This review contains spoilers.
Directed by Saltburn’s Emerald Fennell, and starring Margot Robbie and Jacob Elordi, Wuthering Heights (2026) follows the story of doomed soulmates Catherine Earnshaw and Heathcliff in 18th century Yorkshire.
The film is a loose interpretation of the classic novel, which was written by Emily Brontë but published under the male pseudonym Ellis Bell in 1847, and has been dividing the critics.
The Issue of Race
There has been much chatter surrounding the casting of a 28-year-old Australian actor as Heathcliff, with some questioning whether Elordi accurately depicts the character. Before we dive into the controversy, let’s examine the facts. At the beginning of the novel, Heathcliff is described as a ‘dark-skinned gipsy in aspect,’ whose ‘black eyes withdraw […] suspiciously under their brows’ when he is forced to welcome a guest to the Heights. Later, when the narrative jumps back in time to Cathy and Heathcliff’s childhood, we are told that Mr Earnshaw (Katherine’s father) returns from a trip to Liverpool with a ‘ragged, black-haired […] gipsy-brat’ in tow, who speaks in a ‘gibberish that nobody could understand.’ Eventually, Cathy names the foundling child Heathcliff, and the two are raised alongside her violent older brother Hindley (who doesn’t feature in Fennell’s adaptation).
The ambiguity around Heathcliff’s racial identity both unnerves and intrigues Brontë’s readers in equal measure. His mysterious upbringing marks him as an outsider, a key feature of the Gothic genre. Additionally, Brontë’s choice of location is significant. Liverpool was home to one of the world’s busiest ports. By the 1800s, it handled around 40 per cent of the world’s trade and became a cultural hotpot where people from all over the globe would mix. The year that Brontë published her novel coincided with the Great Famine, which saw a large number of Irish migrants settle down in Liverpool, while the city also played a major role in the transatlantic slave trade.
Heathcliff, therefore, could have literally come from anywhere in the world. His nationality, his status and his place in society are never revealed. Even if he was born in Liverpool, the city’s industrial reputation and majority working-class demographic are further reasons Heathcliff is looked down upon by the aristocratic Earnshaws. Perhaps a more mature British director would have likely understood these cultural references and the necessity of acknowledging the racial and class divides that governed 18th century England. But as it stands, Emerald Fennell seems to have little interest in following the book, and with two Australian leads and only one actress from Yorkshire, the historical context of the novel is completely lost.
The exact ethnicity of our protagonist remains a mystery in the book. Some characters speculate that he is a South East Asian ‘lascar’ or a ‘Spanish castaway.’ Others call him a ‘dark-skinned devil.’ What is certain, however, is that Heathcliff is not white. He is repeatedly tormented for being physically different from his fair-skinned counterparts, to the extent that the Heights’ housekeeper, Nelly Dean, takes pity on young Heathcliff. She attempts to comfort him and tells him to embrace his otherness, because for all we know, his father could be the ‘Emperor of China’ and his mother ‘an Indian queen.’ All this is ignored in the film.
Fennell claims she cast Elordi because he is exactly what her 14-year-old self would have imagined brooding Heathcliff to look like. Standing at 6ft 5, with a chiselled face that sent many viewers of Saltburn into a swoon, he is more bad boy than Byronic hero, and certainly looks nothing like Brontë’s Heathcliff. Accuracy is thrown to the wind. Elordi appears to have only been cast to attract a heterosexual female audience and ensure box office success. Fennell is not the only director who has committed this cardinal sin. Heartthrob Tom Hardy was also cast in the role for Giedroyc’s 2009 adaptation. But one wonders why, in an age of DEI policies in the workplace and more inclusive representation on our screens, Fennell would choose to whitewash Wuthering Heights’ most multidimensional character.
Women Sidelined
For a woman who once directed a film about the #MeToo era, Fennell does her female characters a disservice. In Brontë’s novel, a gentleman named Lockwood arrives at Wuthering Heights and recruits the help of the aforementioned Nelly to piece together Heathcliff’s past, writing down her recollections in his diary. This is known as a Chinese box-style structure, or a story within a story. Notice also how Brontë places a lower-class woman at the heart of the narrative. Nelly is a source of comfort and knowledge, the woman whom numerous characters come to rely on for advice. Without her, the story of Heathcliff and Cathy would never have come to light. She is essential to the book. Unfortunately, in Fennell’s adaptation, Nelly (played by Hong Chau) is reduced to a nosy, scheming servant.
Who would have thought that a story written in the 1840s would actually be more empowering than one made in 2026? Even the 1992 adaptation, starring Juliette Binoche and Ralph Fiennes, pays better tribute to its female narrator. But when it comes to Catherine Earnshaw, neither Fennell nor Brontë paints her in a particularly sympathetic light. A ‘wild, wicked slip of a girl,’ Cathy is headstrong and entitled. In the book, she asks her father for a whip, a most unladylike request that emphasises her need to control those around her.
