I somehow evaded the mandatory reading of Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights in school. So like any movie critic with a day job, I tried to cram the book in about 3 days before our screening.
I only got halfway through, but as it turns out, I covered the same ground as Emerald Fennell’s adaptation. An adaptation of the first half of the novel only, “Wuthering Heights” stars Margot Robbie as Catherine and Jacob Elordi as Heathcliff. You’d be forgiven for thinking of the casting as Barbie Part 2: the statuesque actors feel like Barbie and Ken, if Barbie and Ken were deeply unhinged.
Controversial casting aside, Fennell’s adaptation eschews the novel’s intricate motives for its characters’ broody natures. Instead, “Wuthering Heights” gives us a first half anchored by two friends, raised by an alcoholic and physically abusive father. Heathcliff is taken into the family on a drunken lark, and he soon becomes Catherine’s protector against her father’s violence. As they age and discover their sexuality and mutual attraction, they also face a starker reality: their family is out of money. Breaking chairs for firewood and struggling to get by, Catherine considers her station in life and views marriage into a wealthier family as a possible escape, despite her feelings for Heathcliff.
I’ve described the first half of the film in detail only because it differs pretty dramatically from the book. That isn’t a bad thing at face value – in the novel, Heathcliff and Catherine both have a mean and vengeful streak from a young age, grow up in financial comfort, and engage in more complex sibling rivalry dynamics when vying for the affection of a kind father. There’s also a brother omitted from the film entirely, who eventually becomes the angry drunk from the film.
What’s jarring about “Wuthering Heights” is how quickly Catherine and Heathcliff revert to their book selves in the second half of the film, without clear cause or development. Proceedings become a mixture of sex montages and one-upsmanship battles between the simmering pair. This should be the most fascinating part of the movie, but the chemistry was so tepid that I found myself wondering how much time was left.
It’s not all bad news: I’m generally a fan of Fennell’s work, and she brings some of her best trademarks to this film. The costume and set design is nothing short of stunning, and her ability to poke fun at the upper class is on full display as ever. She also manages to breathe new and improved life into Catherine’s sister-in-law, Isabelle, making the role both much more complex and comedic at the same time, which seems like an impossible feat.
But without the narrative foundation to support its stylistic flourishes, “Wuthering Heights” feels like a beautiful mansion built on unstable ground. Fennell’s bold reimagining of the source material might have worked with more cohesive character development, but as it stands, this adaptation is best appreciated as a visual feast rather than an emotionally satisfying story.