Wuthering Heights

Take with me, if you will, a trip back to 2023. It was the summer of "Barbenheimer". I was so excited for the release of Christopher Nolan's Oppenheimer (which went on to win Best Picture) and Greta Gerwig's Barbie. I was also extremely excited for the long-awaited Martin Scorsese adaptation of Killers of the Flower Moon, which was to be released later that summer. 

I saw all three movies and my response to each one was "that's it??" Now, don't get me wrong--these are all perfectly fine films (although none of them are my favorites from each respective director). But the build up, hype, and orgasmic response (particularly for Oppenheimer and Barbie) simply did not match my response to these films. 

Then, I randomly decided to see some movie called Saltburn. I was grinning like an idiot during this film. The AUDACITY. The PERVERSION. The EXCESS. Was the movie "as good as" the above three mentioned? Not according to traditional film criticism standards. Saltburn is, frankly, ridiculous. But it was FUN. You might think Barbie is fun, but it's not fun in the same way as watching Barry Keoghan drink Jacob Elordi's bathwater. 

Why am I talking about Saltburn? Well, the director, Emerald Fennell, has come out with a new ridiculous film: her interpretation of Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights. I read Wuthering Heights as a senior in high school, which was 22 years ago. I remember almost nothing about it, except liking the character of Hareton--a character completely cut out of this film adaptation. From talking to people, it seems like most people who have read it don't like this book, particularly because it's about two very unlikeable people who torture each other and themselves until they die. 

Which is, uh, why Fennell's Wuthering Heights is kind of the perfect adaptation? The film is Wuthering Heights fanfic ok? And if you want to enjoy the movie, you have to go in knowing that. 

Fennell has faced criticism for white-washing Heathcliff. In the book, Heathcliff's race is ambiguous. He is described as having darker skin. But "darker" in 1847 could literally mean he was of Irish descent. He is described as "like a gipsy". Some scholars think that he could be Spanish, or Arab, or Indian. Fennell cast Jacob Elordi, who is Australian and Basque. Interestingly, she also cast Hong Chau, who is Vietnamese, as Nelly, Cathy Earnshaw's companion, and Shazad Latif, who is Pakistani, as Edgar Linton, Cathy's eventual husband. So...technically there was race-blind casting. However, I don't really think that's enough to make up for white-washing the main character of the story, especially given the fact that Heathcliff's race is one factor in why he and Cathy can never be together.

I agree that Fennell fucked up in this regard. I love Jacob Elordi, but it feels that his casting had more to do with the fact that he is a giant, hot man. There is a scene where he lifts Cathy using one hand by her corset strings and it was very much a panty-dropping moment. There is a satisfying primal instinct when you're attracted to men (as I am, for better or worse) when you see BIG TALL MAN pick up a woman (or another man, for that matter) as if they're nothing more than a ragdoll. It's clear that this is why Fennell cast Elordi. 

And that really is what is at the heart of Fennell's Wuthering Heights: BIG STRONG HOT MAN FUCKS PRETTY LADY. Me Tarzan, you Jane. This is a film for the nether regions, not the brain.

In addition to the 1980s bodice-ripper inspired "romance" (it's not a romance, it's a car wreck), Wuthering Heights is stupidly gorgeous. The set design is something else. The costumes are as historically inaccurate and silly as the ones on Bridgerton. Moreso, in fact, since Cathy wears gowns that appear to be made of see-through plastic material that certainly did not exist in the early 19th century. Anyone who is familiar with historical fashion knows that women did not wear corsets against their bare skin, and that corsets were not meant to be uncomfortable--yet, here is Cathy saying "tighter" and gritting her teeth as she is laced into her wedding corset (which rests against her bare skin) because she wants to punish herself for marrying Edgar Linton.

There are a few scenes where the cinematography almost looks...smokey? 

Look at this image:

And compare it to this image from Stanley Kubrick's Barry Lyndon

To me, the set design is one of the main reasons to see Wuthering Heights--particularly on a big screen. It's gorgeous and extravagant, but in a ridiculous way. There's a visual gag during an otherwise serious, sad scene that had me laughing and saying "What??" in the theatre. 

I also have to call out the soundtrack, which is excellent. It features a mix of original scoring from Anthony Willis and lush and haunting songs from Charli XCX. 

Wuthering Heights falters in the final third, and especially the last 20 minutes or so. Cathy and Heathcliff's relationship hinges on unfulfilled desire and mutual anger and hatred. The novel carries these emotions out to the very end and even after Cathy and Heathcliff die. The characters never have sex (1847 novel, remember?) and only find peace after death, when they have their gravestones next to one another. 

In the movie, of course, they totally fuck. Heathcliff overhears Cathy saying that she has accepted Edgar Linton's marriage proposal and she can't marry Heathcliff because it would "degrade" her. He runs off into the night and returns 5 years late, mysteriously wealthy and well-groomed. He and Cathy have an affair, but when Cathy finally breaks it off (she's also pregnant with Edgar's child), Heathcliff takes revenge by marrying Isabella Linton (Alison Oliver, providing much-needed comedic relief in the role) and being cruel to her. Isabella is Edgar's ward, and like a younger sister to Cathy. The film tries to make Isabella and Heathcliff's relationship into a (somewhat?) consensual BDSM situation, designed to enrage Cathy...but the film doesn't really feel committed to this silliness. 

Anyway, it's too late. Cathy miscarries and becomes septic. She dies before Heathcliff can ride the 5 miles from Wuthering Heights to Thrushcross Grange to see her and he weeps over her dead body. Fin.

A random thing I found annoying about this film is how inaccurately time is portrayed. We find out that Cathy is pregnant before Heathcliff returns (so we all know it's Edgar's baby). Then, Cathy and Heathcliff go from hating each other, to a passionate affair, to Heathcliff marrying Isabella and writing Cathy every day, to Cathy dying...all without ever seeing a hint of a baby bump. So, this entire section of the film covers, what, 4 months? 5? But it's treated as if it's a long, drawn out affair. 

And then, yeah, Heathcliff gets word that Cathy is dying and can't make it in time to see her before she dies even though it's probably 20 minutes on horseback? And it's cross-cut with scenes of Cathy sick, but alive. Eh, it just felt dumb.

I'm coming to the end of all the words I can possibly spill about Emerald Fennell's Wuthering Heights. If you go into the film expecting a faithful adaptation, or a film with dignity and restraint, you will be sorely disappointed or even pissed off. If you go into it knowing that it is ridiculous and trashy, expecting to probably hate the characters, you will likely enjoy yourself and enjoy the film for what it is: Wuthering Heights fan fiction. 

Grade: B+