Alec Guinness was having a bit of a mid-life crisis in 1959. Not the "buy a sports car" kind, but the "I’m arguably the most famous actor in the world and I’m bored" kind. He had just won the Oscar for The Bridge on the River Kwai, and instead of playing it safe, he decided to produce and star in a bizarre, moody, and deeply uncomfortable film called The Scapegoat 1959. It didn't go well. Critics hated it, the studio hacked it to pieces, and for decades, it just sort of sat in the shadows of cinema history like a weird uncle nobody talks about at Thanksgiving.
But here's the thing.
If you watch it now, stripped of the expectations of the 1950s, it’s actually kind of a masterpiece of existential dread. It’s based on the Daphne du Maurier novel—she of Rebecca and The Birds fame—and it carries that same heavy, Gothic weight. The plot is basically every introvert's worst nightmare: you're on vacation, you meet your exact double, he gets you drunk, steals your clothes, and leaves you to deal with his crumbling estate and miserable family while he goes off to live your boring life.
The Scapegoat 1959: A Production Plagued by Ego
Most people don't realize that The Scapegoat 1959 was a passion project for Guinness. He formed a production company specifically to make this happen. He wanted to play both John Barratt, the lonely English academic, and Jacques De Gué, the degenerate French aristocrat. It’s a classic "Double" story, but it’s played with such a straight face that it becomes unsettling.
The filming wasn't exactly a picnic.
Robert Hamer directed it. If you’re a film nerd, you know Hamer directed Kind Hearts and Coronets, which is widely considered one of the greatest comedies ever made. By the time he got to The Scapegoat 1959, Hamer was struggling severely with alcoholism. Guinness, who was his friend, basically had to prop him up. You can feel that tension on the screen. There’s a coldness to the lighting and a stuttering rhythm to the editing that feels like a man trying to keep his balance on a tightrope. It's jittery. It's dark. It's honestly a bit depressing, which is why 1959 audiences—who wanted more of the heroic Guinness from Kwai—were so confused.
Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM) panicked when they saw the first cut. They thought it was too slow and too "French." So, they did what studios always do: they brought in the scissors. They cut out significant chunks of character development and added a voiceover that Guinness absolutely loathed. They tried to turn a psychological thriller into a standard mystery, and in doing so, they created a movie that felt slightly broken.
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Bette Davis and the Clash of the Titans
Then there’s Bette Davis.
She plays the mother of the French aristocrat, and boy, is she swinging for the fences. She spends most of her time in bed, smoking like a chimney and popping pills, looking like a gargoyle in silk. Guinness and Davis famously did not get along. Davis felt Guinness was too "internal" and "fussy" as an actor. Guinness thought Davis was a scenery-chewer.
Their scenes together are electric, but for all the wrong reasons. You can feel the genuine dislike radiating off the screen. It works for the story, though. Jacques De Gué’s family is supposed to be a nest of vipers, and Davis is the queen cobra. Her performance is the definition of "doing the most," while Guinness is "doing the least." This contrast makes the French family feel genuinely alien to the English protagonist. It’s a clash of acting styles that shouldn't work, but somehow, in this specific, murky context, it does.
Why the Dual Role Matters
Playing two characters is a trope now. We’ve seen it a thousand times. But Guinness does something subtle here. He doesn't use heavy makeup or funny voices. He changes his posture. He changes the way he holds his eyes. As Barratt, he is slumped, hesitant, and eager to please. As De Gué, he is sharp, arrogant, and incredibly cruel.
The horror of The Scapegoat 1959 isn't jump scares. It’s the realization that Barratt is actually better at being De Gué than De Gué is. He starts to enjoy the power. He starts to like the family, even the ones who hate him. It’s a commentary on how much of our "identity" is just the clothes we wear and the people who expect things from us. If you take a man with no life and give him a bad life, he might just prefer the bad one because at least it’s a life.
The Daphne du Maurier Disconnect
Daphne du Maurier hated the movie. She was vocal about it.
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She felt the film missed the metaphysical aspect of her book. In the novel, the connection between the two men is almost supernatural. In the film, it’s treated more like a freak coincidence. If you’ve read the book, the ending of the movie will probably annoy you. The film tries to find a "Hollywood" resolution to a story that is inherently unresolvable.
The location scouting, however, was spot on. They filmed at the Château de Le lude in the Loire Valley. It is stunning. The grey stone and the massive, echoing halls provide a literal cage for the characters. You get the sense that the house is eating the people inside it.
Modern Reappraisal: Is It Actually Good?
If you look at Rotten Tomatoes or old IMDB reviews, the scores for The Scapegoat 1959 are often middling. People complain that it's "boring" or "stagy."
Those people are wrong.
They’re looking for a thriller, but the movie is actually a mid-century "noir" about the death of the soul. It’s about a man who is so lonely he is willing to commit identity theft just to feel something. In the age of social media, where everyone is curated and "doubling" their lives online, the themes of this 1959 film are actually more relevant than ever.
We are all Barratt, pretending to be De Gué, hoping nobody notices we don't know where the silverware is kept.
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The film's failure at the box office effectively ended Robert Hamer's career. He never directed another feature. That's the real tragedy here. There is a version of this film—the "Hamer Cut"—that probably exists in a vault somewhere, devoid of the studio's interference, that might be one of the best films of the 1950s. As it stands, we have a flawed, beautiful, weirdly paced relic that remains fascinating because of its imperfections.
Actionable Insights for Cinephiles
If you are going to watch The Scapegoat 1959, don't go in expecting a fast-paced heist or a slick mystery. Do these things instead:
- Watch for the hands. Guinness uses his hands differently for each character. It’s a masterclass in physical acting that most people miss because they’re looking at his face.
- Ignore the voiceover. Try to tune out the narration that pops up. It was forced on the production and often states the obvious. Focus on the visual storytelling instead.
- Compare it to the 2012 remake. There is a more recent version starring Matthew Rhys. It’s more faithful to the book in some ways, but it lacks the oppressive, rain-soaked atmosphere of the original.
- Read the book afterward. Du Maurier’s prose fills in the psychological gaps that the studio cut out of the film.
The film is currently available on various streaming platforms like Amazon Prime (depending on your region) and often pops up on TCM. It’s worth the 92 minutes just to see Bette Davis chew on a cigarillo while Alec Guinness tries not to blink.
The Scapegoat 1959 serves as a reminder that even "failed" films from great artists are usually more interesting than "successful" films from mediocre ones. It is a strange, prickly, and lonely movie. It doesn’t want to be liked. It just wants to be seen. If you’ve ever felt like a stranger in your own life, you’ll find something to love in this messy, brilliant piece of cinema.
Stop looking for a "perfect" movie. Start looking for a movie that says something true, even if it has to stutter to get the words out.
To dive deeper into this era of film, check out the British New Wave movies that followed shortly after. They took the cynicism found in Guinness’s performance and turned it into a whole movement. The transition from the "Big Studio" soundstage feel of the 1950s to the gritty realism of the 60s is happening right in front of your eyes in this film. It’s the end of an era and the beginning of something much darker.
Don't let the black-and-white format fool you. This movie is as cynical as anything released this year. It's a vibe. It's a mood. It's a nightmare you can't quite shake off.
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