Film Reviews

February 13, 2026

"Wuthering Heights" is a steamy and mostly satisfying romantic excursion that stays on just the right side of hokey melodrama, and it works all the better if you don't demand too much from the plot or ask too many questions. It operates on the level of a titillating fantasy, and when viewed through this lens, we come to appreciate it for its audacity, affectionate performances, and impressive production values. If we focus too much on what the movie leaves unanswered, we run the risk of not enjoying it, and so we just accept that perhaps it's best to learn about the missing details via the novel.

It is, of course, based on Emily Brontë's only novel of the same name, which was first published in 1847 and has been adapted into a movie more than 30 times prior to this most recent incarnation. Of all the versions, this one is probably the most unabashedly sexual, which is no surprise given that the writer-director is Emerald Fennell, whose "Saltburn" and "Promising Young Woman" are two of most provocative films in recent years. "Wuthering Heights" is tamer compared to those modern-day-set thrillers, but it crackles and sizzles just the same.

On the windy, isolated Yorkshire estate of Wuthering Heights, we meet our heroine and hero, Catherine "Cathy" Earnshaw and Heathcliff. They're played as prepubescents by Charlotte Mellington and Owen Cooper, and then as adults by Margot Robbie and Jacob Elordi. The resemblance between the sets of actors is spot-on, which lends credence to the story and the inevitable love affair we know will blossom.

There have been countless love stories in all media since time immemorial, but how many do we truly believe are real and not just actors playing the parts? One of the striking things about this "Wuthering Heights" is that we buy into Cathy and Heathcliff's passion for each other the moment they lock eyes. Maybe it's because Cathy and Heathcliff start out as childhood friends, and so their fervent desire for each other begins as a slow burn, one that brews over time, and we're convinced that it would erupt the way it does years later, and becoming more intense when either a third party enters the picture or one half of the couple leaves.

Cathy becomes infatuated with the nameless Heathcliff immediately upon find out her alcoholic father (a pitch-perfect Martin Clunes), who's prone to violent tantrums, brought the young lad home with him from Liverpool. The little girl is smitten, gives Heathcliff his name, and initially sees him as a sort of pet. At the same time, Heathcliff feels cared for and protected, and the two become confidantes, laughing and traipsing around the uncultivated land, with only Cathy's drunkard father to fear. Cathy and Heathcliff's relationship is familial at first, built on shared joys, laughter, trepidations, and naïveté. Heathcliff is a welcome and non-judgmental breath of fresh air for the flighty Cathy, who has mostly grown up as an only child and has had to rely on her haughty maid Nelly (Vy Nguyen) for companionship.

Years go by, and the bond between the chatty, insecure Cathy and the long-haired, bearded Heathcliff has grown even stronger, as have their hormones. In fact, we're surprised they've never given into their acute libidos, but then again, if they had, there might not have been a story. The two play hard-to-get as well as practical jokes on each other, although at this point, their exchanges are less like those between siblings and more like forbidden fruit. Fennell is intentionally unsubtle about the sexual innuendo when we hear lots of juicy sound effects and see shots of dirty fingers rubbing and massaging food, and things get more obvious when Cathy has a private moment behind a rock and Heathcliff walks around shirtless, all while the two exchange "looks" around the property. Clearly, something has to give.

But, in the tradition of classic literature about star-crossed lovers, Cathy and Heathcliff's would-be physical and emotional release gets hamstrung by the arrival of an outside, and his name is Edgar Linton (Shazad Latif), an affluent yet kind-hearted aristocrat whose family moves in next door at Thrushcross Grange. He comes with a prudish, obnoxious ward named Isabella (Alison Oliver), and Cathy's spying on them gives Edgar good reason to introduce himself. He's quite taken by the charming and inquisitive Cathy, and before long, the two are engaged. And yet, what about poor Heathcliff?

At the risk of giving too much away, which probably wouldn't be giving away much at all, as we know how melodramas of this sort tend to play out, I'll only mention this situation forces Cathy to choose between her burning, soulful love for her childhood sweetheart and her comparatively "safe" and predictable love for Edgar, whose wherewithal would set Cathy up for a life of luxury. As it happens, Heathcliff partially overhears Cathy's confession to Nelly (Hong Chau), "It would degrade me to marry Heathcliff now..." but he conveniently misses the part when she says, "...so he shall never know how I love him." But this gets misconstrued, and Heathcliff storms off on horseback, only to return after a prolonged absence, now clean-shaven, well-groomed, and mannered, which further rocks Cathy's world.

"Wuthering Heights" is soap operatic, yes, but it's important to qualify that it sets its heart on being just that, and Fennell and her cast own it. Robbie and Elordi have electrifying chemistry, and they get us to believe Cathy and Heathcliff love each other at their cores. It helps that Fennell and editor Victoria Boydell deliver extended sequences of their sultry affair, and from many angles, with shots that are both explicit and understated. What's more is that none of it is depicted as cheap, tawdry, or satirical. Cathy and Heathcliff are, simply, two people who are head over heels for each other and its life's circumstances that force them to come together in secret.

Of course, to keep "Wuthering Heights" moving forward, other situations must ensue, not least Heathcliff exploiting a willing Isabella to make Cathy jealous, relegating the former to the likes of an animal, a role Isabella is strangely game for. In a more thoughtful and grounded movie, the Isabella character would have been flushed out and not simply made the butt of jokes. We feel the same about Nelly, whose actions function mostly to drive the plot, although she's given slightly more weight because we understand the motivations for her cunning behavior stem from her looking out for her own financial security.

One lingering criticism I have about "Wuthering Heights" is that it leaves us with several burning questions, and whether these were also open-ended in the book, Fennell should have leveraged her creative license and provided us with more details. For instance, whatever happened to Cathy's mother? What about her deceased brother? And how did Heathcliff eventually acquire his own fortune? Shedding light on these questions would have given "Wuthering Heights" more emotional padding, and made it a fuller, more complete, and better-rounded romantic drama.

Still, as it is, "Wuthering Heights" works as entertaining sensationalism, a tearjerker that surrounds us with its rich atmosphere. Linus Sandgren's deep and expansive photography of the Yorkshire Moors; the grand, towering sets realized from Suzie Davies' production design; the over-the-top and ornate costumes from Jacqueline Durran; and the anachronistic yet edgy music by Charlie XCX elevate this adaptation into a glossy, erotic period piece that isn't perfect, but it's fearless. The signs from the filmmakers and cast are clear in that we should absorb it as an old-fashioned, passionate love story, one that's fiery, tragic, and refreshingly adult.