Wuthering Heights Review: Emerald Fennell's Steamy Misfire
Emerald Fennell, the director behind the sharp-edged Promising Young Woman and Saltburn, takes on Emily Brontë's brooding classic Wuthering Heights with a glossy, camp-infused lens. Starring Margot Robbie as the fiery Cathy Earnshaw and Jacob Elordi as the tormented Heathcliff, this 2026 adaptation promises passion on the Yorkshire moors. But according to a scathing review in The Guardian by Peter Bradshaw, it's a 'too hot, too greedy' affair that leaves audiences with emotionally hollow bad dreams rather than timeless chills.
Plot and Adaptations: Twisting Brontë's Timeless Tale
Fennell's version dives straight into the heart of Cathy and Heathcliff's obsessive love, but with significant liberties that stray from the source material. Gone is the novel's complex second half focusing on the next generation; instead, the film condenses the story into a whirlwind of youthful feral romps and adult heartbreak. Mr. Earnshaw, played with twinkly-eyed charm by Martin Clunes, rescues a young Heathcliff (Owen Cooper) from Liverpool's streets, adopting him into the family. This sets up a childhood bond with young Cathy (Charlotte Mellington) that blossoms into forbidden desire as they grow.
However, class divides and family fortunes force Cathy into a loveless marriage with the mild-mannered Edgar Linton (Shazad Latif). Heathcliff vanishes, only to return wealthy and vengeful, reigniting their affair. Bradshaw highlights Fennell's bold cuts: she eliminates Cathy's brother Hindley entirely, redistributing his vices—boozing and gambling—to the father figure. This streamlines the narrative but robs it of the book's layered family dynamics. Even more notably, the film sidesteps Heathcliff's racial ambiguity from the novel, presenting him as a generic 'outsider' without the dark-skinned orphan's historical edge. The title appears in inverted commas on screen, a postmodern wink that Bradshaw deems pointless, perhaps nodding to these authenticity issues without fully engaging them.
Steamy Scenes and Campy Excess
What Fennell amps up is the sensuality. Margot Robbie's Cathy sneaks to the moors for a 'hilarious bit of self-pleasuring,' a scene that's equal parts cheeky and gratuitous. Heathcliff, brooding in his stable, gets no such parallel indulgence, though Elordi's gruff Yorkshire accent and perpetually damp, gossamer-thin shirts evoke a Mr. Darcy gone feral. The film leans into BDSM-tinged bodice-ripping, turning Brontë's gothic restraint into a 20-page fashion shoot of relentless silliness. It's visually arresting—windswept moors, ripped corsets, and moody stares—but Bradshaw argues it sacrifices emotional depth for campy spectacle.
Cast Performances: Stars Misused Amid Strong Supports
Margot Robbie, fresh off her Australian roots and global acclaim, brings primped belle energy to Cathy, quivering with barely contained passion. Yet, the review suggests her talents are underutilized in this 'emotionally hollow' script, reduced to a quivering ingenue melting into Heathcliff's arms—like Scarlett O'Hara eyeing a Charles Manson lookalike. Jacob Elordi, the Euphoria heartthrob, starts as a long-haired, bearded outsider before evolving into a more polished, winsome figure. His transformation is intriguing, but the performance feels Darcyfied without the brooding menace Brontë intended.
Stealing scenes is Martin Clunes as Mr. Earnshaw, whose roistering squire role 'pinches the whole film.' His indulgent father figure grounds the early chaos, providing comic relief amid the melodrama. Supporting turns include Alison Oliver as Isabella Linton, channelling a simpering Sophie Thompson vibe, though Heathcliff's cruelty to her is downplayed for lighter tones. Shazad Latif's Edgar is the perfect milquetoast foil, but overall, the ensemble shines brightest in the childhood sequences, where raw energy captures the novel's wild spirit.
Fennell's Directorial Flair: Style Over Substance?
Known for her provocative, stylish storytelling, Fennell infuses Wuthering Heights with the same glossy excess that defined Saltburn. Cinematography captures the moors' desolate beauty, with rain-soaked shirts clinging like second skins and shadows dancing like ghosts. But Bradshaw calls it a 'misfire' that misuses its leads, prioritizing visual thirst traps over psychological torment. The BDSM slap and self-pleasure moments feel greedy, cranking up the heat without earning the emotional payoff. For Australian audiences, familiar with Robbie's homegrown talent, this might sting as a missed opportunity to elevate Brontë's feminist undercurrents into something truly subversive.
Critical Reception and Cultural Impact
Peter Bradshaw's Guardian review, published on February 9, 2026, sets a critical tone: 2/5 stars for a film that's 'too hot, too greedy.' He praises the weather—dreadful and immersive, ranking it among cinema's stormiest—but laments the silliness that undermines the tragedy. Early buzz from festivals suggests polarized views: some hail it as a fresh, queer-coded reboot, while purists decry the erasure of Brontë's social commentary on class and race.
In Australia, where gothic tales resonate with our own rugged landscapes, Fennell's take could spark debates on adapting literary icons. With Robbie leading, it's poised for box-office draw, but will it guarantee 'bad dreams in the night' or just eye-rolls? As streaming hits theaters down under, expect think pieces on whether this Wuthering Heights captures the moors' haunting soul or just poses dramatically against it.
Why Watch It Anyway?
Despite the critiques, fans of Fennell's oeuvre will appreciate the campy reinvention. It's a visually bold entry in the endless adaptations—from Laurence Olivier's 1939 classic to Andrea Arnold's gritty 2011 version. For newcomers to Brontë, it might entice with star power, though die-hards should pair it with the novel for full context. Ultimately, this Wuthering Heights is a feast for the eyes, but a famine for the heart—perfect for a stormy night in, if you're in the mood for something deliciously flawed.
In a landscape of reboots, Fennell's effort reminds us why Brontë endures: her story of love, revenge, and the wild is adaptable, but only truly great when it balances heat with haunting depth. As Australian cinema-goers flock to screens, this one might just leave you wuthering with mixed feelings.
