“Wuthering Heights” review: Margot Robbie and Jacob Elordi front a perplexing and provocative romance

There’s no question: This is not the Wuthering Heights Emily Brontë wrote. But Emerald Fennell (Promising Young Woman, Saltburn) never intended that.

Ahead of the release of Fennell’s “Wuthering Heights,” (yes, the quotation marks are part of the title), the English filmmaker has dropped controversial clues that her film adaptation would reject much of what Brontë fans might anticipate. In casting Margot Robbie and Jacob Elordi as damned lovers Catherine and Heathcliff, Fennell ignited outrage from fans who decried the Barbie star as too old for her role and Elordi too white for his.

The movie’s ad campaign leaned into romance-novel tropes, featuring posters of the two locked in an embrace, on the verge of kissing, with the tagline “Come undone.” Then came assurances that Fennell’s film would be willfully anachronistic from the book’s late 18th-century setting, as Charli XCX teased the film’s dance-pop soundtrack, and production stills revealed a synthetic latex-like dress, a shimmery negligee, and teeny rose-colored glasses that evoke a far more modern feel.

Finally, in pre-release interviews for “Wuthering Heights,” Fennell spoke to her approach in adapting a book “as dense and complicated and difficult” as the Brontë classic. “I can’t say I’m making Wuthering Heights. It’s not possible,” she told Fandango. “What I can say is I’m making a version of it. There’s a version that I remembered reading that isn’t quite real. And there’s a version where I wanted stuff to happen that never happened. And so it is “Wuthering Heights,” and it isn’t. But really, I’d say that any adaptation of a novel, especially a novel like this, should have quotation marks around it.”

After all of this, it should surprise no one that Fennell’s “Wuthering Heights” is radically different from Brontë’s. The question is not if the film is faithful to the book, or even better than it. The question is, does this film work on its own terms, as a half-remembered fantasy of wild, enviable romance? And the answer is simply: No.

“Wuthering Heights” radically reimagines Catherine and Heathcliff.

The bones of our famed protagonists’ story remain: Catherine and Heathcliff meet as children in the moors of West Yorkshire, England, where she’s the spoiled daughter of a drunken landowner, and he’s a poor boy brusquely adopted to be raised alongside her. They share a wild nature in their remote surroundings, but as they grow, Catherine longs for luxury, which her gruff crush with no societal standing can’t promise. She breaks both their hearts by accepting the proposal of proper, aristocratic gentleman Edgar Linton (Shazad Latif), from the estate next door, which spurs Heathcliff to run away. Upon his return to Yorkshire five years later, he is rich, dashing, and determined to make a mess of Catherine’s life, for better or worse.

However, despite the familiar framework, the dynamic of Catherine and Heathcliff in Fennell’s film feels more like The Princess Bride than Wuthering Heights. For one thing, Heathcliff’s cruelty is considerably softened. Like Westley, the sweet stable boy, he will suffer any abuse if it means being close to his blonde ladylove. In particular, Heathcliff will endure a violent whipping from Catherine’s father, which gives the boy a chance to prove his immovable dedication to her.

Heathcliff’s own violence and wrath in adulthood are channeled by Elordi into smoldering and brooding, with a tame frisson of kink, whether he’s forcefully gripping Catherine’s mouth or later degrading his bride, Edgar’s ward Isabella (Alison Oliver) with pet play. Meanwhile, Catherine is a beautiful brat who, in the blink of an eye, goes from a rosy-cheeked child to a picture-perfect doll of a woman. So, of course, Fennell cast Barbie.

Draped in meticulously crafted skirts and dresses in bold reds and whites and corseted into an impossible waist, Robbie looks like a fashion doll, especially as she marries into wealth via Edgar. This metaphor is made blatant as Isabella presents her new sort-of sister-in-law with a doll made in her likeness, complete with a giant dollhouse that resembles their shared home, Thrushcross Grange. Yes, Catherine has achieved all the luxuries she dreamed of, but now she feels trapped, a pretty plaything in a dollhouse. The dream is not what she hoped.

“Wuthering Heights” is juvenile in its provocations.

To kick things off, two evocative sounds play over the film’s opening credits. One is the rustling of fabric, the other a man groaning, an ambiguous preview of an imminent scene of sex or violence.

