"In 1938, the dread in taking over a big house like Manderley came from the idea that one could end up an inept matriarch, a woman who could not fulfill her obligations."

"Today, the story could have been fertile terrain on which to explore issues of control, abuse, and the sheer terror of becoming a wife at all. Hitchcock’s version was shaped in other ways by the mores of the time. Because of Hays Code restrictions, the homoeroticism of Mrs. Danvers’s longing for Rebecca could be addressed only through innuendo.... A new film could have explored the violence and sensuality of du Maurier’s tale any way it pleased. And yet Ben Wheatley’s superficial, slapdash new Netflix adaptation... is a film that lies somewhere between a lukewarm retread of Hitchcock’s original and a glossy Instagram feed.... Ultimately, 'Rebecca' suffers from a malady that is plaguing much of streaming entertainment.... 'Here,' [the streaming executives] seem to say. 'Here is some maximalist fare with actors you have heard of—press Play for serotonin.'... They really do think we’ll watch anything. And perhaps, in the end, they are right. We are stuck at home.... I longed for scenes in which [the lead actress] was simply able to roam, silently, feeling creeped out and trapped in her new reality.... but it never gives us a chance to dream of Manderley again."

Writes Rachel Syme in "All the Wrong Reasons to Remake 'Rebecca'" (in The New Yorker). 

The Hitchcock film is fantastic and endlessly rewatchable. If I wanted something else, it would be a much longer miniseries that uses everything in the book. Perhaps this is the idea in the new Netflix show, and Symes might be right that this formula is dull and dead. The fact is, the book is there and will always be there, for new readers, with their new minds, to make their own new version, which is what happens when we read.