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It’s rare that I don’t know where to start when it comes to writing a movie review, but there’s a first time for everything. I’ll just give the bad news to you straight: like a vet’s trip to get your old pet put down, Wuthering Heights is about as spicy as a plain meal at Nando’s, and as basic as the restaurant choice.
But we knew this going into it, didn’t we? We’ve had the collective debate about the death of modern literacy, the outrage about the casting choices and Emerald Fennell’s outright refusal to include the Emily Brontë novel’s original themes of race and colonialism. They’re all necessary conversations and causes for concern, and I agree with them.
From the impeccable first trailer with Charli XCX’s Everything is Romantic remixed into it (as it’s better than the entire movie, I’ll link it below for you to enjoy), Wuthering Heights sold itself as lustful yearning confirmed to get you hot under the collar. I thought this would make it messy and overbearing – but I never expected it to be as dull as dishwater.
From teaser to feature, something’s gone wrong
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If I’m completely honest, I so badly wanted to fall head over heels for Wuthering Heights just so I could spite the masses who hate it. Perhaps I’m as petty as Fennell’s version of Cathy (Margot Robbie). But that dream wasn’t to be, so let’s dig deeper into what didn’t work.
Here’s the infuriating part – you can completely buy the chemistry and sense of longing happening onscreen, even the unhinged behavior that makes up being driven made with selfish desire. But you’ll struggle to care about any of it.
Working with deeply unlikeable characters needs a master at the helm, and I wonder if Fennell is too focused on translated her own personal experience of reading the book as a young girl. In essence, what’s happening in the movie might mean a lot to her, but not to anybody else.
A friend of mine described Wuthering Heights as a two-hour Taylor Swift music video, and I think she’s nailed it. We’re looking at something that could easily have been featured on The Life of a Showgirl, laced with vibrant colors and ostentatious production design shaped by period drama Instagram.
While the costuming is easily the star of the show, production often reveals Yorkshire to actually be on a soundstage, with props so 2D you’d fear squashing them into cardboard mulch if you got too close.
Charli XCX’s tailor-made album for the film is in scant supply too. The orchestrated soundtrack is hauntingly melodic, but I was promised some electro-pop bangers in between this snoozefest, and I only counted three.
Then there’s the wayward casting. Perhaps somebody like Mia Goth, Mia Wasikowska or Elle Fanning might have been a better fit for Cathy than Robbie, who can never truly shift that beautiful Gold Coast glow. Her performance is solid and she’s clearly done the groundwork for it, but full suspension of belief doesn’t follow.
I’ve got a lot more time for Jacob Elordi’s Heathcliff, especially after his riveting role of The Creature in Frankenstein. He sells the hard done by Yorkshire grafter better than anybody else, but the press tour had helped solidify our yearning for him. Holding Robbie’s dress, making sure she doesn’t get soaked in the rain and taking the time to answer every endless press question thrown his way… yeah, that’s a man raised right.
While Hong Chau’s Nelly Dean remains constantly stone-faced and Shazad Latif’s Edgar Linton looks like he doesn’t even know he’s in a movie, I’m bowled over by Martin Clunes’ Mr. Earnshaw. It’s hilarious for a Brit to see the Doc Martin star scold Elordi and crawl on a dirty floor for coins, but God does he pull it off. Both cruel and captivating, we definitely don’t spend enough time with him during Wuthering Heights’ 132-minute runtime.
Owen Cooper and Charlotte Mellington are the exceptional ace up Fennell’s sleeve though. Matured and emotional beyond their years, they reel us in during the movie’s opening 20 minutes with such vulnerable honesty that I almost had a tear in my eye. Thank you Netflix and Adolescence for giving us an exceptional young actor in Cooper.
But surely it’s erotic… right?
Where Wuthering Heights removes the socio-political context of Brontë’s novel, it fills out with a 50 Shades of Grey approach to what’s left. Again, this leaves a bland taste. Aside from one truly erotic scene – Fennell seems to pull her lust off best when she stops just shy of sex – nothing is sexy, shocking, or particularly inviting. If you want sexual scandal, try Rivals on Disney+.
As I said in the headline, if this film was a spice, it would be flour. You can’t market something solely on the promise of hedonistic lusting and then deliver something you’d actually feel comfortable watching with your parents. I doubt it would even have made ripples 20 or 30 years ago. But sure, Elordi will get some cheers when he takes his top off.
Will I be watching Wuthering Heights again? No. Do I remain a Saltburn truther? Yes. Will Fennell’s latest make a shed-ton of money at the box office despite being widely panned? Absolutely. I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that Fennell kicks into full gear with original stories, so don’t count me out of her work completely.
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