The intensity of both sounds grows to reveal not a sexual scenario, but a man being hung at a public execution. However, Fennell still blends sex and violence here. A young Catherine (Charlotte Mellington) thrills at the depravity of it, while Fennell is sure to include a close-up of the dead man’s “stiffy,” obvious even through his pants. Such twisted melding of themes will thread throughout “Wuthering Heights,” but in ways more trashy than transgressive.

Brontë fans might clutch their pearls that Fennell has not just a sex scene between Heathcliff and Catherine, but a montage of them, spanning from beds to carriages to the sweeping plains between their estates. And yet, while these scenes have the iconography of classic romance novels — the rich settings, the posh clothes, the forbidden attraction, the beautiful characters on the cover feigning elation — they fall flat. While Robbie is rigorous in bringing Catherine’s ire and yearning to life, and Elordi is strong and seething, the pair have all the chemistry of Barbie and Ken dolls bumping rubber when they collide.

Perhaps to add Saltburn-like spice, BDSM is worked into various love scenes, bringing horse bridles, shackles, and a metal collar into sex games of degradation. This makes the depravity of the novel more playful than dark. Now, Heathcliff, who comes off like a towering Dom, is less threatening, as his violence is channeled through consensual kink. Yet this depiction of BDSM still feels half-hearted next to more successfully sexy and psychologically provocative films like Babygirl and Pillion.

The race-bending in “Wuthering Heights” is a problem Fennell created.

Heathcliff’s racial identity has been studied by Brontë scholars due to the author’s descriptions of his “dark-skinned” appearance, which is why Elordi’s casting incensed some fans of the novel. However, it’s not Heathcliff’s casting alone that becomes problematic in Fennell’s version. Perhaps the director looked to Bridgerton for inspiration, both in the show’s colorblind casting and barrage of sex scenes that have fueled debates on historical accuracy for the period. Fennell not only casts both of her romantic leads with white actors, but casts actors of color in the roles of Edgar and Nelly (Hong Chau), characters who are regarded in the film as less desirable than the protagonists, instead assigned roles of boring cuckold and bitter old maid.

In addition, the film’s cinematography and set design fetishize white skin. Following the childhood scene of Catherine consoling Heathcliff over his whipping by her father, the scene dissolves from the bloody, clothed back of a boy to the bared back of a man (Elordi), striped with whiplash scars. Cinematographer Linus Sandgren offers a close-up, leering over Heathcliff’s scars as if these are proof of his love — sweaty, plump, and terrible. Perhaps Fennell feared such fetishizing would be problematic if Heathcliff were “dark-skinned” as Brontë wrote. But she doubles down with this painting of whiteness as desirable with Catherine’s skin room.

After their wedding, Edgar is giddy to show Catherine the bedroom he designed for her, painted in the “most beautiful color,” that of her face. It’s not just white flesh or flushed cheeks that Edgar has had recreated. The room is lined with vinyl-padded panels, each bearing birthmarks and light blue veins translucent beneath the faux skin. Far from romantic, the gesture is repulsive, and only becomes more so when an intruding Heathcliff licks the wall as if it were his beloved’s flesh. And in this, it becomes clear how much of Brontë’s novel Fennell ignored or stripped away to make her version. And what is left?

As an admirer of Promising Young Woman and Saltburn, I was cautiously optimistic about Fennell’s “Wuthering Heights.” Adaptations are never what the book was, because the book is different depending on who reads it. This is why I like seeing movie adaptations of novels I loved and hated, because it’s like getting to walk around in someone else’s brain, seeing the story as they did. However, Fennell’s adaptation goes both too far and not far enough.

By slicing the book in half and cutting loose a clutch of relatives, she’s simplified the story to focus on the love between Heathcliff and Catherine. But for all the substance she’s cut away, only style has been put in its place. And it’s not enough to make this “Wuthering Heights” feel full or affecting. Instead of a cohesive re-imagining or even a titillating romance, “Wuthering Heights” feels like a passionate but incoherent collage of teenage lust and rebellion, the kind better suited to a high school locker than a movie theater.

Wuthering Heights opens in theaters on Feb. 13.