The Novel Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte is one of the few stories in classic English literature to cast a long and windswept gothic shadow over romance. Its moorish landscape mirrors the book’s psychology; its romance is less courtship than catastrophe. In order to revisit this storm-lashed classic it takes a brave filmmaker, many before have tried to bottle its lightning. The newest screen version directed by Emerald Fennell arrives with much ambition. 

Let’s begin with what I thought the film did well. The visuals were ravishing— the Yorkshire moors feel so tactile and intense, captured in sweep long shots that symbolized the emotional desolation of its characters. The score hums and swells without completely devouring the story and production design finds the meaning in decay; cracked plaster, wind-battered heather, and candlelight flickering against stone. 

The film also included some of the biggest names in the acting world today. Margot Robbie really brought a ferocious wit to Katherine, she embodies caprice and vulnerability with a wild precision, I think she did a wonderful job- some critics believed she was too old for the role since Katherine is only supposed to be around 18, but I couldn’t imagine a better actress. Opposite of her, Jacob Elordi’s Heathcliff simmers with a wounded sense of pride and dangerous capabilities. Despite Jacobs’ wonderful performance it is surprising to see a white man play this role. Readers know Heathcliff is described as a “dark skinned” man in the original book, I think it’s saddening to see the loss of this detail. Having a person of color represent a love interest was deemed controversial at the time Bronte published Wuthering Heights; it’s a key part of the novel’s significance. 

The novel by Emily Bronte is one of the most famous examples of a “story within a story”, it’s filtered through untrustworthy narrators who can’t fully grasp the utter dread and love the couple feels. This new adaptation discards almost all of this framing in favor of a straight forward narrative. And while the result is undeniably more accessible for the modern audience it sheds so many layers of meaning. By smoothing some of the narrative edges, the haunting moral harshness of the novel is softened. Heathcliff’s brutality, originally symbolizing obsession and vengeance, became more palatable, maybe even romantic. 

I’m not trying to discredit this adaptation’s emotional power, it pulses with feeling. Yet it often feels as though the filmmakers may have mistrusted the darkness of the reference material. In terms of packaging a Victorian tale into a contemporary trackable film,they have illuminated it, but also, paradoxically, diminished its shadows. 

I really enjoyed this new variation of Wuthering Heights. It was beautifully acted, gorgeously mounted, and full of emotions. I may object to its departure from the page but I can admire its lustful craft. Like the moors themselves, it is wild and windswept— just not quite as unforgiving as Bronte intended.