Emerald Fennell’s controversial adaptation of Emily Brontë’s classic novel has ignited a firestorm across social media, with literary purists and casual observers alike weighing in on everything from casting choices to latex costumes.
The film, hitting theaters Valentine’s Day weekend, stars Jacob Elordi and Margot Robbie as the tortured lovers Heathcliff and Catherine.
But this isn’t your English teacher’s Wuthering Heights—and Fennell wouldn’t have it any other way.
From blood-red rubber floors to genetically modified strawberries, the director has transformed Brontë’s Gothic masterpiece into something altogether different.
A Teenage Fantasy Brought to Life
Fennell describes her vision as deliberately divorced from faithful adaptation. At a recent press junket, surrounded by manufactured fog meant to evoke Yorkshire moors, she explained her approach.
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.
That “version” appears rooted in adolescent fantasy—the kind Fennell herself experienced reading Brontë at 14. Her film transforms bread-kneading and fish-mouth touching into stand-ins for adult sexuality, creating what critics describe as a “phantasmagoric vision” of forbidden desire.
The approach raises an uncomfortable question: Should directors with massive budgets recreate their teenage interpretations of classic literature?
Flattening Complex Themes
Fennell has built her career on controversial subject matter—rape and gender in Promising Young Woman, class dynamics in Saltburn. Critics note she excels at wrapping thorny issues in visually stunning packages that almost seduce viewers into forgetting the darker undercurrents.
Her movies “luxuriate in sugar-coated excess,” featuring gorgeous people in breathtaking settings set to killer soundtracks. Wuthering Heights follows this pattern with Robbie’s milkmaid bodices, cellophane lingerie, and Chanel jewels—anachronistic for Georgian England but undeniably captivating.
Early reviews praise the “opulent design” while questioning whether Fennell has sanded down Brontë’s jagged edges for easier consumption. Some celebrate a more “smooth-brained” interpretation, while others see symptoms of culture “denigrating literature to distract rather than expand minds.”
The Greatest Love Story Ever Told?
Warner Bros.’ marketing department, along with Fennell and her cast, has positioned this as “the greatest love story ever told.” They’re aiming for Titanic-level cultural impact, with poster imagery deliberately echoing Gone With the Wind.
There’s just one problem: Brontë’s novel isn’t really a love story in any conventional sense.
Heathcliff himself mocks romantic illusions in the book. Speaking of Isabella Linton, he says she abandoned her comfortable life “under a delusion, picturing in me a hero of romance, and expecting unlimited indulgences from my chivalrous devotion.”
Fennell admits inspiration struck from an unlikely source: Elordi’s sideburns reminded her of the Fabio-esque Heathcliff on her childhood book cover. That image—a romantic hero capable of launching “a movie and a thousand crushes”—appears to have guided her vision more than Brontë’s deliberately unromantic portrayal.
Whitewashing Controversy
Perhaps the loudest criticism centers on casting Elordi as Heathcliff. Brontë describes him as “dark-skinned” and looking like a “gipsy”—racially ambiguous in ways that made him an instant outcast in provincial English society.
His forbidden romance with Catherine stems partly from class differences but also from his untraceable, likely non-English, non-white ancestry. This dimension made Wuthering Heights challenging in the 19th century and remains relevant today.
Casting a white Australian actor erases that complexity entirely.
There’s also a practical problem: it’s nearly impossible to hate Elordi on sight. He’s too charming, too handsome, even when playing Frankenstein’s monster. Robbie has gushed about falling for him on set, recounting stories of single-armed lifts and room-filling roses signed from Heathcliff.
Audiences are clearly meant to swoon similarly—swept up by a “very handsome, very tall, very fantastical man” with just enough rough edges to seem dangerous without being genuinely threatening.
Barbie as Catherine
Robbie’s casting has sparked different but equally intense debates. Book purists note Catherine is famously brunette, contrasting with golden-haired Edgar Linton. But hair color matters less than age.
Fennell aged up Catherine significantly while keeping much of her original dialogue intact. In Brontë’s novel, Catherine is 19—her petulance, jealousy, and dramatic hunger strikes make sense for a teenager discovering adult emotions.
From a woman in her thirties? Those same behaviors read as appalling self-absorption rather than youthful passion.
Defending her choice, Fennell argued Robbie possesses Catherine’s ability to “get away with anything.”
She is the type of person who, like Cathy, could get away with anything. I think honestly she could commit a killing spree and nobody would mind.
So far, Robbie isn’t getting away with much—at least not with critics.
Shock Value Then and Now
Fennell has attempted damage control by suggesting Wuthering Heights could be adapted annually, each version yielding fresh interpretations. Her most compelling defense involves the explicit sexuality—dog collars, horse reins, wall-licking, tongue-wagging Georgian-era BDSM.
She argues these elements preserve the original’s shock value for modern audiences. When Brontë’s novel debuted, reviewers tore it apart, unsure how to process a story with “no clear moral angle,” according to Emily Brontë scholar Clare O’Callaghan.
Heathcliff remains irredeemable—a villain who never finds forgiveness yet functions as an irresistible love interest. Catherine spoils lives around her for sport while remaining the emotional center.
Fennell’s adaptation pushes boundaries differently, substituting sexual explicitness for moral ambiguity. Whether this trades one form of provocation for another—or simply makes cruelty look pretty and sexy—remains hotly debated.
The Verdict
Fennell’s Wuthering Heights represents a specific vision: adolescent fantasy rendered with adult budgets and production values. It’s visually stunning, deliberately provocative, and fundamentally divorced from Brontë’s intentions.
The film succeeds as spectacle—a fever dream of forbidden passion, gorgeous costumes, and jaw-dropping production design. Whether it succeeds as adaptation—or even as meaningful cinema—depends entirely on what viewers bring to the theater.
Those seeking faithful Brontë should look elsewhere. Those craving visually arresting romance might find exactly what they’re looking for.
Just don’t expect the greatest love story ever told—expect the prettiest nightmare your teenage self could have imagined.