When I first read Wuthering Heights last year, though I could acknowledge and even admire its more forward-thinking aspects, I remained generally unmoved by the melodrama, propelled as it is by stupidity and sensationalized behavior/sentiments. These are, of course, staples of the Gothic Romance, and how Emily Brontë muffles the hysteria by concealing the meat of her story underneath a more sane (albeit “unreliable”) narrative layer assuredly plays a part in why it has retained the status of a classic almost two centuries after its publication; although it is certainly the plot’s brooding avenger Heathcliff and his doomed romance with Catherine Earnshaw, not clever literary technique, that most strongly lives on in public imagination.
Such is why most film and TV adaptations excise the original enfolding narrative and mainly focus on the Heathcliff/Catherine dynamic, plus the two’s involvement with the neighboring Linton Family; and ending the story when Catherine dies, heartbroken, as her childhood love rages at their ill-starred fate. It’s a smart choice for the sake of efficiency (stuffing an elaborately plotted novel such as Wuthering Heights into the confines of a feature-length production requires significant cutting anyway) but, as a result, leaves the audience with a sopping pile of melodrama undamped by the source material’s conceit of a more or less neutral POV being narrated to and reacting with reserved distress at the goings-on.
Emerald Fennell’s “Wuthering Heights” takes the same approach, though with enough major changes that the writer-director felt compelled to latch scare quotes onto the title. Here is her reasoning:
“The thing for me is that you can’t adapt a book as dense and complicated and difficult as this book. I can’t say I’m making Wuthering Heights. It’s not possible. What I can say is I’m making a version of it. There’s a version that I remembered reading that isn’t quite real. And there’s a version where I wanted stuff to happen that never happened. And so it is ‘Wuthering Heights’, and it isn’t.”
I am personally not very wedded to the idea of treating source material as sacrosanct—provided, of course, that one’s method produces a quality work of art—so fair play to Fennell. And sure, while I disagree with Wuthering Heights being some labyrinthine masterpiece, there are good enough cinematic reasons to distance oneself artistically from how the novel is narratively constructed—so fair play, again. And to refashion it through the perception of a teenage girl’s fantasy of the book (as Fennell has put it, in remarks elaborating on the rationale provided in the above quote) rather than a strict beat-for-beat adaptation—yes, there’s the potential for something interesting, a la some gaudy maximalist reimagining, but it would really all depend upon the execution.
The result is a veritable mixed bag, though overall “Wuthering Heights” is a much less vexing work than Fennell’s previous Saltburn. The film has a few things going for it visually, but is in truth hampered by some deep flaws, mainly that of 1) the source material’s principal story being an out-and-out melodrama, and 2) an excessive focus on the more lurid aspects of that aforementioned “teenage fantasy” rendering, sacrificing attention to the story’s inherent complexities (that of class divides, trauma, and race – more on that last part soon…) for scenes of people boning in grimy stables and moors and carriages or what have you, as well as some warped BDSM play that points to a more genuinely shocking—even sardonically critical—adaptation, though it ultimately pulls its punches in that regard, too.
Part of why “Wuthering Heights” falls flat is Fennell’s decision to sidestep much of the novel’s progressive (i.e. interesting) elements, namely Heathcliff’s non-white identity. (A long running error, in fact, for filmed adaptations over the years.) In the book, the character is fueled by his deep hatred of both the Earnshaws and the Lintons, who made him a pariah because of his ethnic difference; Wuthering Heights can be more properly read as a Gothic revenge plot rather than a romance, with its angst-ridden antihero machinating the destruction of his tormenters for taking what was precious to him (though he is, in the end, defeated by love, his own inability to get over the past, yada yada).
Instead, Fennell strips that complexity from the character, turning the Heathcliff/Catherine relationship into a more general, and boring, forbidden romance between landed gentry and the help. There is some attempt to complicate their dynamic with the reoccurring “master-pet” framing—which Heathcliff eventually reverses onto the masochistic Isabella Linton—but it is played for mere titillation and/or shock value.
