Wuthering Heights

A provocation that mistakes erotic excess for emotional depth

Despite being one of the most iconic love stories ever written, Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights has never had a definitive screen adaptation, with many filmmakers and onscreen pairings failing to capture the complex push-pull relationship at its core. This is not for a lack of trying; the novel may be one of the most adapted books in cinema history, with the likes of William Wyler, Luis Buñuel, and Andrea Arnold all taking a crack at it. Yet the adaptation that has best captured the spirit of the novel may actually be a song: Kate Bush’s “Wuthering Heights.” Now Emerald Fennell takes her own stab at it, pushing the limits of controversy with Wuthering Heights (2026).

Wuthering Heights once again follows the timeless love story of Catherine (Margot Robbie), the sole daughter of a gambling, spendthrift nobleman (Martin Clunes) in 19th-century England. She falls into a forbidden romance with Heathcliff (Jacob Elordi), the beggar boy her father adopts who grows up working in the estate’s stables. When a wealthy bachelor (Shazad Latif) moves nearby, Catherine must choose between the promise of economic stability and surrendering to her consuming love and desire.

Wuthering Heights rests on the tried-and-true romantic premise of forbidden love, where tension arises from longing and the inability to fully express one’s emotions. Fennell, ever the provocateur, seeks to undo that restraint, plunging her adaptation into full-blown erotica. She does so through an ahistorical aesthetic, blending modern sensibilities into 19th-century settings and costuming. It’s an approach reminiscent of Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette (2006), which successfully embraced impressionism over strict historical accuracy. Fennell similarly clashes the corseted, repressed narrative with contemporary romantic tropes, particularly those rooted in the fantasy romance novels so popular today. It is a bold but misguided choice. In attempting to bring Brontë’s novel down from its mythic pedestal, Fennell instead drags it into the territory of glossy fantasy romance. This is not a slight against the genre, executing heightened sexual fantasy convincingly is no easy task, but it simply doesn’t harmonize with the emotional architecture of this story.

One of the main reasons that this Wuthering Heights doesn’t work is the dismantling of the central forbidden desire that made it such a romantic story of longing; Fennell’s Heathcliffe and Catherine consummate their love and lust for each other… frequently. While this gives the adaptation a steamy edge absent from previous versions, it robs the story of anticipationand sexual tension. Fennell’s film, thus, begins to feel less like an adaptation and more like an erotic fan fiction.

Fennell first burst onto the scene with her work on Killing Eve (2018–2022) and Promising Young Woman (2020), striking a sharp balance between kitsch and satire. That equilibrium began to wobble in Saltburn (2023), though it still retained wit and dark humor. With Wuthering Heights, however, Fennell seems to have succumbed to her most indulgent instincts, losing any sense of tonal balance. Instead, the approach feels more like an intentional attempt to make a film “so bad it’s good,” yet the desperate self-consciousness just makes it cringey. 

As with any romance, the central pair must convince us of their chemistry and inevitable longing. While Robbie and Elordi are undeniably talented and occasionally bring a knowing, tongue-in-cheek energy to their performances, they lack genuine chemistry together. Their glances feel hollow, their motivations driven more by superficial lust than by a crackling emotional connection. Though they join a lineage of accomplished actors who have portrayed these indelible characters, from Laurence Olivier to Juliette Binoche, they leave behind a distinct chill rather than smoldering passion.

Fennell retains her striking visual style, even if her symbolism can verge on the overly blunt. These flourishes at least inject some vitality into the adaptation. Yet her relentless pursuit of provocation ultimately undermines the very elements that make Wuthering Heights such a gripping love story. Despite boasting an impressive cast, the central romance lacks the electric charge the narrative demands. The modern flourishes occasionally intrigue, but they cannot rescue the film from feeling like a glossy, oversexed fan fiction. In the end, if you want a moving, faithful evocation of the novel’s haunting romance, you’re better off putting on Kate Bush.

3.5/10