THE STORY – Tragedy strikes when Heathcliff falls in love with Catherine Earnshaw, a woman from a wealthy family in 18th-century England.
THE CAST – Margot Robbie, Jacob Elordi, Hong Chau, Shazad Latif, Alison Oliver, Martin Clunes, Owen Cooper & Ewan Mitchell
THE TEAM – Emerald Fennell (Director/Writer)
THE RUNNING TIME – 136 Minutes
To be clear, I have no deep-rooted attachment to Emily Brontë’s classic 1847 novel “Wuthering Heights” beyond what I’ve absorbed through previous adaptations. That distance, for me, makes Emerald Fennell’s 2026 “interpretation,” as she pointedly frames it, entirely singular, and one I, an admitted fan of her previous two films, “Promising Young Woman” and “Saltburn,” was more curious than cautious about heading into. So now that we understand each other, here’s where I fall on her third feature film: it is not an endeavor by Fennell to be absolutely loyal to the source material. It is a personal, emotional, and unapologetically heightened response to the novel from a filmmaker who has made questionable choices as a writer but, as a director, is widely regarded as a talented maximalist storyteller. So, you will either be swept up in her bold vision or recoil from its existence. There is very little middle ground. Yes, Fennell’s “Wuthering Heights” is messy and emotionally unfiltered. Yet it is also ravishing and strangely sincere in its commitment to romantic extremity. Simply put: subtlety is not invited here. Feelings are meant to suffocate and consume. And for those willing to surrender to its vibes and flourishes, the film becomes an immersive rush of longing, ecstasy, and despair.
From its opening moments, Fennell makes her intentions unmistakably clear. The film begins with the sound of someone choking, gasping for air, initially suggestive of sexual expression, before revealing itself to be an act of violence, a public hanging for a crowd that joyfully cheers on the horror of such a brutal act playing out before our eyes. Pleasure and suffering are immediately established as entwined, as shown in the film’s title card, animated with a woman’s braided hair. It is a blunt but effective metaphor for the adaptation to come. This is a love story in which emotions are so intense that they express both the delights and the terrors of giving yourself over to someone, both in body and mind, and the sickness it can bring.
Academy Award-nominee Margot Robbie, who produced Fennell’s first two films (but this is the first time she is starring in one), plays Catherine “Cathy” Earnshaw as someone radiant and emotionally reckless, but shackled by the societal pressures of the era, who was forced to marry rich or suffer a life of impoverished misery. Recent Academy Award nominee Jacob Elordi’s Heathcliff matches her passion beat for beat, crafting a character defined by the wounds of his past, simmering with rage, and obsessed with the only person he has ever and will ever love. Individually, both actors are compelling in their performances as two characters who have known each other for most of their lives. But together? They are electric. Every glance, every touch, every encounter is charged with torment. Their chemistry is the engine that drives the film’s hypnotic pull, backed by top-level craftsmanship from Fennell and all of her collaborators. Hong Chau grounds the film’s excess with pragmatic precision and quiet observation as Cathy’s servant, Nelly Dean. But it’s Alison Oliver, however, who may be the film’s true standout. As the sister to the wealthy Edgar Lipton (Shazad Latif), Isabella is painful to watch in her humiliation and desperation. She wants Heathcliff so badly that she willingly degrades herself to have him. Oliver navigates this complex portrayal with remarkable yet believable bravery, turning Isabella into one of the film’s most tragic figures and another consequence of Heathcliff and Cathy’s unfulfilled love.
Fennell traces Cathy and Heathcliff’s bond from childhood (played by Charlotte Mellington and Emmy award-winner Owner Cooper, respectively) through adulthood, emphasizing the innocence of their early connection and how it mutates into something darker and more damaging. As children, they cling to one another as protection from a hostile world, as the two try their best to shield each other from Cathy’s father (Martin Clunes). Despite the vitriol and physical abuse from Mr. Earnshaw, the poor yet taken in Heathcliff remains by Cathy’s side. The scars on his back become both literal and symbolic, marking the suffering he accepts if it means he gets to stay close to Cathy. And as Cathy gets older and thinks of those scars on his sweaty back, it’s not through some perverted lens but one whose ties go back many years and hold deep significance.
As the two grow older, social class becomes an insurmountable barrier. Cathy longs for security and status and eventually, reluctantly, marries Mr. Linton, despite knowing it will devastate Heathcliff. The choice is pragmatic, culturally conditioned, and emotionally catastrophic, as conveyed through Robbie’s performance and reinforced by Fennell’s many montages of Cathy’s sadness, backed by the atmospheric soundscape. The film understands this not as a simple betrayal but as a tragedy shaped by rigid social structures, and it doesn’t stop there. Upon Heathcliff’s return to Cathy’s now settled life as a cleaned-up (still ruggedly handsome) and wealthier man, one action initiates another, creating a devastating cycle of catastrophe. Despite the marketing positioning of “Wuthering Heights” as the greatest love story ever told, none of this is ultimately about romance. It is about psychological violence born out of trauma, how it is exacerbated by poverty and hierarchy, and how it distorts intimacy.
