In Emily Brontë’s classic novel Wuthering Heights, bad timing blights the passion between the aristocratic Catherine Earnshaw and the socially inferior Heathcliff. Emerald Fennell’s version of the 1847 novel grapples with timing too. Her knowingly anachronistic Wuthering Heights is tailored for Gen Z, but Gen Z already has Bridgerton.
A contemporary view of the English class system; the use of Charli XCX’s songs in a period drama; costumes made out of cellophane – Wuthering Heights unsubtly drags Brontë into the present.
Fennell’s third movie comes stylised with quote marks in the title to bolster her claim that hers is an interpretation, not an adaptation, of a text that has already yielded several films and shows.
Fennell has taken an axe to the source. Major characters have been dropped; story arcs heavily rewritten; restraint and and suggestiveness replaced by explicit sexual desire. With the connection to the book severed, Wuthering Heights ineptly bumbles along as a tormenting romance about tormented lovers.
Heathcliff (Adolescence actor Owen Cooper) is a foundling brought home by Catherine’s dissolute father (Martin Clunes). Described as a “pet” and treated like a servant, Heathcliff’s only solace is the time he spends with his master’s daughter Catherine (Charlotte Mellington).
When the hormones kick in, the dynamic changes. As adults, Catherine (Margot Robbie) and Heathcliff (Jacob Elordi) exchange smouldering looks and forbidden hugs at every available opportunity. But their love cannot burst into flames just yet.
Catherine’s marriage to Lipton (Shazad Latif) seems to be going fine, despite the strangeness of his ward Isabella (Alison Oliver). When Heathcliff saunters back into Catherine’s life – wealthier, clean-shaven and smouldering more than ever – Catherine’s resolve weakens.
There are hints of ghosts and foggy moors, in keeping with the novel’s Gothic flavour. The period-inappropriate interior sets and striking crimson costumes supply visual distractions from scenes designed to provoke diehard readers.
Other moments raise the question about why Fennell was drawn to Wuthering Heights in the first place. If the idea wasn’t to contextualise the book for contemporary viewers, not to make sense of Catherine’s ambivalence or Heathcliff’s monstrous vendetta, then why bother at all?
The mismatched, chemistry-free lead actors risibly and all too visibly have a go at lazily assembled material that steadily loses its grip even as it piles on the hot-and-heavy action. Robbie is frequently lachrymose, while Elordi appears to be in parody mode. The acting honours belong to the lovely actor Hong Chau, who plays Catherine’s companion Nelly.
Even as Wuthering Heights descends into “Withering Heights”, there are fleeting moments of grace between people doomed by their social station. Untethered from its source, Wuthering Heights delivers a bodice-ripper aimed squarely at an easily scandalised, turned-on audience.
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