Emerald Fennell’s latest adaptation of Emily Brontë’s classic novel, *Wuthering Heights*, promises a visually stunning experience but ultimately delivers an emotionally hollow spectacle. Starring Margot Robbie as the tempestuous Cathy and Jacob Elordi as the brooding Heathcliff, this reimagining infuses the beloved tale with a heavy dose of camp and style, yet falls short of capturing the raw passion that defines the original narrative.
A Campy Reinterpretation
From the outset, Fennell’s interpretation leans heavily into the theatrical, transforming the moody Yorkshire moors into a vibrant catwalk of exaggerated fashion and flirtation. The film oscillates between moments of absurdity—such as a hilariously awkward scene where Cathy indulges in self-pleasure on the moors—and the steely, often grim backdrop of forbidden love. Elordi’s Heathcliff, a character marked by his complexity in the novel, is presented instead as a caricature, complete with a “Darcyfied” makeover that feels more like a fashion statement than a character development.
Cathy, portrayed by Robbie, is a vision of primped elegance, yet her emotional depth is sacrificed for style. Fennell’s choice to eliminate key characters, like Cathy’s brother Hindley, and to shift the narrative focus away from the subsequent generation detracts from the richness of Brontë’s story. Even more concerning is the film’s handling of Heathcliff’s racial identity, a decision that raises questions about authenticity in this modern retelling.
The Ineffective Love Story
At its core, *Wuthering Heights* is a tale of deep, often destructive love. However, Fennell’s adaptation struggles to convey the intense connection between Cathy and Heathcliff. Their childhood camaraderie is depicted in a playful manner, yet as adults, the palpable tension between them feels muted, overshadowed by the gaudy presentation. The film’s exploration of Cathy’s marriage to Edgar Linton (Shazad Latif) seems to trivialise her choices rather than delve into the emotional turmoil that drives her actions.
The relationship dynamics are further complicated by the film’s treatment of Isabella Linton (Alison Oliver), Edgar’s sister, who is portrayed as a willing participant in Heathcliff’s cruelty rather than a victim of his vindictive spirit. This light-hearted approach to such serious themes diminishes the gravity of their consequences, transforming what should be a heart-wrenching narrative into a series of disjointed scenes.
Cinematic Style Over Substance
Fennell’s previous works, such as *Promising Young Woman* and *Saltburn*, were celebrated for their sharp commentary and emotional resonance. Unfortunately, *Wuthering Heights* lacks the same depth, presenting itself as a visually arresting but ultimately shallow experience. The film’s frenetic pace and stylistic choices, reminiscent of a Baz Luhrmann production, often overshadow the emotional arcs of its characters, leaving viewers with a sense of disconnection rather than engagement.
While the film’s aesthetic choices may attract a trendy audience, they risk alienating those seeking the passionate, tumultuous romance that Brontë’s story encapsulates. The soundtrack, featuring tracks from Charli XCX, adds to the film’s pop sensibility but further detracts from the somber undertones of the original narrative.
Why it Matters
Fennell’s *Wuthering Heights* serves as a reminder of the delicate balance between adaptation and authenticity. In an era where reimagining classic literature for contemporary audiences is increasingly common, this film raises critical questions about representation, narrative integrity, and the emotional depth that adaptations should strive to preserve. While it may captivate some with its stylish flair, it ultimately leaves a void where the heart of Brontë’s timeless tale should reside. As viewers, we are left pondering: can style ever truly replace substance?
