When a filmmaker takes on a literary classic like Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights, expectations are high. For over a century, adaptations have oscillated between faithful period pieces and bold reinterpretations, each trying to capture the novel’s haunting emotional power. Yet in 2022, director Emerald Fennell—known for her dark, stylized storytelling in Promising Young Woman—delivered a version that feels like she tore the book from its 19th-century moors and set it ablaze in the 21st century.
Fennell’s Wuthering Heights is not a love story. It’s a brutal, unflinching character study of obsession, trauma, and the cyclical nature of abuse. Gone are the sweeping romantic gestures and misty landscapes of previous adaptations. In their place is a stark, almost clinical gaze—one that dissects the novel’s characters with unsettling precision. If you think you know Heathcliff and Catherine Earnshaw, think again. This isn’t the brooding Byronic hero and his tragic muse. This is a story about survival, power, and the rot beneath the romance.
Most adaptations of Wuthering Heights lean into the gothic romance of Brontë’s original: the wild moors, the doomed love affair, the ghostly presence of Catherine’s spirit. Fennell’s version, however, rejects romanticism entirely. Instead, it frames the story as a psychological thriller, where desire is weaponized, and love is indistinguishable from possession.
The film opens not with the novel’s famous frame narrative—Lockwood arriving at Thrushcross Grange—but with a raw, unfiltered shot of Heathcliff (Solomon Tawil) and Catherine (Molly Windsor) as children, their bond forged in violence and shared alienation. There’s no soft focus, no dreamy dissolve into adulthood. Instead, we’re dropped into their world as it is: brutal, claustrophobic, and devoid of the idealism we associate with Brontë’s tale.
The Rejection of Romantic Tropes
Traditional adaptations often romanticize Heathcliff and Catherine’s relationship, painting it as a grand, doomed love story. Fennell dismantles this myth entirely. Their connection isn’t about passion; it’s about survival. Heathcliff, an orphan of ambiguous racial and class background, is taken in by the Earnshaws but never truly accepted. Catherine, though she dotes on him as a child, grows into a young woman who sees him as a mirror of her own discontent—someone who reflects her deepest frustrations with the world.
The famous balcony scene, where Catherine declares, “I am Heathcliff,” is reimagined here not as a poetic moment of self-realization but as a desperate, almost pathological need for control. Fennell doesn’t linger on the romance; she cuts it off. The scene ends not with a lingering kiss or a dramatic declaration but with Heathcliff, humiliated and exiled, vowing revenge. There’s no grand romance—just the cold, calculated fury of a man who has been told his entire life that he doesn’t belong.
A Visual Style That Feels Alive and Unsettling
Fennell’s direction is unmistakable. She shoots the moors not as a picturesque backdrop but as a suffocating, almost claustrophobic space. The camera lingers on the dirt under Heathcliff’s fingernails, the sweat on Catherine’s brow, the way the wind howls like a living thing. There’s no soft lighting, no golden hues to romanticize the setting. Instead, the film is drenched in natural light and shadow, making every interaction feel raw and immediate.
The cinematography—by Claire Mathon, who also lensed Portrait of a Lady on Fire—avoids the lush, sweeping shots of previous adaptations. Instead, it’s intimate, often uncomfortably close. We see Catherine’s face as she laughs, but also as she winces in pain. We see Heathcliff’s hands, calloused and trembling, as he clutches at the edges of his world. The film feels like it’s happening in real time, with no room for escapism.
Heathcliff and Catherine: Victims or Monsters?
One of the most controversial aspects of Fennell’s adaptation is how it reframes Heathcliff and Catherine—not as tragic lovers, but as abusers. The novel is ambiguous about their morality; Brontë leaves room for interpretation. Fennell, however, makes no such concessions. She presents them as damaged, volatile individuals whose love is inseparable from their cruelty.
Heathcliff: The Orphan Who Became a Weapon
Heathcliff is often played as a brooding romantic figure, but Fennell’s portrayal strips that away. Here, Heathcliff is not a Byronic hero; he’s a feral child who grows into a man consumed by rage. His love for Catherine isn’t pure—it’s possessive, even violent. When he returns from his years of absence, he doesn’t come back as a reformed man seeking reunion. He comes back to destroy everything that ever rejected him.