In the film, young Cathy giggles as she watches a man being condemned to death by hanging, foreshadowing the cruel personality she goes on to develop as an adult. This is reflected in her physical transformation: her demeanour grows colder, her hair becomes spikier. When her neighbour, Isabella, mentions her growing interest in the handsome (and now wealthy) Heathcliff, Cathy snaps: ‘He’s mine.’ Does she truly love him, then? Or does she purely long to possess something she knows she can never have?
Aesthetics
One of the areas where the film does manage to shine is its scenery. The rolling mist and gnarly trees provide a backdrop for some of its most memorable scenes. There is wind and rain aplenty. Here, Fennell pays particular homage to the novel, which describes the Heights as a place of ‘stormy weather’ and ‘atmospheric tumult.’ Admittedly, where else would the story be set? Heathcliff and Cathy cannot be separated from the moors. The natural world is just as wild and tempestuous as its hapless lovers. When Cathy says they can only be themselves ‘among the heather of those hills,’ she means it. It is their sole refuge and where they are liberated from societal expectations.
Catherine’s fervent love for her home also mirrors that of the author’s. The landscape of Yorkshire had a profound effect on Emily Brontë, who, unlike her sister Charlotte, rarely strayed away from Haworth. It is only right that her adoration of the moors be respected and preserved in this adaptation. However, that’s about as faithful as it gets. Fennell takes creative liberties with the costumes, hair and makeup. Cathy’s outfits in the film are undeniably stunning. Intricate braids and ostentatious jewellery reflect her wealth, and pomegranate-coloured blush emulates the sunburnt, windswept look she would have acquired from playing outdoors. Her billowy red gowns connote barely-contained desire.
There is a poignant scene when Cathy walks down the aisle after choosing the affluent Edgar Linton over Heathcliff, her face enclosed by a white veil to symbolise how she will soon be trapped in a lacklustre marriage of her own making. Of course, not all of her looks are realistic. In the 1700s, Cathy would never have worn a billowing latex skirt, nor would she have had the means to stick a smattering of faux pearls across her cheeks. And perhaps that’s part of the trouble. The film routinely favours aesthetics over substance, giving audiences plenty of beautiful design choices to feast their eyes on in place of dynamic storytelling. Cathy’s bedroom even features flesh wallpaper, made from a superimposed image of Robbie’s skin. But things increasingly feel disjointed. The elements of contemporary clothing clash with the Jacobean architecture. The robotic Charli XCX soundtrack is uncomfortably juxtaposed with the ancient, Gothic setting of the moors.
If Fennell wanted to do away with historical accuracy when it comes to visuals, then why set the story in the 18th century? Indeed, why attempt to make a retelling of Wuthering Heights at all? Heathcliff and Cathy are products of the period. It is the sole reason they can never be together, lest they should both be cast out and left penniless on the streets. ‘It would degrade me to marry Heathcliff,’ Robbie’s Cathy unwittingly tells Nelly while he is in earshot. Her matter-of-factness causes him to run away so that he might earn his fortune and one day return to the Heights as a gentleman. And he does.
Spicy, or Soporific?
At this point in the movie, things get steamy. While Brontë could only hint at the characters’ wayward behaviour with metaphors of broken windows and lost shoes, Fennell has no such inhibitions. For some, the romance is a ‘gasp-inducing sugar-high.’ Others compare it to a ‘limp Mills & Boon’ novel or ‘porn in period dress.’ It doesn’t help that the film abruptly shifts from Heathcliff and Cathy as children to them experimenting with their sexuality as adults. With little narrative in between, we have no reason to root for the characters or understand their deep connection beyond the sexual tension.
This is where Brontë’s novel far surpasses any film adaptation. ‘He’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same,’ admits Cathy in the book. But unlike Fennell, Brontë is careful not to romanticise their vengeful and destructive passion. These are two people who ‘burnt too bright,’ resulting in their descent into madness and eventual deaths, whilst nearly destroying the lives of all those who come between them. As such, Catherine and Heathcliff can never enter Heaven. Instead, they are bound to roam the moors together as ghosts. At least Fennell references this when the film ends with Heathcliff telling Cathy: ‘I’ll love you ’til the day I die, and after.’
For such a boisterous, visually breathtaking movie, the resulting story feels pretty one-dimensional. When the director favours cheap tricks to shock the audience over thoughtful narrative development, refusing to flesh out her protagonists, a timeless classic is reduced to a gimmick. This doesn’t seem to have put viewers off. The film earned over $83m (£61m) in its opening weekend. If you’re still thinking of buying tickets, I sincerely recommend that you pick up a copy of the book instead. Or perhaps take a trip to Haworth, to experience the magic of Brontë’s beloved moors for yourself. Then, if you’re still dissatisfied, watch the film.
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