“Curiosity killed the cat” is one of those colloquial expressions that has intrigued and tickled me since childhood. I forget where or from whom I first heard it. Possibly from my mother, who taught me those “old wives’ tales” that were passed down to her.
It’s a pithy and cautionary phrase that nicely sums up Michael Marantzes’ 2024 short thriller, The White Rabbit. The story revolves around Rachel (Kate Arrington) and Travis (Danny Burstein), a couple from Brooklyn that have moved with their two children, Charlie (Grayson Eddey) and Michael (Axel Newville), to a quiet New Jersey neighborhood. When Rachel discovers they’re living next door to mobster Marco (Max Casella), his daughter (Rowan Castro), and her white rabbit, she succumbs to fear and paranoia.
The White Rabbit is based on what Michael Marantz describes as an “unbelievable story” his producer, Stephanie Bargas, shared with him at a dinner party. “The essence and key elements of the story are very much intact, which made it so compelling to adapt,” says Marantz in an email interview following the film’s premiere at the Tribeca Film Festival.
Language and narrative themes are like a thread in a needle, stitching together seemingly disparate stories. The expression, “Curiosity killed the cat”, dates back to the English playwright Ben Jonson’s 1598 play, Every Man in his Humour. Ironically, the themes of obsessive spying, watching or following, and fear or paranoia reach across time to connect the play with Michael Marantzes’ contemporary short film. It also nicely sums up the drama in Alfred Hitchcock’s 1954 thriller Rear Window, in which photographer L.B. “Jeff” Jefferies (James Stewart) places himself, his girlfriend Lisa (Grace Kelly), and nurse Stella (Thelma Ritter) in peril when he suspects a neighbor of foul play.
Indeed, there’s a Hitchcockian vibe to The White Rabbit, with the suspense slowly building to an ending that effortlessly swerves from the idea that endings are difficult. A short film is surprising in a way a feature film can’t be, just as a literary short story offers a different experience to a novel. While a feature film has time to develop its point, a short film has only this brief window to deliver something satisfyingly coherent or stimulate the audience with its metaphorical or abstract meaning.
A moment of doubt arises at The White Rabbit’s midway point: Is there enough time remaining for the story to reach a satisfying end? Michael Marantz precisely paces the film, inferring dramatic plot points and neutralizing the need for a more substantial resolution by borrowing from the structure of a joke.
The story is carried along by the montage sequences – from a curtain blowing in an open window to a dripping tap and laundry machine mid-cycle – that splice through and condense time. These elements help Marantz pick out the key scenes needed to tell the story but also emphasize life without a human presence. After being caught spying and eavesdropping on Marco and his associate from her window, Rachel spies them returning home that night carrying long-handled shovels. The empty montage sequences become a metaphor for her catastrophic and paranoid thoughts. Her surprising response to an unexpected incident will disturb her monotonous day-to-day life.
The White Rabbit is memorable and entertaining, with a captivating use of classical music (Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto Number 1 and Strauss’ The Blue Danube), alongside drum tracks. The music is not embedded in the world of the characters. Instead, it’s from an outside point of view, as the audience, positioned as voyeurs, watch the chaos unfold.
The concerto sets the dramatic tone with the first movement’s ferociously impassioned opening, while Strauss’ waltz reflects the playful, humorous dance between Marco and Rachel. “I chose Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto Number 1 because of its dramatic flair, which sets the stage perfectly for Marco’s character,” explains Marantz. “Since the music is coming from the family’s home, it foreshadows that the drama is orchestrated by Rachel herself. The juxtaposition of the grandeur of Tchaikovsky with the unfolding domestic chaos adds a rich layer of irony.”
While the concerto and waltz are diegetic music sources, alongside the non-diegetic drum tracks, it’s intrinsic to The White Rabbit pitching itself as a dramatically heightened dream that spirals into a morbidly black and humorous nightmare. In this sense, Michael Marantz may be incorrect that the drum tracks are separate, and the classical music is intertwined in the world of the characters. Instead, the music may be dreamed up by Rachel’s subconscious, with Bargas’ unbelievable story imagined as a dream, with obvious yet discreet themes and ideas to entertain the audience.
The White Rabbit’s drama begins with Rachel’s act of looking at and overhearing something, which, like Jeff in Rear Window, she finds herself unexpectedly stumbling down a rabbit hole. This inextricably connects the two films, which are about the trouble with looking and, in Rachel’s case, listening.
Michael Marantz takes a different trajectory regarding suspicion, judgment, and the limitation of knowledge, which creates distance from Hitchcock’s classic. The White Rabbit‘s dialogue is often expositional, but Marantz uses it delicately, so it’s not detrimental to the story. Instead, it reveals little details about the characters that infers enough for the audience to construct a bigger story in their imaginations, specifically around marriage and motherhood.
The White Rabbit has a sly, cynical vibe that recalls the humorous interplay about commitment between bachelor Jeff and socialite Lisa in Rear Window. In as much as The White Rabbit borrows from the structure of a joke and pitches itself as a dream and nightmare, it’s an act of misdirection in a magical act.
The story’s spatial confines heighten Rachel’s fear and paranoia, turning her house into an extension of her mind, but the claustrophobic setting also compliments something else. The conversations and interactions between Rachel and Travis suggest that their drama with Marco, his daughter, and the white rabbit is a metaphor for a cynical critique of their marriage and being trapped in an austere gilded cage. Whatever it all means, The White Rabbit‘s three-way dance with a joke, a dream/nightmare, and an illusion elevates a simple and effective story to a higher standing.