The anticipation surrounding the newWuthering Heightsadaptation was…intense. A fellow film critic confessed, bracingly, “They won’t make me hate it.” The online debate had already reached a fever pitch, opinions declared before a single frame was seen. But I went in determined to surrender to the experience, embracing the “feral” energy director Emerald Fennell promised – and frankly, not caring if it felt a little predictable.
Confessions were shared. A colleague admitted her sole desire was to witness Jacob Elordi and Margot Robbie in a prolonged, rain-soaked embrace. And honestly? I understood completely. Yet, as reviews began to surface, the predictable backlash arrived. Purists lamented the divergence from Emily Brontë’s novel. But for many, Fennell’s perceived “desecration” was precisely the point – a distillation of the story down to its rawest, most primal core, delivering exactly what a modern audience craved.
It’s visually stunning, undeniably alluring, and unapologetically toxic. And it doesn’t pretend to be anything more. A male influencer dismissed it, but that was perfectly acceptable. This film wasn’t *for* him; it was crafted for a female gaze, a space rarely prioritized in mainstream cinema.
However, the casting of Jacob Elordi as Heathcliff remains a valid point of contention. The original novel subtly suggests Heathcliff is a man of color, described as a “dark-skinned gipsy.” Fennell’s choice to cast a white actor, despite her revisionist approach, feels like a significant missed opportunity. She has stated her casting decision was based on Elordi’s resemblance to the Heathcliff depicted on the cover of her personal copy of the book.
Fennell has repeatedly emphasized that this is her interpretation, a reimagining of the story as she remembered it at age fourteen. It’s a deeply personal vision, and perhaps that explains the strong reactions. Beyond the casting, the adaptation takes liberties with the source material – condensing the narrative, removing key characters, and incorporating anachronistic elements like latex and sheer fabrics. It’s outlandish, yes, but also undeniably glamorous.
The most significant source of controversy, however, is the film’s explicit sexuality. Where Brontë hinted, Fennell shows. Two provocative montages, scenes of masturbation, and a charged stable encounter complete with riding crop and bridle push boundaries. As a critic, I appreciate boldness and originality, and few adaptations of this classic have been so overtly sensual.
Recent films likeBabygirl,The Idea of You, andChallengershave begun to cater to a female desire, butWuthering Heightsfeels different. Fennell isn’t simply adding sex; she’s centering the female experience, acknowledging and exploring desire without apology. She’s softened the harsher edges of Heathcliff – he doesn’t, for example, kill his wife’s puppy – to amplify the yearning at the heart of the story.
Some criticism feels rooted in intellectual snobbery, a discomfort with simply *enjoying* something. Reviews have dismissed the film as “a limp Mills & Boon” or “a 20-page fashion shoot.” Fennell has even been compared unfavorably to Colleen Hoover, a label dripping with disdain. One commenter questioned my positive reaction, citing my academic background. But an English literature degree, I believe, qualifies me to disagree.
We shouldn’t police who gets to enjoy art, or how much weight their opinions carry. The double standard is glaring. Jason Statham can deliver endless action films geared towards men without facing this level of scrutiny. The male gaze has long dominated cinematic sex scenes, and often, those scenes aren’t enjoyed by women with the same enthusiasm. Sharon Stone’s experience with the infamous leg-uncrossing scene inBasic Instinctserves as a stark reminder of that power imbalance.
InWuthering Heights, no one was exploited or misled. Fennell is extending an invitation – a slightly twisted, undeniably kinky invitation – to the girls. And I, for one, had a fantastic time. The world is chaotic enough. Sometimes, it’s okay to revel in something beautiful, even if it’s a little problematic.
