Emerald Fennell’s Wuthering Heights is less an adaptation of Emily Brontë’s novel and more a feverish, visually intoxicating reinterpretation of its emotional core. The 2026 romantic drama leans into sensuality, class tension, and obsessive longing, translating a gothic literary classic into something glossy, contemporary, and unapologetically stylized. Like Fennell’s previous films, Promising Young Woman and Saltburn, it is immediately recognizable in its aesthetic confidence: bold colors, confrontational framing, and a sense that every image is curated to seduce as much as it unsettles.
The story traces the lifelong bond between Catherine “Cathy” Earnshaw, played by Margot Robbie, and Heathcliff, played by Jacob Elordi, beginning with their childhood years at the Earnshaw estate. Charlotte Mellington and Owen Cooper portray the younger versions of Cathy and Heathcliff, respectively, and it is in these early passages that the film finds its most tender footing. There’s a genuine romance in watching the two characters grow up together, forming a connection that feels instinctive and unbreakable long before the world begins to divide them by class, expectation, and resentment.
Cooper, known for his work in the Netflix limited series Adolescence, continues to demonstrate remarkable emotional range. His performance carries a quiet intensity, especially during a moment in which Heathcliff acts selflessly to protect Cathy from her abusive father. It’s a scene that grounds the film’s emotional stakes early on and reminds viewers that beneath the heightened style and erotic tension lies a story about survival and devotion. The childhood sequences radiate warmth and fragility, making the eventual adult conflicts feel more tragic by comparison.
As the film transitions into adulthood, Fennell’s stylistic instincts become more pronounced. Her direction favors aggressive close-ups and tactile imagery, often emphasizing bodies and textures over dialogue. Heathcliff’s scar-ridden, sweat-slicked back is framed with almost confrontational intimacy, the camera lingering as though documenting both suffering and desire. These visual choices reinforce the film’s central thesis: love here is not soft or poetic, but physical, messy, and consuming.
Robbie and Elordi share an interesting dynamic. Their chemistry as childhood friends evolving into estranged lovers is acceptable, though not especially electric at first. The film finds its spark when their relationship eventually becomes overtly sexual, charged with longing and repression. In those moments, the tension finally matches the film’s visual intensity. Their connection becomes less about companionship and more about an almost dangerous pull toward one another, something neither character can fully escape even as their lives move in different directions.
Cathy chooses to marry Edgar Linton, opting for wealth and social mobility rather than her soulmate. Her new life is defined by opulence, and the film revels in it. The production design is extraordinary, presenting elaborate rooms filled with ornate details and towering architecture that underscore Cathy’s leap in status. Every space feels meticulously crafted, not just as a backdrop but as a reflection of Cathy’s internal conflict. The grandeur is intoxicating, but it also feels isolating, a gilded cage that contrasts sharply with the raw intimacy of her past with Heathcliff.
Jealousy becomes the emotional engine driving the narrative from this point forward. Both Cathy and Heathcliff watch each other enter relationships with others, and Fennell emphasizes the ache of proximity. Their longing manifests in stolen glances, tense confrontations, and moments where silence communicates more than words. The film positions their love as both inevitable and destructive, something that cannot be fully realized yet refuses to fade.
Fennell also leans heavily into the eroticism embedded within the story, adding a steamy, almost provocative flavor to the classic tale. The physicality of the characters’ connection is emphasized at nearly every turn, making desire feel as central to the narrative as heartbreak. This approach will likely divide audiences; for some, it heightens the stakes and modernizes the material, while for others it risks overshadowing the emotional nuance of Brontë’s original themes.
The film’s pacing becomes uneven toward the end of the second act, where the story briefly loses momentum. Scenes linger longer than necessary, and the narrative threads begin to feel slightly repetitive, circling the same emotional beats without pushing forward. However, the final act regains its footing, delivering a surge of emotional payoff. Fennell allows the tragedy of these characters to land with full force, leaning into the consequences of their choices and the lingering ache of what could have been. The culmination is powerful enough to bring tears, even for viewers who may have felt distanced earlier.
One of the film’s most notable challenges is its relationship with its own characters. They are not particularly likable in the traditional sense. Their decisions are often selfish, impulsive, and driven by pride or desire rather than empathy. As a result, audiences may find themselves less inclined to root for them and more likely to simply watch them with fascination. There is a sense that the film encourages viewers to lust after these characters—their beauty, their intensity, their chemistry—while only occasionally inviting genuine emotional investment in their well-being.
Yet this detachment may be part of Fennell’s intent. Wuthering Heights isn’t framed as a comforting romance but as an epic love story fueled by obsession, class anxiety, and emotional volatility. The characters are not meant to be role models; they are embodiments of yearning and self-destruction. Their flaws make the story messier, but also more human.
What ultimately defines the film is its scale. It feels sweeping and dramatic, from its performances to its production design to its bold visual language. Fennell treats the material with operatic intensity, transforming a familiar narrative into something lush and immediate. Even when the pacing falters or the emotional connection wavers, the film remains compelling because of how confidently it commits to its vision.
Wuthering Heights may not be the most faithful adaptation, nor the most emotionally accessible romance, but it delivers on its promise of an epic love story. It’s a film that prioritizes mood, sensation, and visual storytelling, immersing audiences in a world of beauty and longing. By the time the final act arrives, the emotional weight of Cathy and Heathcliff’s journey lands with undeniable force. It’s the kind of romance that aches more than it comforts, leaving behind a lingering sense of tragedy and desire that feels entirely in line with Fennell’s distinctive voice.
SCORE: 7/10
As ComingSoon’s review policy explains, a score of 7 equates to “Good.” A successful piece of entertainment that is worth checking out, but it may not appeal to everyone.
Disclosure: ComingSoon attended a press screening for our Wuthering Heights review.
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