Fennell’s controversial decision to cast Elordi as Heathcliff, despite the novel’s racially ambiguous descriptions of the character, has sparked debate from Brontë fans long before release. She has defended the choice as rooted in her own reading experience. While the decision remains contentious, within the context of her stylized, subjective adaptation, it aligns with her broader philosophy. This is not an attempt at devoted adaptation or historical accuracy, but an emotional response to Brontë’s work. “Wuthering Heights” is all about capturing big feelings and transmitting them to the audience as powerfully as Fennell can.
Visually, “Wuthering Heights” is pretty extraordinary. Shot on 35mm VistaVision by Linus Sandgren, the cinematography is lush, textured, and relentlessly expressive. Every frame pulses with a vibrant mood that permeates the senses, intoxicating you in the process. Suzie Davies’s striking production design and Jacqueline Durran’s costumes deepen the sense of sensual immersion with their colors and aesthetics. Cathy’s environments mirror her interior state. Her bedroom is portrayed as an extension of her skin, a cocoon of confinement and lust, and her dollhouse even contains a miniature version of herself, reflecting her sense of entrapment within her marriage.
Fennell frequently visualizes Cathy’s and Heathcliff’s inner thoughts through indelible bits of tactile imagery. Childhood pranks involving cracked eggs and sticky sheets take on erotic undertones. One’s sexual fantasies for the other slowly bleed into reality. Masturbation, yearning, and obsession are portrayed without coyness. There may be no explicit nudity, but the film is evocative and all the hotter for it, without ever crossing into what one would consider bad taste or shock value (which is fair, given the reception of “Saltburn’s” more memorable scenes). While he may be up for Best Supporting Actor this year for “Frankenstein,” Jacob Elordi’s tongue deserves its own level of awards recognition for the amount of work it’s putting in, where every kiss between him and Robbie seems like it’s the first and the last, with such scorching vehemence. It’s as softcore as you can get, just teasing the audience enough to both fulfill and keep everyone wanting more from two of the most gorgeous people ever to grace the screen.
Anthony Willis’ beautiful score, complemented by Charli XCX’s original songs, further amplifies the film’s emotional identity. The music does not merely accompany scenes; it floods them with such an overwhelming atmosphere that it transforms the sense of longing into something almost operatic. Charli’s contributions, in particular, lend the film a contemporary edge, bridging 19th-century melodrama with a present-day generation grappling with repression and sexual anxiety. If this music cannot stir something deep within those who are not allowing themselves to feel the same urges that drive the characters in this movie, then something is terribly wrong.
If “Wuthering Heights” stumbles, it is in its indulgence. At nearly every turn, Fennell chooses elevation over restraint. The pacing grows sluggish as beats repeat, conflicts linger longer than necessary, and so on. The film occasionally mistakes its own intensity for depth, leaving viewers seeking narrative efficiency or psychological subtlety to find the whole experience insufferable and exhausting. Yet this excess is also the point. Fennell aims to make audiences feel what the book made her feel when she read it, not what scholars say it means, and in this regard, the film is incredibly contemporary. It speaks to a generation grappling with repression, anxiety, and fear of vulnerability. Fennell frames desire as both liberating and harmful, warning of the cost of denying oneself intimacy for social approval. Pleasure and pain are inseparable here. To love fully is to risk annihilation. This philosophy is woven into the film’s very structure. Cathy and Heathcliff are wrong for each other. They are toxic. They are cruel to themselves, each other, and those around them. And yet they are, in Fennell’s universe, cosmically right. Their bond transcends reason, morality, and self-preservation. It is not healthy. It is essential. For purists, this approach may be considered sacrilegious. For others, it will be exhilarating.
There is no denying that “Wuthering Heights” will inspire fierce debate. But there is also no denying its craft, ambition, and emotional conviction. Emerald Fennell has created something audacious, seductive, and deeply personal. Supported by spellbinding cinematography, sumptuous design, and led by two fearless lead performances that go for broke, this version of “Wuthering Heights” may come to define a new era of romantic filmgoers. Dirty and overlong as it may be, it is also mesmerizing and at times, yes, even moving. For those who like their emotions, romance, and cinema big, this is a swooning, breathless experience that will satisfy those desires while leaving you yearning for more. Against all better judgment, the romantic in me fell hard for it.
