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Romance movies are getting weird. Cheekily marketed with quotation marks around the title, the new adaptation of “Wuthering Heights” promised to be a swoon-worthy and sexually explicit retelling of Emily Brontë’s gothic romance. What it delivered was something rather different: a film remarkable in its ability to pair so much sexual content with so little chemistry, turning a twisted romantic tale not just into a piece of sentimental smut but also a surrealistic fever dream that revels in its own ickiness.
In the book, anti-heroes Cathy and Heathcliff grow up together on the English moors and fall in love, though Cathy chooses to marry for money as Heathcliff was adopted and is of low social status. Cathy is petulant and spoiled; Heathcliff is tempestuous and cruel. The two try to rekindle their relationship years after Cathy’s marriage only for her to die shortly after giving birth to her daughter. The second half of the novel follows that new generation, which finds some redemption in the end. There is no happy ending for the star-crossed lovers.
Director Emerald Fennell has a great talent for taking compelling stories and so completely bastardizing them that even comparing them with to their predecessors is to insult them. Before Fennell wrote and directed “Wuthering Heights,” she created “Saltburn,” a film critics compared to “The Talented Mr. Ripley” for its exploration of class dynamics and romantic obsession.
But instead of incisive commentary, “Saltburn” settles for shock value. As an example, one viral scene involves the main character attempting to have sex with a grave.
Unfortunately for classic literature fans, Fennell has turned her creative sights on “Wuthering Heights,” which released this Valentine’s Day weekend to much media hype. Starring heartthrobs Margot Robbie as leading lady Cathy and Jacob Elordi as love interest Heathcliff, the film was marketed as a sexed-up, not-very-faithful adaptation of “the greatest love story of all time.” But the movie was not quite the steamy romance it had promised to be.
The film’s opening moments set the tone: A dark screen lets the audience guess at what they are about to see as they listen to grunting and heavy breathing. Viewers are then surprised to find the sounds come from a person dangling from a rope. The public hanging of the man, who has a visible erection, delights a boisterous and horny crowd of onlookers.
“This is a deeply felt romance. But I also wanted people to understand that it would be surprising and darkly funny and perhaps stranger than they would expect,” Fennell said of her rationale for the unsettling scene. “It was important to acknowledge early on that arousal and danger are kind of the same thing — that is what the Gothic is.”
She’s certainly entitled to her opinion. This scene and the rest of the film, however, indicate that Fennell doesn’t actually understand much of what the Gothic is. After all, she cuts the supernatural elements of the book — namely, Cathy’s ghost. Instead, she fills the void with an impressively eerie set: plaster hands that hold candles, cavernous hallways, and bedroom walls made to look like human skin. Fennell thus substitutes style for substance, letting the uncanny setting and the admittedly gorgeous costuming elicit emotions the script can’t muster.
Fennell’s “Wuthering Heights” isn’t a cautionary tale. But it isn’t a love story, either. It’s a dark and self-indulgent narrative that bodes poorly for future romantic dramas if this is what Hollywood considers entertainment. Other icky moments involve characters running their fingers through various viscous substances such as egg yolks (one outlet took it upon itself to rank “The Sexiest Goos of Wuthering Heights”). In another disturbing scene, Heathcliff has his wife, Isabella, chained to the hearth with a dog collar on her neck as she barks. This, we’re told, is entirely consensual — as if that makes it any better.
Somehow, the film still resonated. After it came out in theaters, viral videos showed women (three-quarters of ticket buyers) leaving showings with tears in their eyes. Fennell argued that the physical response to “Wuthering Heights” is “you cry and you recoil and you’re aroused.”
Fennell isn’t the only one who seems to enjoy disgusting her audience. Yorgos Lanthimos’s “Poor Things” came out in 2023 to much acclaim from mainstream critics despite its revolting plot: A mad scientist puts the brain of a baby in the body of a woman, who decides to go on an adventure, see the world, and become a prostitute. The Guardian claimed the movie was fueling “speculation of sex scenes’ return to cinema.” But, like “Wuthering Heights,” it wasn’t ushering in the return of romance — just sex.
Strong box office numbers for “Wuthering Heights” suggest that moviegoers are interested in more romantic films, something Hollywood seems incapable of producing these days. But what fans of the genre don’t need are adaptations of classic novels that have little to do with their source material and that rely on ickiness just to get people talking. Give us real Gothic romance, or at least give us something normal people can enjoy.
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The views expressed in this piece are those of the author and do not necessarily represent those of The Daily Wire.
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