Wuthering Heights review: Fennell’s bodice‑ripping reinvention provokes uneasy laughter and unease
New York, Feb. 15, 2026 (ET) — Emerald Fennell’s new Wuthering Heights arrives as a highly stylised, maximalist take on Emily Brontë’s classic — heavy on camp and costume, light on the emotional heft that made the novel endure. Early critical responses describe a film that is often audacious and sometimes absurd, one that trims large swathes of the source material while ratcheting up sexual spectacle.
A flamboyant overhaul that loses the novel’s gravity
Fennell leans hard into theatricality. The film deploys over‑the‑top fashion photography, breathless editing and a steady stream of bodice‑ripping set pieces that push the story toward broad pastiche rather than gothic tragedy. The title itself is presented with ironic punctuation, a framing choice that signals the director’s postmodern intent, but that irony is polarising: some viewers will find it clever, while others see it as a dodge from the book’s moral complexities.
Key plot elements are smoothed away. The narrative’s second half, which tracks the next generation in the novel, is largely omitted. A formerly central character who spirals into ruin in the book is reassigned as the father figure here, shifting the structure and emotional logic of the original. Those cuts leave the film feeling more like a feverish plunge into moments of high drama than a sustained exploration of obsession, vengeance and class.
Performances and erasures: where the film wins and where it falters
Margot Robbie’s Cathy is dressed and directed as a coquettish, overwrought belle, often reduced to ornamental swooning. Jacob Elordi’s Heathcliff is presented as the quintessential long‑haired outsider, alternately brooding and theatrical. Several critics say the leads are asked to sustain a tone that is equal parts melodrama and camp, and that the balance rarely lands. In contrast, Martin Clunes’ turn as the roistering squire is frequently singled out for praise; his performance injects the film with a kind of lived‑in charm that the broader production sometimes lacks.
The adaptation also reframes several sensitive elements of the source material. One prominent trait of Heathcliff in the book is downplayed here, a choice that has prompted conversation about the film’s approach to identity and authenticity. Another female figure, who in the novel experiences cruelty and marginalisation, is portrayed as complicit and lightly amused in this version, a tonal shift that turns pain into camp in ways that make some viewers uncomfortable.
Hong Chau’s Nelly Dean, the novel’s famously unreliable narrator, remains central to the film, and a key sequence has Cathy confronting Nelly over narrative responsibility — a rare moment of self‑awareness in a production otherwise intent on spectacle. Yet the film’s emotional payoffs feel truncated; the tsunami of tears that arrives in the final act is urgent but brief, and the rapid-fire stylistic choices never let audience sorrow settle.
What this remake means for a familiar classic
This Wuthering Heights is unlikely to be a gentle gateway to Brontë for newcomers. It prioritises shock and style over slow‑burn psychological ruin, and in doing so it will delight some viewers with its audacity while alienating others who expect fidelity to the novel’s moral force. The production values, period wardrobes and confident directorial voice are undeniable, but many critiques point to a mismatch between the source material’s subterranean emotional charge and the film’s risible, frequently campy presentation.
Expect strong reactions: this version is constructed to provoke rather than soothe. Whether it ultimately enlarges or diminishes the reach of the original story will depend on how viewers reconcile flashy reinvention with the novel’s insistently raw core.
