Written by Marissa Goursaud
Emerald Fennell’s adaptation of Bronte’s 1847 classic, “Wuthering Heights” was destined for controversy. There are many points that cause Fennell’s film to fall short of greatness – the miscasting of Jacob Elordi to name one with online discourse has fervently highlighted that Heathcliffe is canonically a person of colour. Emerald’s creative vision sliced the book in half, removed Hindley, brother of protagonist Cathy and scored the film with a Charli XCX soundtrack that, combined with the unnecessarily garish costumes that scream Taylor Swift music video as opposed to auteur cinema. Amidst the backdrop of exuberant spectacle, one stylistic choice sparks more desire than the rest – the natural landscape of the Yorkshire moors creates an atmosphere to match the insatiable love story of Bronte’s classic.
Suffice it to say, Jacob Elordi (Heathcliff) and Margot Robbie (Cathy) both underperform throughout the film, resulting in leading characters that lack emotional depth, and not only does Fennell dissect the novel in half, but she also tears out the depth and intensity of the classic tale. Whilst most of the sex scenes serve to gloss over the absence of emotional authenticity and drive, moments when Elordi doesn’t have his fingers or tongue down Robbie’s throat are equally as insufferable as we are forced to hear an insultingly appalling Yorkshire accent.
Although the sex scenes fail to create the visceral reaction that the book so marvellously did, they do hint at something Gen Z is severely lacking. It’s no great revelation to suggest that we are worryingly trapped on our phones, and with this in mind, we hear Fennell’s message, loud and clear - the great outdoors is sexier than ever.
When Cathy is overcome with lust for Heathcliff, she runs off in her extravagant gown to the moors whereupon she touches herself amidst the spectacular backdrop of rolling hills and misty skies. Heathcliff stumbles upon the scene and licks her fingers like a lollipop. Whilst the chemistry between the two actors is non-existent, the sheer boldness of their outdoor lovefest fits nicely into Fennell’s catalogue of sexcapades (hearkening to the vampire scene and graveyard scenes in Saltburn). In a time when Gen Z are reportedly having less sex than ever, Fennell’s films are filled with sex sessions that invite us to explore our relationship with the great outdoors.
In Bronte’s classic, Cathy and Heathcliff do not have sex and their encounters are rarely outdoors, keeping most of their fiascos within the confines of Wuthering Heights. The relationship between the natural world is compared to that of the characters’, and is often used as a symbol for their intense longing, yet it is rare to see the two amongst the moor’s wuthering winds. Comparing how the original and the adaptation present their relationship to nature and how this progresses over time can tell us how little we are embracing the natural world now.
In the novel, the winds amplify the gloomy atmosphere and demonstrate a state of purgatory between Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange; they are no place for scenes of longing and desire. Yet, in Fennell's adaptation, it is more enticing to become voyeurs of Cathy and Heathcliff having sex on the moors because we are so far removed from experiencing this kind of connection with nature. Whilst Fennell is probably not asking us to introduce exhibitionism into our sex lives, she is establishing that when something is out of our reach it becomes even more desirable.
Why is it that we are supposed to find Heathcliff’s tall, brooding figure appearing through a wall of fog so gasp-worthy? I can’t remember the last time a hinge match appeared to me through a cloud of mist, but maybe they’ll have to up their game. Many critics have hit the nail on the head in suggesting that Fennell relies too heavily on provocation, favouring trending internet discourse over justified and symbolic decisions. Bronte’s writing does not require the intense scenes between Cathy and Heathcliff to occur amidst the biting chill of the moors, their emotional fire is fuelled by words alone, Fennell, on the other hand, focuses on feeding our eyes.
Despite failing to capture the raw intensity of this iconic classic, I still went away with an undeniable longing – one for a long, wet walk in the countryside.
