I already watched Emerald Fennell’s adaptation so you don’t have to. Come, let me explain why you should miss the opportunity to see it—if you’re a lover of good cinema (or cinema in general).
Let’s start with the cast and the conflicts it creates. We already know Hollywood loves to whitewash any character, regardless of whether their race, ancestry, or appearance are key to the story—but Kharmel Cochrane took it to another level. How do you cast (without even holding auditions) Jacob Elordi as Heathcliff and Shazad Latif as Edgar Linton? How disconnected from the source material do you have to be to cast Elordi as a canonically Indian character, and then give Latif, a Pakistani actor, the role of a white Englishman? Sure, having Elordi in the lead might attract a young female audience, but it also strips away a huge part of the novel’s central conflict. In the book—which is not the love story Fennell is trying to sell—Cathy and Heathcliff’s obsession is socially scandalous precisely because of his ethnicity. Let’s remember that interracial marriages were deeply frowned upon (don’t let Bridgerton fool you), and that for a woman to marry beneath her social rank was already a scandal. Now imagine the pretty white girl from a respectable family “in love” with a practically orphaned servant of Indian descent, with no education. “Scandalous” doesn’t even begin to cover it.
And as if erasing the racial conflict weren’t enough, Margot Robbie’s casting creates another issue that’s easier to overlook: age. Robbie, at 35, removes a great deal of drama and tension from Cathy, who in the novel is between 15 and 18 years old. You might ask why that matters, since it’s common for actors in their 30s to play teenagers. The answer is simple: no matter how beautiful and Barbie-like Robbie may be, she cannot pass for a 17-year-old. That’s it. While this is a common casting tactic, here it doesn’t work. Because she visibly looks her age, she ends up looking ridiculous throwing tantrums over her skirts, and the toxic dynamic between Cathy and Heathcliff is softened by being presented as a relationship between adults. Don’t get me wrong—obsession, toxicity, and codependency can exist at any age—but in the novel, their youth is intentional. This is a story about sexual and psychological abuse, and it is far more disturbing when it involves teenagers.
Another aspect directly tied to casting is the screenplay. Margot Robbie and Jacob Elordi feel like a strategy to conceal a poorly written, hollow script. Casting two names beloved by audiences and critics—who don’t fit their characters or the story—feels like a deliberate move to direct the viewer’s attention where it’s convenient, rather than where it should be. Emerald Fennell has said that the film “is Wuthering Heights, and at the same time it isn’t.” In press conferences, she has admitted that her adaptation comes from what she remembers reading and what her younger self wished had happened while reading the novel. If the writer, producer, and director herself admits the adaptation isn’t faithful, audiences have two options: either watch it through the lens Fennell is trying to sell and accept that this version isn’t canonical and doesn’t intend to be—or, as many are doing, take it as an offense to classic literature and feel outraged by how Brontë’s story was treated. And honestly, that reaction is fair. A graduate in English Literature from Oxford should know better than how to adapt one of the pillars of English literature.
And the problems don’t end there. The production design, though visually beautiful, is confusing. It uses anachronistic elements and interprets spaces too literally. Cathy’s bedroom in the Linton house, for example, references a style of enclosed-bed interior design—not a room with Margot Robbie’s veins and beauty marks enlarged on the walls. It’s a perfect example of why historical research and contextual understanding are essential before bringing a story to life. The cliffs are supposed to reflect the characters’ emotional states, functioning almost as a character themselves, but that symbolism never translates to the screen. Instead of feeling like a deep, hostile landscape that speaks for itself, they’re filmed in a way that makes them look beautiful—like the backdrop of a romantic love story (please, let’s understand once and for all that this is NOT a love story). Then there’s the costume design. Can someone please explain what Jacqueline Durran was thinking when she put an 18th-century woman in a sleeveless, sheer, shiny silk dress? Period films aren’t documentaries, and yes, creative liberties are expected—but even Bridgerton doesn’t go that far, and Shonda Rhimes takes plenty of liberties. Costume is a crucial element in a period piece. You can play with design without committing outright atrocities.
If you scroll through TikTok, you’ll likely find at least one video talking about Wuthering Heights and how bad it is. Still, there is one redeeming quality: Linus Sandgren’s cinematography. Visually, the film is stunning. The lighting, color palette, textures, and camera movement almost succeed in distracting you from the script. And that’s precisely what Fennell seems to be trying to do: use aesthetics to conceal weak writing. Everything on screen feels designed to divert attention from a flat and distorted story. But the problem with the screenplay isn’t just that it’s flat—it feels rushed and improvised, like something written by a pubescent 14-year-old on Wattpad. And yes, a 14-year-old can absolutely write a great story—who am I to judge them all? But we’re talking about a woman who graduated from one of the best universities in the world, from one of the most prestigious literature programs in the world. It’s almost embarrassing—until you remember she also wrote Saltburn, which at least is an original screenplay with an interesting (if questionable) plot twist. Even there, though, she uses the same strategy: star casting and striking cinematography to distract from a script that ultimately falls short. (And let’s not forget she reuses Jacob Elordi, Alison Oliver, Ewan Mitchell, Sandgren, and Cochrane from Saltburn.)
That concludes my report. My recommendation? If you choose to watch it, be aware that it has nothing to do with Wuthering Heights beyond the characters’ and locations’ names. Emily Brontë would be utterly scandalized by what they’ve done to her work.
And remember: if you ever find your Heathcliff, run the other way.
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