Key Highlights
- Emerald Fennell reimagines “Wuthering Heights” as a teenage dream
- The film’s first half is vivid and captivating, while the second falls flat
- Fennell uses lavish production design to bring her vision to life
- Criticizes the film for its repetitive plot and tame sex scenes
Wuthering Heights: A Lyrical Teenage Nightmare
You might think this is new, but… “Wuthering Heights” isn’t. Not really. It’s a retelling of the Brontë classic, but with Fennell’s own teenage sensibilities.
Opening scene?
Hanging, hand-job, girthy post-mortem erection. Punch and Judy presiding over it all. It’s a brash, bacchanalian start that sets the tone for what’s to come: a vivid, baroque spectacle charged by yearning and foreplay.
The Teenage Dream
Fennell reimagines “Wuthering Heights” as a story born of misapprehensions and missed connections. It’s a virgin’s version of what the carnal act looks like, where sex is repulsive yet alluring. Bodies are banished to offscreen space; close-ups of slurpy, sloppy kissing dominate.
This isn’t just about the physical act though—romance itself is staged as an important element, more so than the actual act.
The staging, Fennell’s forte, is where the film truly shines. Production designer Jacqueline Durran dresses Margot Robbie like a little loo-roll doll, with hyperbolically swishy skirts made of latex and lace.
Production Design
The production design is nothing short of impressive. Cinematographer Linus Sandgren recreates sweeping, sodden landscapes with a sense of the epic, reminiscent of Gone with the Wind. Art director Caroline Barclay crafts a title from braided hair, nodding to mourning jewellery worn at the time.
Charlotte Diryckx’s sets are equally arresting: a chessboard-tiled room over which two enormous towers of green gin bottles loom. The film’s “skin-room” is rendered as fleshy wallpaper made from scans of Robbie’s skin, gradually tattooed with dark blots that resolve into leeches.
The Letdown
While the first half is captivating, the second half falls apart. The repetitive series of comings together and fallings apart drags on, ending only with the film itself. Anticipation becomes the central pleasure—only to be disappointed by the reality.
Fennell’s gift for skewering the privileged upper classes shines through in supporting performances, but these moments are few and far between.
Most of the film is consumed by a rather repetitive series of comings together and fallings apart, leaving one to wonder if this is Fennell’s true vision or just a clever marketing spin.
“Wuthering Heights” makes clear that anticipation is half the pleasure. But when reality doesn’t match expectations, disappointment follows.
