Movie Review: Rebecca classic wins my vote

I was in junior high school when we had to do our first real book report.  I chose Daphne du Maurier's 1938 book, Rebecca. It helped that I could watch it on television when Alfred Hitcock chose the story for his first American film in 1940.  No, I wasn't born then. I had to wait and catch it on a late movie.

Now considered a classic, Rebecca, was doomed to be a hit. It was produced by David O. Selznick (Gone with the Wind, 1939) and starred Laurence Olivier as the handsome widow Maxim de Winter and Joan Fontaine as the second Mrs. de Winter.

Hitchcock's version was in black and white, which made the grand house of Manderley even more creepy. That film won the academy award for Best Picture and one for Best Cinemotography,

Jump to 2020 to the Netflix version. Armie Hammer is certainly the dashing Max de Winter. In this version he is much closer in age to his new bride.  Speaking of the bride, she is played by Lily James (Rose in Downton Abby).  

Mrs. Danvers, the evil housekeeper who is obsessed with Rebecca, makes life miserable for the new bride. Danvers is played by Kristin Scott Thomas. Sorry to say she reminds me of the villain Cruella de Vil, the fictitious character of 101 Dalmations, come to life.

All-in-all, I must say that I was not in the least scared by this new version set in modern day time. Manderley was not spooky, the color was too hot, and I'm sticking to the classic.

Old oak stirs memories

Our treeline view to the South has changed. The tallest tree was felled this week. Back in the early spring we had a severe thunderstorm. We heard a scary-close clap of thunder followed by lightening that lit up the sky.  Not long afterward, the weather alert on my phone told me, "lightening has struck 0.0 miles from your location."

I guess my big oak tree took the hit. It wasn't obvious until this summer when a huge scar was visible on her trunk and leaves began to drop far too early. This tree is special to us. It is known by our family as "the Girl Swing tree."

When our grandchildren were small, Howard and I went to Lowe's and bought rope and hardware to construct two swings. The Boy Swing had a round seat with one strand of rope. Garrett would hook his feet together under the seat and with a big push, he'd fly so high it made me nervous.  The little girls were about 3 so they couldn't yet be trusted on that swing.

Their swing had one wide seat with ropes on both sides and anchored to the perfect limb on the oak tree. The seat was wide enough for two little butts to sit on it side-by-side. They laughed and squealed as granddaddy pushed them higher and higher. That made me nervous too. Now I know it was magical.

The trees also served as markers in our Easter scavenger hunt. I would hide clues in various places on the property. The first clue sent them to the Girls' Tree. Clue number two sent them all the way back to the house, and three was a trip to the Boy's Tree. You get the idea. After several clue stops, they ended up at the location where the prizes were hidden.  They thought it was great fun, and the hunt was successful in burning up some of the energy created by too much Easter chocolate.

All that remains of my tree is the bare trunk. Our friend who cut the tree for the firewood, hauled off the massive limbs yesterday. 

I have a great respect for our trees. After all, I wrote a three-book series based on our family name tree (thecarvingplace.com). Even though our treeline is different, the upside is that I can see more of our pond. The kids are almost grown. I hope those tree swing memories stick with them.