Sama Farrag “Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”
There are love stories, and then there are hauntings. The minute I stepped into the theater, I felt the air shift, as though there was something restless and unbecoming waiting to unfold. It wasn’t the usual pre-movie excitement, popcorn in hand and light chatter in the dark. Rather, there was this strange heaviness—like the calm before the storm. This was not going to be a comfortable watch. And that is exactly why I loved it.
I do not know how to articulate how much I enjoyed this film. I had been anticipating it for a while, but what was delivered highly exceeded every single expectation. It’s campy, relentless, and absolutely soul-crushing. “Wuthering Heights” is Emerald Fennell’s adaptation that she based off of her reading and interpretation of the novel as a teenager, and God did I feel like a teenager watching it—some scenes being straight out of a Harry Styles Wattpad fanfic in the best way possible. From the very beginning, Fennell throws you into a space that is gloriously and unapologetically gross. This isn’t the sanitized Old England of tea sets and lace; it’s dark, dingy, and so wet you can practically smell the pungent mix of sweat and crushed grass coming off the screen. It’s putrid in the most compelling way—a dark, claustrophobic world that holds you willingly hostage. Everything from the soundtrack to the cinematography to the set design and costumes was completely spellbinding—almost magical. It’s as if Alice fell down the rabbit hole and landed in James Cameron’s Titanic.
Disclaimer: I have not read the book (yet), so I’m basing my enjoyment and this review solely on the movie without any predisposed bias.
There is a very specific and frantic energy between Catherine and Heathcliff that I can only describe as primal. They are the very definition of soulmates, and I could physically feel the tension weeping from the screen. Margot Robbie and Jacob Elordi have undeniable chemistry that brought a jagged and modern—almost twisted—edge to the classic story. Elordi’s Heathcliff is a brooding and barbarically romantic force of nature, radiating a quiet, dangerous volatility that makes the soulmate connection feel less like a fairy tale and more like a ghost story. Robbie, meanwhile, plays Cathy with a frenzied, magnetic desperation that reminds us why this story has remained so enduringly messy. Their yearning is captured through micro-expressions: heavy-lidded eye contact that clouds the senses and touching that feels like taking a bite out of forbidden fruit. It’s the desperate and treacherous feeling of wanting to consume and be consumed.
What makes this film so great, in my opinion, is that it refuses to be orderly. For every declaration of love, there is pitiless cruelty. For every moment of sheer tenderness, there is a wound that is reopened and left to bleed. Fennell allows room for seamless contradictions, and she does not at any point attempt to soften edges or make it more palatable. It remains erratic, selfish, obsessive, and utterly human. I will not go as far as to suggest that it is the most provocative film I’ve seen, but it is making its way up there. There is something romantic and erotic about the griminess and chaos that defines the film and subsequently Cathy and Heathcliff’s romance. It’s not meet-cute, candlelit dinner, standing-outside-your-window-with-a-boombox romantic, but rather something so deeply feral and intimate that it is destructive.
I left the movie theater in shambles. The only other movie that makes me cry this much is Titanic (which I was not allowed to watch as a child because I would have a nervous breakdown every. single. time). But this was different. This is the type of movie that shifts something in your soul, leaving you feeling helpless and empty, yet so very full. It’s been about two weeks since I’ve seen it, and it still has me by the throat. I applaud Emerald Fennell for not trying to tame “Wuthering Heights” and letting it exist in all its wildness and glory. She embraced the obsession, brutality, and anguish that can only exist within unrequited love—and had fun doing it. It’s a visual tour de force with a soundtrack that will stop you dead in your tracks every time you hear it.
Some films entertain you for however long they are, and some linger in your heart and head, leaving you haunted and wondering how something so fleeting can feel so eternal.
I give it a 4.5/5. Some part of me never quite made it back from the moors.
