Emerald Fennell’s “Wuthering Heights” had me leaving the cinema feeling disappointed,
dishevelled and hollow. From a director who claimed she was reimagining ‘the greatest love
story of all time’, the film was filled with half-measures, raunchy imagery, and false narratives that fall short. She successfully turns the classic gothic novel, centred on themes of class struggle, race, abuse and generational trauma, into smut, glossing over Emily Brontë’s entire oeuvre.
Fennell’s plot focuses on the sexual desires of Catherine and Heathcliff, and it becomes a
long-winded story of a poor woman trapped between two men. It belittles everything Emily
Brontë worked hard for, her brutal exploration of power dynamics, inheritance, emotional
anguish and revenge.
No emotions between the characters apart from a clear sex drive linger. The working-class characters, such as the Earnshaws, Joseph and Zillah, appear demoralised and misrepresented by a director whose elite background creates a disconnect, resulting in a portrayal that feels inauthentic. Although I loved the humour and class representation in Saltburn, her highly stylised interpretation completely undermines the core, gritty themes of the original novel.
During the dog scene, physical abuse is wrongly reimagined as kink between Heathcliff and
Isabella. By marrying Heathcliff, Isabella’s class position and fortune are ultimately
degraded, but the abuse at the hands of Heathcliff certainly shouldn’t be romanticised as
BDSM. As a director, Fennell has definitely done a brilliant job at delivering the sexual shock factor to viewers in her past works (Venetia and Oliver in Saltburn), but undermining
Heathcliff’s abuse to a consensual relationship doesn’t bode well. All these shocking elements are executed poorly and played more for laughs than for spectacle or grotesque. Fennell’s adaptation is nothing of the eternal obsessions that give Wuthering Heights its very legacy. The lust between Heathcliff and Cathy that Brontë encapsulates so beautifully is entirely disregarded through the million sex scenes and far too many ‘I love you’s’ that it feels tacky and cringeworthy.
While Elordi and Robbie deliver good performances, the decision to cast a white actor as
Heathcliff fundamentally erases the race and xenophobia central to Brontë’s novel.
Subsequently, Fennell strips Heathcliff’s revenge of its systemic weight and reduces a
complex social and class struggle to a personal vendetta.
Despite the narrative pitfalls, the cast has fought hard to save the film. Jacob Elordi and Margot Robbie portray an undeniable magnetic pull and encapsulate the desires they possess. Elordi manages to tap into a vulnerability that nearly breaks the film’s cynical surface. His grief during the death scene is palpable, offering a glimpse of the tragedy that is Wuthering Heights.
Owen Cooper as young Heathcliff perfectly captures the raw, feral pain of a child who has
been discarded by society. Similarly, Alison Oliver finds the tragic notes in Isabella’s descent, and Shazad Latif brings a much-needed groundedness to Edgar Linton, portraying
him as a man of intellect and misplaced patience.
Visually, however, the film is a feast. Margot Robbie’s wardrobe is impeccable, and the
representation of the Yorkshire moors captured in misty, sweeping wide shots is
breath-taking. Fennell’s trademark grotesque aesthetic, such as the fish, eggs and skin-toned walls, provides a visceral texture that almost makes up for the lack of emotional depth.
Ultimately, this adaptation barely represents any of the themes in Brontë’s Wuthering
Heights and probably should’ve been named anything else. It is a stylish, high-budget fan-
fiction that prioritises steamy romance over vital social issues. If you go in expecting a
Brontë masterpiece, you will leave feeling hollow, yet if you do go for the aesthetic, you
might enjoy the shallow ride.
2/5
Image Credits – The MovieDB
