Film Review: “WUTHERING HEIGHTS”

Cassidy Doudakis (she/her) is a third-year English Literature and Communications student at UWA. She has previously had work published in Pelican and enjoys reading fiction whenever she finds a spare moment. She’s a theatre fanatic and has acted in several University Dramatic Society shows, as well as currently being involved in their latest musical.

I went into Emerald Fennell’s adaptation of Emily Bronte’s famous novel with simultaneously a thousand expectations and none. Don’t cancel me when I say this, but I’ve never actually read Wuthering Heights. I know, I know, an English Literature student who hasn’t read every classic ever written? What a poser. Believe me, I’m right there with you. But it also gave me the opportunity to watch the film without the prejudices held by Bronte purists of our time. I don’t think ‘watch’ is the right word here; the film seemed to peer directly into my—and the women sitting beside me—soul and physicalised every innate carnal desire and fear I’ve ever had.

Having never seen a Fennell film before, I had no idea what to expect. I like to consider myself well-versed in the art of scenography and can only compare it to the cinematographic genius that is Wes Anderson; each frame a masterpiece in itself. I’m sure we’ve all seen the interviews where the cast go on about how they had to trust Fennell’s vision, and she did not disappoint.

Everything from a technical and design standpoint about the film could not have been done better. No, it’s not supposed to be a period piece in the 2005 Joe Wright adaptation of Pride and Prejudice way. Yes, it is supposed to take place in Fennell’s fourteen-year-old mind, and yes, I absolutely would have imagined it the same way at that age. The costumes are not realistic in the slightest, but they are some of the most magnificent items of clothing I and the friend I took with me have ever seen in our lives. A standing ovation to Jacquline Durran, the costume designer, please.

A standing ovation to Anthony Willis for the score, too, although I do believe the entirety of Luna Palace Cinema burst into the laughter the moment Charli xcx’s ‘House’ featuring John Cale played (we’ve all seen the TikToks to that audio). Memes aside, the soundtrack could not have emphasised the raw, effervescent nature of the film. It was like a Wattpad writer finally got the playlist of their 100,000-word fantasy romance right. There wasn’t a single moment where I thought the music was unnecessary.

And the tension. I could drone on forever about how tangible the tension was between Cathy and Heathcliff. Margot Robbie and Jacob Elordi deserve every ounce of praise they receive tenfold. Their dedication to their characters is something to be studied. Did it help that they’re two of the most attractive people, yes, of course. But somehow it never felt like I was watching Margot Robbie play Catherine Earnshaw. She was annoying and petulant and utterly immature, but there are no words to reflect the confronting mirror she held to my psyche. The only qualm I have is that Heathcliff was supposed to be a person of colour. While Jacob Elordi was brilliant for the role, it would have been significant for the storyline for Fennell to have cast an equally talented actor of colour. Alison Oliver, the actress who played Isabella, was also simply astounding in her depraved characterisation of Mr Linton’s ward.

Fennell’s ability to captivate the audience is truly inspiring; by the last fifteen minutes of the film the entire audience seemed to have held their breath, and then broke down into tears, like the women in the row behind me, or into disbelieving laughter, like me. Regardless of whether you’re a fan of Fennell, or a Bronte purist or not, I truly think every person should experience—because you don’t simply watch it—“Wuthering Heights”. I fear now is the time for me to finally pick up Wuthering Heights. And then maybe watch the movie through new eyes (and totally not because I want to see Jacob Elordi sweaty and shirtless again).