‘Wuthering Heights’ film review: Margot Robbie and Jacob Elordi invite us to come gloriously undone in synthetic adaptation

Starting with thumps, squeaks and grunts which are revealed to be those of a hanging, Emerald Fennell’s Wuthering Heightswears its carnality self-consciously on its sleeve. A phenomenally loose adaptation of Emily Brontë’s 1847 novel, Wuthering Heights is eye‑wateringly beautiful to look at and sounds exquisite but is ultimately rather hollow.

After the hanging, which amuses and excites young Catherine (Charlotte Mellington) and her paid companion, Nelly (Vy Nguyen), they head back to their gracious home, Wuthering Heights on the moors.

Catherine’s father, Earnshaw (Martin Clunes) is an alcoholic and gambler. When he returns home with a boy (Owen Cooper) who was being abused on the streets of Liverpool, the household is all in a lather.

Catherine takes to the boy and names him Heathcliff after her dead brother and Earnshaw says Heathcliff can be Cathy’s pet. As the years pass, the two become close while Earnshaw’s addictions drive Wuthering Heights to rack and ruin.

New neighbours at Thrushcross Grange, textile merchant Edgar Linton (Shazad Latif) and his ward, Isabella (Alison Oliver), give the now grown up Cathy (Margot Robbie) the idea of marrying Edgar as a way out of poverty, much to Heathcliff’s (Jacob Elordi) anger.

A still from ‘Wuthering Heights’
| Photo Credit:
Warner Bros.

Upon hearing Cathy tell Nelly (Hong Chau) that marrying him would degrade her, and not hearing her later confession of love for him, Heathcliff rides away into the sunset. Cathy marries Edgar and lives a good but empty life till a well-groomed and mysteriously wealthy Heathcliff returns to upset the domestic applecart.

For all the sweaty couplings in the film, Wuthering Heights is strangely without heat. Casting Nelly as the villain of the piece does not give any radical insight. Having the Bible-thumping, curmudgeonly Joseph (Ewan Mitchell) indulge in BDSM with the maid Zilla (Amy Morgan) is fun for a bit; Isabella’s degradation, not so much.

Where Wuthering Heights soars is in its framing, with Linus Sandgren’s extremely tight close-ups jostling with expansive wide shots, and explosive music (Anthony Willis, score, Charli XCX, songs).

A still from ‘Wuthering Heights’
| Photo Credit:
Warner Bros.

The moors, the rocks, the gracious crumbling ruin that is Wuthering Heights, and Thrushcross Grange, with its blood-red floor, fireplace of hands, the green-and-gold canopied bed, and wallpaper designed to look like Catherine’s face (down to the mole, decidedly creepy), are a treat for the senses.

The clothes are lovely too from Cathy’s anachronistic wedding dress (the shot of her walking to the Grange with her veil billowing behind her is breathtaking), to the black velvet gown that almost looks like latex.    

This is not so much an adaptation or reimagining of Brontë’s Gothic tale of toxic love fueling an unhealthy desire for revenge as much as Fennell’s hope of what Heathcliff and Cathy coulda, shoulda, woulda got up to in windswept Yorkshire.

Even if you remove Brontë from the mix, the tragedy of Wuthering Heights is, it does not stand very well on its own. It is just a well dressed, beautifully shot, and superbly scored, yet ultimately lifeless costume drama.  

Wuthering Heights is currently running in theatres

Published – February 13, 2026 05:52 pm IST