Sarah Lang went to the Wuthering Heights movie so you don’t have to, unless you want to watch something very different from the book.
Last year, for a university paper, I studied Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights, a novel that appalled critics in 1847 with its ‘coarseness’ (they would have fallen off their chairs if they knew a woman had written it, so Brontë used a pseudonym). It’s now recognised a work of genius.
And the latest of many film adaptations, ‘Wuthering Heights’, has arrived at a theatre near you – just in time for Valentine’s Day! It’s written, produced and directed by Emerald Lily Fennell – an actress directing her third movie – with Margot Robbie playing Catherine and Jacob Elordi playing Heathcliff.
Either you know what happens in the book, in which case I needn’t explain the plot, or you don’t know what happens, in which case I recommend you read this book (it’s unlike any other) before seeing spoilers here.
The first thing I’ll note is the ‘anti-fidelity argument’ that has been gaining favour in academia and in practice: that film and TV adaptations are a separate entity from the book, and should be treated as such.
I think it depends. I don’t really mind that many adaptations of Wuthering Heights leave out the second half of the book – with the more palatable ‘second generation’ of characters. That’s fair enough, because it’s lot of plot to fit in a two-hour film, and the characters of the first generation are more interesting (in the book, not so much in this film).
So I’m not yelling, ‘It’s not text! It’s not canon!’ But I believe that an adaptation should be faithful where it can be, at the core. And ‘Wuthering Heights’ is wildly different from the book, to the point it feels almost like a betrayal.
The trailer says the film is “inspired by the greatest love story of all time”. Really? I’d say it’s the darkest of all time, especially once you get to digging up a grave. Fennell has said that the film is intended to capture her experience of reading the book aged 14, but I’m not sure we read the same book.
The characters of Heathcliff and Catherine are much, much nicer in the film than they are in the book. The film’s Heathcliff is too calm, even gentle, for someone who will basically become a devil. The film’s Catherine is strong-willed but loving, not the spoiled brat of the book. Essentially, they’re likeable and sympathetic in the film, whereas in the book they’re awful people who inflict pain on others and bring about their own misfortune – something that is key to the story.
The characters of Catherine’s husband Edgar and his sister/ward Isabella are all wrong. He’s merely a prop lacking the requisite jealousness, and this version of Isabella is for some reason made really creepy.
Also, Fennell has deleted the important character of Catherine’s brother Hindley – a bizarre choice, given Heathcliff returns to wage a campaign of revenge against him in the book. We’re also robbed of other characters and pivotal moments.
Then there’s the sex. In the book, nothing sexual happens between Catherine and Heathcliff – not even a kiss. In this film, there’s so much sex that they do a montage, then add some more sex scenes in, then some more. I’m not prudish but there’s only so many times you want to see someone lick all the sweat off another person’s face, especially at the expense of other storytelling. Why were we robbed of Catherine’s and Heathcliff’s final conversation?
Also, the film’s characters don’t physically resemble those of the book. Heathcliff is meant to be dark-skinned, but Elordi (who starred in Fennell’s film Saltburn) only has dark hair. And why didn’t Robbie dye her hair dark brown? Plus at 35, she’s way too old to play Catherine in her late teens. And all the ballgowns and jewels Edgar buys her are ridiculous, given she doesn’t really leave the house. There’s a bit of a Barbie vibe, which strikes a strange note.
Key themes from the book including class, race, nature versus culture, and intergenerational trauma are ignored. I’m not expecting a film to deliver on all that, but the darkness of the book – a darkness essential to the book – is simply missing. It feels like a different story. Rather than putting quotation marks around ‘Wuthering Heights’, maybe Fennell should have called it something different like ‘Catherine and Heathcliff’ or ‘Sex On The Moors And Everywhere Else’ (they don’t seem to worry about being caught by her husband).
But don’t take my word for it. The Guardian called it “an emotionally hollow, bodice-ripping misfire”. ScreenRant described the movie as “flavorless” and “skin-deep”, adding that “the problem with Fennell’s film isn’t a disregard for literary faithfulness but what that disregard reveals about her and what it translates into on the screen”. The Independent says that “it uses the guise of interpretation to gut one of the most impassioned, emotionally violent novels ever written, and then toss its flayed skin over whatever romance tropes seem most marketable. Adaptation or not, it’s an astonishingly hollow work.”
Meanwhile, Collider calls watching it “a jarring, vapid, and ultimately insulting experience” and said that “Emily Brontë is absolutely rolling in her grave”. Yep. She’d be appalled – and bored.