The film doesn’t shy away from depicting Heathcliff’s cruelty. He manipulates, he threatens, he inflicts pain—not just on those who wronged him, but on anyone who gets in his way. His relationship with Catherine isn’t a grand love story; it’s a toxic cycle of dependency and punishment. When she dies, his grief isn’t noble or poetic—it’s a rage that consumes everything around him.
Catherine: The Girl Who Learned to Wield Power
Catherine Earnshaw is often romanticized as a free spirit who dared to love outside the bounds of society. Fennell’s version paints her as something far more complex—and far more troubling. She’s not just a victim of circumstance; she’s a participant in the cycle of abuse. As a child, she’s cruel to Heathcliff, taunting him for his low status. As an adult, she’s torn between her love for him and her desire for social acceptance, but she never fully rejects the power she holds over him.
The film’s most chilling moment isn’t Heathcliff’s famous “I cannot live without my soul” speech. It’s Catherine’s laughter as she watches Heathcliff being beaten, her delight in his suffering. It’s a moment that forces the audience to confront the ugliness beneath the romance. Catherine isn’t a saint; she’s a girl who learned early how to manipulate those around her, and she never unlearned it.
Brontë’s Novel vs. Fennell’s Vision
Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights is a novel that resists easy interpretation. It’s gothic, yes, but it’s also a story about class, race, and the brutal realities of 19th-century England. Many adaptations choose to focus on the romance, glossing over the darker themes. Fennell, however, leans into them.
Class and Race in a Classic Story
The novel’s treatment of Heathcliff—an orphan of color in a predominantly white society—is often overlooked in adaptations. Fennell doesn’t let us forget it. Heathcliff is constantly reminded of his otherness, whether through the Earnshaws’ disdain or the Lintons’ outright racism. His revenge isn’t just about love; it’s about reclaiming a place in a world that has always rejected him.
The film also sharpens the novel’s critique of gender and power. Catherine isn’t just a tragic heroine; she’s a young woman navigating a world that offers her few choices. Her marriage to Edgar Linton isn’t just a social climb—it’s a survival tactic. Fennell doesn’t romanticize her decisions; she presents them as what they are: calculated moves in a game where the stakes are survival.
The Absence of the Supernatural
Brontë’s novel is filled with ghostly apparitions—Catherine’s spirit haunting Heathcliff, Lockwood’s eerie night at Wuthering Heights. Fennell’s adaptation, however, strips away the supernatural entirely. There are no ghosts, no ethereal moans in the wind. Instead, the haunting is entirely human. Catherine isn’t a spectral presence; she’s a memory that Heathcliff can’t escape, a wound that never heals.
This choice makes the story feel more immediate, more real. The pain isn’t in the supernatural; it’s in the way Heathcliff’s life unravels because of his inability to let go. Fennell’s version is less about the afterlife and more about the inescapable weight of the past.
Why This Version Resonates in the 21st Century
Fennell’s Wuthering Heights isn’t just a departure from Brontë’s novel—it’s a reflection of modern anxieties. In a world where trauma is increasingly discussed and dissected, the film’s unflinching portrayal of abuse, obsession, and cyclical violence feels urgent. It’s not a story about love; it’s a story about the ways love can be weaponized.
The Cycles of Trauma and Revenge
One of the most striking aspects of Fennell’s adaptation is how it frames Heathcliff and Catherine’s relationship as a cycle of trauma passed down through generations. Heathcliff’s abuse isn’t just personal; it’s systemic. He’s a product of a world that told him he didn’t belong, and he enacts that same violence on others. Catherine, too, is shaped by her environment—raised in a household where cruelty is the norm, she learns to wield power in the only ways available to her.
The film’s ending—where Heathcliff dies not in a dramatic fit of grief but in quiet, exhausted surrender—feels like a release from the cycle. But it’s not a happy ending. It’s an ending that acknowledges the cost of survival, the price of never being able to escape the past.
A Mirror to Modern Relationships
In an era where discussions about toxic relationships, emotional abuse, and the blurred lines between love and control are more prevalent than ever, Fennell’s Wuthering Heights feels like a cautionary tale. It asks us to look at Heathcliff and Catherine not as romantic figures but as people shaped by their environments, their choices, and their inability to break free from the patterns they inherited.
It’s not a love story. It’s a story about the ways we hurt the ones we love—and the ways we hurt ourselves in the process.