Overall, however, the film earnestly believes in Heathcliff and Catherine’s transcendent, undying love, which may have been affecting in 1847, but is only overweeningly mawkish in 2026. Fennell’s script steers her viewer ably through the proceedings from a mere structural standpoint, but is largely void of smart, involving dialogue; character exchanges piqued to a resemblance of genuine feeling only when some bodice-ripping episode is being performed, or when Brontë’s original words are reproduced.
The performances are across the board unproblematic, though Jacob Elordi (aside from the controversy of Heathcliff’s race) is just fine. He is tall, hot, and charismatic, and can be relied upon to deliver a decent line read, which is all you need if you’re an actor who is tall, hot, and charismatic. Margot Robbie as Catherine is alright, too (Robbie has a good seven years on her male co-star, despite the characters being roughly the same age, but one can keep this out of mind, for the most part), and there are even flashes in her performance of a more openly satirical take on the novel/genre. Shazad Latif as Edgar Linton is a sympathetic cuckold, and Alison Oliver’s Isabella Linton is vivaciously quirked up as Edgar’s socially awkward ward who develops a self-abasing erotic obsession with Heathcliff. Hong Chau as Nelly, Catherine’s companion who follows her to the Linton estate, Thrushcross Grange, when Catherine marries Edgar, is very good—but is unfortunately twisted into the role of an antagonistic schemer who sabotages Heathcliff and Catherine’s affair out of envy/resentment.
In addition to Nelly (who, in the book, is a fair bit more complex) being made a stereotype, it is doubly unfortunate that she is one of the roles who are inexplicably casted non-white, in addition to Edgar Linton. The result is that the Loser Cuck and the Devious Maid ended up being “progressively” casted while the one role that by all rights should have been, was not. This is more an issue of optics than it is the objective quality of the film itself, but it’s a bad look, even so.
The film does have a kind of Expressionistic angle going for it, with its unreal dimensions (particularly of the Wuthering Heights grounds) believably conveying Fennell’s teen-dream ethos, courtesy of the set/art design. Linus Sandgren’s cinematography is good, with its focus on flushed skin and dramatic contours and his camera’s ability to work with the lighting/landscape of Northern England, where much of the film was shot. Accompanied by Victoria Boydell’s able editing, and a stirring (on its own terms) score by Anthony Willis intercut with some attractive Charli XCX songs—a good deal of what Fennell and her fellow filmmakers accomplishes technically/visually ends up being the work’s saving grace.
But really, the main question dogging any discerning viewer after walking out of the theater should be, “What the hell for?” If you felt compelled to adapt Wuthering Heights by stripping it of its groundbreaking historical qualities, then you better swing for the fences, not turn out some tepid kink-fest with mildly intriguing set design as the Who’s Who of Hollywood stare longingly into the camera and each other with full-on iPhone Face. Or just create another story altogether, without the need to stir up controversy by meddling with a beloved literary classic—unless, of course, that was the whole point. If so, then Fennell and Robbie (whose company LuckyChap Entertainment produced the film) surely got what they wanted, but unfortunately, for the rest of us, deeper appetites remain unslaked.
* * *
If you enjoyed this review of Emily Fennell’s WUTHERING HEIGHTS, consider supporting our film on a great American poet and get patron-only content on Patreon. This will help the growth of this site, the automachination YouTube channel, and the ArtiFact Podcast. Our video essays include a comparison between Palestine and Liberia, an investigation into the death of American journalist Paul Klebnikov in Moscow, and the role of white guilt in American politics. You can also follow us on Twitter.
More from Ezekiel Yu: Passion’s Tatters: Reviewing Chloé Zhao’s “Hamnet” (2025), Role Reversal: Reviewing Sam Raimi’s “Send Help” (2026), Good Girl: On Kelly Reichardt’s “Wendy and Lucy” (2008)