Once denounced by Victorian critics as a "compound of vulgar depravity", so shocking that one reviewer questioned how the author avoided suicide, Emily Brontë’s novel Wuthering Heights, named after the wind-swept Yorkshire farmhouse where the story takes place, has transformed from a reviled, "strange" 1847 publication, with one anonymous reviewer claiming, “how a human being could have attempted such a book as the present without committing suicide before he had finished a dozen chapters” (Graham’s Lady Magazine). into a celebrated cornerstone of Gothic literature. Nearly 180 years later, this tale of extreme passion remains a profoundly influential masterpiece because its unflinching portrayal of destructive, obsessive love and generational trauma—driven by Heathcliff and Catherine’s trauma-bonded relationship—resonates more strongly in modern discourse on toxic relationships than as a traditional romance.

       At its core, the novel is less a traditional romance and more a psychological study of destructive relationships, particularly the intense bond between Heathcliff and Catherine. Their connection, often interpreted today as a trauma bond, drives cycles of revenge and suffering that ripple across generations. Through its nonlinear narration and morally complex characters, the novel challenges readers to confront the darker aspects of love, identity, and social hierarchy. I went into this film completely blind; I knew nothing about the story, the characters, or why it’s considered one of the greats, a novel everyone must read. I remember seeing trailers for the film in the theatre and online, specifically the scene where Heathcliff tells Cathy, "Kiss me again, and let us both be damned." I knew the film was going to be messy and intense. The story’s lasting influence is reflected in its many adaptations, with over 30 film versions produced since the early 20th century. The 1939 adaptation is often regarded as the most romanticized, focusing more on plot than character complexity. Later versions attempted to capture more of the novel’s emotional intensity, including the 1970 adaptation and Andrea Arnold’s 2011 film, which emphasized realism and atmosphere while stripping back dialogue. Each adaptation reflects the values and artistic priorities of its time, reinterpreting the novel’s themes through different lenses, whether romantic, psychological, or visceral.

       Emerald Fennell’s 2026 adaptation stands out for its bold and highly stylized reinterpretation of the source material. Rather than presenting a faithful period piece, the film leans into a modern, sexually charged, and visually symbolic narrative. The casting of Jacob Elordi as Heathcliff and Margot Robbie as Catherine sparked controversy, particularly regarding race and age. The backlash to Elordi playing Heathcliff came from lovers of the novel, who were disgruntled due to the actor being white, even though Heathcliff’s race has been debated and argued about for decades. Di Placido, from Forbes magazine, writes, “For example, Heathcliff is first discovered as a homeless child “in the streets of Liverpool,” which was Britain’s premier slave-trading port during the time period of the book, and could be considered a hint to his ancestry” (Forbes). Supporters of the Australian actor defended him and cited the previous adaptations.  Margot Robbie’s age sparked controversy with viewers commenting that Robbie was “too old” and “had an iPhone face”, which I had to look up the meaning of. Essentially, it's a term describing actors with modern, highly polished, or "Instagram-ready" features that can feel out of place in period dramas, but these casting choices also highlighted the film’s departure from traditional expectations. 

       In truth, it acted as a double-edged sword. Fennell’s use of symbolism throughout the film, I believe, is her strongest suit; the usage of the color red she wove into the film was outstanding, between Cathy’s foreshadowing and flowing dress trains to the blood-red, glossed over floors, along with red corridors and staircases, functioning as the "veins" and "heart" of the house, symbolizing intense passion, danger, and, as interpreted by Jacob Elordi, the shared, bleeding blood of Cathy and Heathcliff. Cathy’s extremely disturbing skin room at the Lintons’ abode, which symbolizes her imprisonment in a shallow, commodified life, serves as a "humanized" prison that represents her being made a luxurious "collector's item" through marriage, rather than living authentically. As the old saying goes, a gilded cage is still a prison. The film prioritizes mood and aesthetic over dialogue, creating an immersive experience that underscores the characters’ isolation and obsession. In comparing the novel to the 2026 film, the differences are striking. My professor, Dr. Popp, was gracious enough to let me borrow her high school copy of the novel, so I had the opportunity to read it. Admittedly, it took me longer than it usually would to read a novel that consists of only 324 pages, and I’m pointing the blame on the 19th-century style of writing and language. Thank goodness there was a glossary and translation guide in the back! The book presents a layered narrative structure, told through Nelly, the housekeeper for Wuthering Heights, as well as Cathy’s mother figure, who recollects to Mr. Lockwood, the vain and detached visitor from London who rents Thrushcross Grange (the civilized estate owned by the Lintons) from Heathcliff in 1801. Nelly’s storytelling explores the complexities of characters like Hindley, whose abuse shapes Heathcliff’s trajectory. Heathcliff’s experiences of dehumanization, tied to his race and social status, are central to understanding his actions; he is treated as simply the “Other” due to these uncontrollable characteristics. Catherine, too, is more nuanced in the novel—cruel, ambitious, and emotionally volatile, often inflicting pain on those around her. The novel is not without its own set of symbolism. For example, Brontë utilizes the moors and gives them life, I found, more than Fennell. These vast, wild expanses symbolize freedom, raw passion, and the unconventional, borderless love between Heathcliff and Catherine. Dogs play a significant role in both versions; in the novel, their uncivilized and hostile actions are representative of the untamed and chaotic environment of the Wuthering Heights’ house and its owner, Heathcliff. In Fennell’s variation, the imagery of dogs is to represent Heathcliff’s forced sexual sadism, ownership, cruelty, and domestication towards his once blushing bride, Isabella Linton.

       In contrast, the film simplifies and alters these dynamics. Hindley’s role is merged with that of Catherine’s father, and Cathy herself is portrayed more as spoiled and possessive than deeply conflicted; her father goes as far as referring to Heathcliff as her pet, so that she may do whatever she wants to with him when he’s first brought back to Wuthering Heights. As Catherine grows up, she maintains her possessiveness over Heathcliff and allows her seemingly selfish desires to dictate her life. Her reaction to his marriage to Isabella showcases her desire perfectly: “He is mine. I named him”. While the novel emphasizes social constraints and psychological depth, the film shifts toward a more overtly romanticized and sexually expressive interpretation of their relationship. The way Brontë weaves trauma into her novel shows just how toxic obsession has the power to destroy families across generations. The story acts as an ouroboros until the second generation, where Hareton, the son of Hindley and Frances, and Catherine, Cathy and Linton’s daughter, break free from the chains of toxicity and choose affection over revenge, and since every film adaptation ends before it can tackle this level of exploitation, this is where the film and movie comparisons end.

       Ultimately, both the novel and its adaptations highlight the destructive power of obsession and the long-lasting effects of trauma. It serves as a study in psychology, moral ambiguity, and social dynamics, offering lessons on how upbringing shapes character, the consequences of revenge, and the complexities of navigating love and social status. What makes Wuthering Heights so enduring is its refusal to present love as purely redemptive; instead, it exposes how deeply intertwined love can be with pain, control, and identity. In my opinion, both the novel and the 2026 film are compelling in their own ways. While the book offers greater psychological and thematic depth, the film succeeds in reimagining the story for a modern audience through striking visuals and bold creative choices. Together, they demonstrate the timeless relevance of Brontë’s work and its ability to evolve while continuing to provoke thought and discussion.