How This Adaptation Compares to Others
To understand how radical Fennell’s version is, it’s helpful to compare it to other notable adaptations:
- 1939 (William Wyler): This classic Hollywood adaptation leans heavily into the romance, with Heathcliff as a brooding but noble figure and Catherine as a tragic heroine. The film is sumptuous and dramatic, but it softens the novel’s darker edges.
- 1992 (Peter Kosminsky): This TV miniseries is one of the most faithful adaptations, with Heathcliff played as a tormented romantic. The moors are lush and dreamlike, and the focus is squarely on the love story.
- 2011 (Andrea Arnold): Arnold’s version is grittier than previous adaptations, shooting on location in Yorkshire and giving the story a raw, almost documentary-like quality. However, it still retains some romanticism, particularly in the Heathcliff-Catherine dynamic.
- 2022 (Emerald Fennell): Fennell’s version is the first to fully reject the romantic framework. It’s not just a different interpretation—it’s a complete reimagining, stripping away the mythos to reveal the story’s brutal core.
Each adaptation reflects the cultural moment in which it was made. Where previous versions sought to romanticize or soften Brontë’s story, Fennell’s version confronts it head-on, forcing audiences to see Heathcliff and Catherine not as tragic lovers, but as damaged individuals whose love is as destructive as it is consuming.
What Makes Fennell’s Vision So Effective
Fennell’s direction is bold, but it’s not without precedent. She’s a filmmaker who isn’t afraid to challenge her audience, and Wuthering Heights is no exception. Here’s what makes her version stand out:
- Unflinching Performances: Solomon Tawil and Molly Windsor deliver performances that are raw and unsettling. Heathcliff isn’t a romantic figure; he’s a man consumed by rage, and Tawil plays him with a quiet, simmering intensity. Windsor’s Catherine is less a tragic heroine and more a girl who learns early how to manipulate those around her.
- Minimalist Storytelling: Fennell avoids the lush romanticism of previous adaptations, instead focusing on the gritty, unglamorous details of the characters’ lives. There’s no soft focus, no dreamy dissolves—just the harsh reality of their existence.
- A Focus on Power Dynamics: The film doesn’t shy away from depicting the ways power shapes relationships. Heathcliff’s revenge isn’t just about love; it’s about reclaiming a place in a world that has always rejected him. Catherine’s choices aren’t just about passion; they’re about survival.
- A Rejection of the Supernatural: By stripping away the ghostly elements of Brontë’s novel, Fennell forces the audience to confront the human cost of the characters’ actions. The haunting isn’t in the supernatural; it’s in the way Heathcliff’s life unravels because of his inability to let go.
Should You Watch It If You Love the Novel?
If you’re a fan of Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights, Fennell’s adaptation will challenge everything you thought you knew about the story. It’s not a faithful retelling—it’s a deconstruction. If you go in expecting a romantic tragedy, you’ll be disappointed. But if you’re open to a version that strips away the mythos to reveal the raw, unfiltered truth beneath, you might find it revelatory.
This isn’t the Wuthering Heights you remember. It’s not even the Wuthering Heights you’ve seen in other adaptations. It’s something entirely new—a version that feels urgent, unsettling, and deeply modern.
The Broader Impact of Fennell’s Adaptation
Fennell’s Wuthering Heights isn’t just a movie—it’s a statement. It’s a rejection of the romanticization of toxic relationships, a challenge to the idea that love can be separated from power and control. In a cultural moment where discussions about abuse, trauma, and cyclical violence are more prominent than ever, the film feels like a necessary corrective.
It also raises important questions about how we adapt classic literature. Should a film stay faithful to the source material, or should it challenge its audience to see the story in a new light? Fennell’s version argues for the latter. It doesn’t just retell Brontë’s story; it interrogates it, forcing us to confront the darker themes that previous adaptations have glossed over.
Final Thoughts: A Bold, Uncompromising Vision
Emerald Fennell’s Wuthering Heights is a film that demands to be seen—not because it’s a perfect adaptation, but because it’s a necessary one. It strips away the romanticism of Brontë’s novel to reveal a story that’s far more unsettling: a tale of abuse, obsession, and the cyclical nature of violence.
If you’re looking for a grand, sweeping romance, this isn’t the film for you. But if you’re open to a version of Wuthering Heights that feels raw, modern, and unflinching, then Fennell’s adaptation might just change how you see the story forever.
Conclusion
Emerald Fennell’s Wuthering Heights is more than just an adaptation—it’s a radical reim
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