I first read Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights when I was 14 years old. As I read about Cathy and Heathcliff’s frightening love and envisioned myself touring the windswept moors, I knew I would never read anything better. Bronte, who seemingly never experienced romantic love, was able to write about love and passion with such alacrity. From the pages of her book sprung to life the alarming creatures that are Cathy and Heathcliff, a pair so consumed with each other that they tormented everyone else around them. Most adaptations have never quite been able to capture the essence and spirit of Bronte’s characters and text. They are often too sanitized and not ugly enough, though I must admit that I’m quite partial to Ralph Fiennes’ Heathcliff in the 1992 adaptation.
Which leads me to a controversial statement: Emerald Fennell’s Wuthering Heights might be the best adaptation of Bronte’s novel yet. It does take liberties with the textual details, building fictive bubbles that aren’t in the source material, however, the spirit and essence of the movie is completely Bronte’s Wuthering Heights. For the first time, both Cathy (Margot Robbie) and Heathcliff’s (Jacob Elordi) ugly, brutal sides are made flesh, their horrifying inner visages springing from page to screen. Robbie’s Cathy is nasty, vexing, an absolute brat – yet we understand the circumstances that made her this way. With a father so prone to vice and anger, it’s no wonder that she embodies his characteristics. Heathcliff is the one thing in the world that she truly loves, who is spared from the full brunt of her nasty nature, though she does vex him to no end.
Elordi seems to have developed a taste for playing gothic anti-heroes, first taking on the challenge of Frankenstein’s Monster and now the monstrous Heathcliff. He has the build and imposing physicality of Heathcliff, effortlessly portraying the dangerous allure so inherent to Heathcliff. One of Heathcliff’s key characterisations is the ardent refusal to leave the world of childhood, which Elordi reflects through his sad boy vulnerable faces and childish temper tantrums that cannot be rationalised. Robbie and Elordi are electric together, the yearning between them so immense and palpable that you will find yourself looking away from the intensity of it all. She prods and pokes, he snarls and bites – it is a master and dog dynamic that they each take turns to wield.
The set and costumes are perfection; the dense fog that envelopes the moors, the arch that our trembling characters use to seek respite from rainfall, the unyielding moors themselves, reminding us at all times of the unchanging nature of Cathy and Heathcliff’s love. It is the kind of love you cannot exorcise from yourself, the kind that drives you mad from torment; your beloved is both your saviour and executioner. Fennell’s Wuthering Heights makes us feel it all – the pleasure, the agony, the brutality. The symbolism of Cathy’s red-tinged dresses and the red interiors of Linton house speak of the intense passion that grips both Cathy and Heathcliff, a passion that drives them both to blood-tinged violence. Cathy’s change in costuming when she becomes Mrs Linton reflects the cold, gilded life she finds herself trapped in. It is no coincidence that the montage of Cathy and Edgar’s (Shazad Latif) early married life takes place in the season of winter.
Fennell builds quite a few recurring set pieces that connect the past and the present, allowing us to feel the intimacy between the characters despite their distance in the moment. The love between Cathy and Heathcliff is not aspirational nor enviable – it is an ugly, all-consuming thing that dooms them both. Fennell’s film also changes quite drastically the characterisation of Isabella Linton (Alison Oliver), who is more willing participant than innocent victim. Yet, the effect is the same, with Heathcliff corrupting her with debauchery instead of outright abuse. Her willingness does not detract from the fact that he uses her for his own infernal devices and has no guilt for all she suffered.
There’s some bodice ripper elements that appear here, which aren’t in Bronte’s text. This is where the book purists might raise their pitchforks, condemning this display of passion as something akin to smutty fan fiction. I can’t quite do the same as I do feel these scenes have purpose – their passionate embraces a contrast to the cold, sterile life Cathy built with Edgar. With Heathcliff, it’s all fire and brimstone. The pair feel the flames of hell dancing at their feet, yet no force can keep them apart, not even the threat of the devil.
The pathos that hits at the end is absolutely soul-crushing. It brought back all the same feelings I had when I read Bronte’s novel for the first time. There I was, 14 all over again, desperately wishing for a respite from the agony that plagued my heart, all while knowing that no such respite awaits.
REVIEW SCORE: 5/5
