleski's chapter on Notorious, she thoroughly examines Hitchcock's film through a feminist lens. She describes how the film both fits into and breaks away from the film noir genre, moving into the female Gothic genre in which the heroine has a more active and inquisitive role. Unlike typical noir films, Notorious' main character is a female, Alicia; the story centers around her conflict, and the audience sympathizes with her plight. She is not simply an object of male desire. Modleski then explores the characterizations of male as sadist and female as masochist, as often used by feminist film theory. She argues that while to a certain extent, Devlin and Alicia fit these roles, they are far too simple to explain the characters' complex relationship - Devlin shows signs of masochism in that he choses to watch Alicia be subjected to suffering, knowing full well that he is in love with her. Additionally, Alicia's masochism is not simply a sign of her weakness and submissiveness - she uses her pain as an outlet for anger and a source of emotional power over Devlin. Modleski also draws an interesting connection between Alicia's conflict - to do right by her country requires violating social codes of appropriate sexual behavior - and the postwar period in which the film was made. She compares Alicia's love vs. duty conflict to that of the wartime citizen, male or female, asked to set aside personal issues for the greater good of the country.

    The chapter is very useful for placing the film in a historical context, both in terms of the postwar period and the period preceding second wave feminism. It also gives clear illustrations of how Notorious strays from the neatly defined categories it is often lumped into, such as spy film, film noir, and suspense film. Finally, the article shows how Hitchcock's treatment of Alicia's character is both similar to and different from his portrayal of heroines in his other films.