Wuthering Heights

By Joanna Langfield

With this oh so vivid interpretation of Emily Bronte’s romantic classic, Emerald Fennell secures her place as one of the most audacious, undeniable filmmakers working today.

Yes, this is not your grandmother’s Wuthering Heights. Boldly adapted as it is, Fennell offers up an evocative mix of Victorian values and contemporary sexuality. The bodice ripping passion will please those looking for steam, the sadism might not. In other words, this is not a version to take the kids to see. But why can’t we have a big, fervent fantasy, boldly shot and performed, just for adults looking for some, um, pleasure, artistic or otherwise?

Keeping pace, both Margot Robbie, as Cathy, and Jacob Elordi, quite a hunky Heathcliff, go full out. While Robbie’s performance feels a bit uneven (perhaps something lost in editing?), Elordi is pedal to the metal, his iconic gorgeous but penniless adopted brother, committed in his ardor and willing to do anything for it. The always wonderful Hong Chau brings a welcome restraint as she leads a worthy group of supporting players. But, as it should be, this is a movie about the intertwining of Cathy and Heathcliff and works at its rip-roaring best when it lets us watch them go through the pains and glories of a complicated love.

While the film delivers a few, really wonderful scenes that are truly captivating, a few others feel unnecessary and repetitive. And I missed the genuine emotion that would have had me, not just a bit misty, but tearfully leaving the theater. Couldn’t we all use a good cry? But maybe what Fennell has served up is enough for some, perfectly satisfied with a brash take on the timeless story of looking for love in all the wrong places.