I have had Some Cocktails and I’m about to live tweet the new #Rebecca #RebeccaNetflix.

I am intimately familiar with the text, and the Hitchcock version.

Sing along if you know the words.

Alright, they had the good sense to keep the best first line in all of literature. And we open on the menace of the sea. Not bad.

Ann Dowd is better than we deserve as Mrs. Van Hopper.

Maxim DeWinter is in a Dick Tracy yellow horror of a suit. Not mustard. It’s a nightmare.

The painful difference in class between the MC and the people she’s with is the real star of the first act, and I’m here for it. They won’t seat her in the dining room. She wears cheap perfume. They talk about her like she can’t hear.

Listen, any woman who orders a dozen oysters for breakfast can have the keys to my famous country estate.

Unfff DeWinter’s Bentley. Ok this might be wealth porn.

It’s gold ffs. And we have our first brush with danger on the road. And she gets to drive it! But Hammer is dull and completely without sexual magnetism. Tall is not a personality, folks.

A book of Love Poetry inscribed from Rebecca, first time we see her name outside of the titles. Murderous penmanship.

The MC’s clothes are poorly chosen and shorty looking, which serves the story. But I’m hoping to see a BIG SHIFT when she marries.

He’s building a sandsomething on her bare back. Is this meant to be sensual? Broody dudes are supposed to be hot. Trust me; I’ve run down a few in my time. Hammer can’t do it. He’s dull as rich dishwater.

More like Minimum DeWinter. #RebeccaNetflix

Yeah they’re having a painfully awkward sexytime on the beach and even the cinematographer isn’t buying. This is bloodless. But I guess he’s despoiled her and now they must marry. Fait accompli me down the aisle

Ann Dowd turns cruel like nobody else. Shaming the luckless girl for her striving to escape her poverty. Like a striking serpent.

He proposes and she hears a job offer. Honey, you’re not wrong.

Her panic at being left alone with her boss is so subtle, so infantilizing. And here again we have a mention of Rebecca. As a ghost.

Ooh minor key folk song take my pagan ass AWAY. And finally we see Manderley. And she tries to shake hands with the help. It wrings my heart.

Here’s the star of the show: Mrs. Danvers. Dour and dry as a ghoul. Our heroine is humbled before her at once.

The yellow suit is back. Christ.

The scale of Manderley is immense. She’s dwarfed in every frame, her floral prints tiny and girlish against the dark armored everything.

Danvers’ mentions of The Late Mrs. DeWinter are taut and strained. There is a specter haunting Manderley...

The dread that settles over our MC is suffocating. She dreams of Rebecca, never having seen her. A little psychic real estate deal; both DuMaurier and Jackson pull that trick. And the Brontës, but let’s not spoil my greyhound here.

Sleepwalking leads us into the forbidden west wing. The Second Mrs. DeWinter is still wearing the scholarship to the good boarding school fall collection. Perhap an enterprising governess will knife up the drapes for her.

How do these litle dogs seem so sinister? Why are they watching these two cold cream cheese popsicles bone in an armchair? Why do they growl at nothing? Can they smell poverty?