I went into “Wuthering Heights” with no expectations, and somehow, I was still disappointed. Emerald Fennell’s controversial adaptation falls flat, even as a standalone piece. What her latest film lacks in substance, it poorly conceals with pseudo-provocative visuals engineered for internet virality.
If you’ve never read Emily Brontë’s novel Wuthering Heights, it’s more generational tragedy than love story. Heathcliff, an orphan, is taken in by the Earnshaws. Over the years, he develops a deep love with his foster sister Catherine, but she ends up marrying their wealthy neighbor, Edgar Linton, for his status. Heathcliff leaves, returning years later as a wealthy man determined to seek revenge on the Linton family. I’m not a stickler for perfect book accuracy. I think exact adaptations are impossible, especially with something as dense as Wuthering Heights. Some deviations, like changing servant Nellie from a friendly farmhand into a manipulative lady-in-waiting, were refreshing. However, some changes sidelined the novels key themes of abuse, race, and class. Brontë’s Heathcliff is a victim of older stepbrother Hindley’s abuse, which in turn makes adult Heathcliff an aggressor. Fennel removes the character of Hindley altogether, having Catherine’s father serve as the abusive figure instead. Actor Martin Clunes brilliantly contrasted moments of joy and rage, making the abuse feel real. Combining the benevolent father and cruel brother was a fascinating choice, but one the film ultimately fails to explore. The father’s death, which occurs halfway through the film, is promptly dismissed after a single scene.
 Throughout BrontĂ«’s novel, Heathcliff is referred to as “dark-skinned”, “lascar,” Romani, foreign, etc. His racial ambiguity is no coincidence; it’s a major reason he can’t get ahead in a white supremacist world. Fennel’s Heathcliff is a white Englishman, ostracized not for race but for his…. Sado-masochist proclivities? Despite choosing a white actor for Heathcliff, Fennel casts Pakistani actor Shazad Latif as Linton. He plays the role well, but the casting feels like salt in the wound. Linton represents the wealth, status, and Eurocentrism Heathcliff yearns for; he even wishes he had “light hair and a fair skin” like Edgar Linton. By race-swapping these central figures, Fennel effectively muted all BrontĂ«’s commentary on race and outsider status
 At times, the casting of “Wuthering Heights” feels like an excuse to see two of Hollywood biggest heartthrobs make out. Yet, despite differences in age and appearance, Margot Robbie makes the role of Cathy work for her. She plays the character with confidence, attitude, and the perfect hint of girlish charm. Jacob Elordi, however, gives a performance that rarely rises above a single brooding expression. BrontĂ«’s novel walks the line of making Heathcliff toxic, yet just charming enough to be sympathetic. The movie Heathcliff is just irredeemable. He comes across less as a product of generational trauma and more as a one-note, psychopathic nympho.
 Emerald’s directorial aesthetic is unmistakable. She loves dramatic shots, bold visuals, and disturbing moments. I’ve enjoyed her visuals in Saltburn, and I knew she would really bring it for this film. I also knew they would have more sexuality than the book, and I was intrigued to see how she would do it. Despite never actually having sex in the novel, tension is at the epicenter of Cathy and Heathcliff’s relationship. The adaptation fails its opportunity to resolve that. It bombards viewers with “sensual” visuals: fingers in egg slime, squelching dough, moaning, creaking etc. It’s like the film kept reiterating that lust, not tension, was central to the story. Any emotional ambiguity was replaced with total spectacle. Upon his return, Cathy and Heathcliff abruptly engage in a remorseless, steamy affair. What should have been a passionate resolution of decade-long emotions was an overstimulating sex montage with Charli XCX blaring overtop. Not exactly the catharsis readers hoped for.
 The visuals of the film are a high point. I enjoyed the skin-tinted wall, oversized strawberries and other hyper-saturated shots. But these moments would benefit from a chance to breathe. The visual stimulation gets to a point of gaudiness. This kind of story needs dark, looming subtlety to have that spooky gothic impact. Instead, I got whiplash from shots of pigs’ blood interlaced with Elordi’s abs. It almost felt as if some lines and shots were designed with tiktok virality in mind rather than thematic weight.
 The film featured some gorgeous, albeit completely inappropriate, costuming. There were costumes that fit the late-18th-century setting, modern pieces, and some complete wild cards. From scene to scene we see Cathy in lederhosen, a cellophane wedding dress, and euphoria-esque face jewels. Anachronistic clothing can be right when it complements the film’s theme, as in Sofia Coppola’s Marie Antoinette. But here, the dialogue doesn’t blend with what’s on screen. Neither does the Charli XCX soundtrack. Each needle drop was almost laughably out of place. Once again, Fennel thinks not of what works for the film, but the optics.Â
 Emerald Fennel’s attempts at being edgy have become formulaic. Her “provocative” concepts aren’t truly provocative; they’re safe and commodified bets to drum up engagement with her film. Cathy’s death at the end of the film (only the midpoint in the book) is portrayed as deeply tragic, yet it doesn’t feel deserved. Fennel desperately tries to make us cry, throwing in everything from flashbacks to sappy music. Yet, in the film’s two hour runtime, I learned nothing about these characters that could warrant a single tear. There is potential in Fennel’s directorial style, but this horny adaptation, ironically, leaves its audience unsatisfied.