There was no doubt that eagerly outrageous director Emerald Fennell (Saltburn, Promising Young Woman) would put her own stamp on Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte’s 1847 novel about two souls locked in a lifelong struggle, in which friendship, jealousy, rivalry, and romance all mingle amidst the Yorkshire moors. And sure enough, her “Wuthering Heights” charts its own path, with exaggerated sets that might be left over from a Tim Burton movie, insistently anachronistic costumes and songs (the latter courtesy of Charli XCX), and a sprinkling of S&M. “This is not your mother’s Wuthering Heights!” the movie howls back at the wind whipping over those moors. But it’s enough of Bronte’s. Sure, unlike the book, this version takes a softcore swerve that allows would-be lovers Catherine (Margot Robbie) and Heathcliff (Jacob Elordi) to consummate—and consummate, and consummate—their affair. Yet aside from that foray into naughty romance, it mostly stays true to the squalidness of the novel. It just spells S-Q-U-A-L-I-D in capital letters.
(2/18/2026)
