Did anyone expect Emerald Fennell to deliver a note-for-note version of Emily Brontë’s “Wuthering Heights?”
Fennell’s short resume features salacious takes on MeToo (“Promising Young Woman”) and high society (“Saltburn”). It was inevitable she’d “re-imagine” the literary classic for all its worth.
That means Fennell’s “Wuthering Heights” isn’t for purists. Instead, it’s a beguiling peek at a passion that cannot be extinguished and the lives disrupted along the way.
Oh, and it’s a pretty steamy affair from a Hollywood uneasy with the raw sensuality seen back in the late ’80s/early ’90s.
You’ve been warned.
The story opens with a young Catherine Earnshaw (Charlotte Mellington) getting to know her family’s suddenly adopted son Heathcliff (Owen Cooper, “Adolescence”). Papa Earnshaw (Martin Clunes) may be a wobbly drunk, but he opens up his home to the lad.
That’s where his kindness starts and ends. Mr. Earnshaw treats the lad poorly, but this allows the unexpected siblings to spend time together.
Catherine and Heathcliff bond in ways beyond what you’d see in a three-camera family sitcom. And, by the time the adult Catherine is played by Margot Robbie, it’s clear that her character has complicated feelings for Heathcliff (Jacob Elordi).
Those smoky looks speak volumes. Scream, to be more accurate.
Fate and a class chasm stand in their way. A misunderstanding convinces Heathcliff to flee Wuthering Heights, the Earnshaws’ once regal home now falling into disrepair.
Meanwhile, Catherine accepts a marriage proposal from a bland but benevolent suitor (Shazad Latif), but it’s only a matter of time before Heathcliff returns.
And how.
Fennell’s sense of production design remains extravagant, and even the quietest scenes hum with visual splendor. The costumes! The lavish lifestyles! The camera-friendly leads who have chemistry to spare!
The latter makes “Wuthering Heights” a must-see for old-school romantics.
Robbie and Elordi bring heat to a story that trades nuance for animal magnetism. Fennell’s screenplay doesn’t hold back on withering character flaws, either.
Catherine appears kind and giving, but it doesn’t take much for her to bare her teeth. That’s particularly true given the passive aggressive moves by her family’s housekeeper, Nelly (Hong Chau, under-deployed).
Our heroine is downright sweet compared to Heathcliff. That’s especially true regarding his treatment of Isabella (Alison Oliver). She’s a secondary character who appears airlifted in from a “Fifty Shades of Grey” installment.
The film’s opening sequence lets us know this adaptation may teeter on the edge of camp. We hear someone moaning in what appears to be pleasure and hear the kind of creaking associated with a well-worn bed frame.
The reveal is quite different, letting Fennell warn us to adjust expectations. That’s truth in advertising.
This “Wuthering Heights” is aimed at those with little patience for period romances. Comic relief abounds, and over-the-top touches keep modern audiences engaged.
The two-plus-hour running time is a mistake, but there isn’t a sequence that isn’t lovely to behold.
Fennell shrewdly sketches the class divide impeding this pulpy romance, but its woven expertly into the narrative. Other flourishes are more curious, once again keeping us off balance while the source material peeks out from the surface.
Your mileage may vary, but those willing to accept a story that’s merely influenced by a literary classic will come away entertained.
HiT or Miss: “Wuthering Heights” isn’t your father’s take on Emily Brontë’s classic yarn. Embrace that hard truth, and you’ll be swept away by what follows.
