He’s not Heathcliff, He Just Lives in Australia

As I settled into aisle seat F1 at the Palace Cinema yesterday evening, I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect.

Rumours had reached me about Emerald Fennell’s big screen take on Wuthering Heights. One friend declared it the best thing he had seen in ages, while a colleague refuses to watch it, insisting it ‘butchers the book.’

Before I go any further, I should confess that I haven’t read Emily Brontë’s original novel.

If you’re looking for a faithful, text-by-text comparison of doomed love, this isn’t that review.

Having deliberately chosen an aisle seat, I glanced to my right to see who I’d be sharing the next two hours with.

I was relieved to find myself beside a row of women already giggling among themselves.

The one closest to me turned and asked: ‘Have you got your tissues? We’ve only got one each.’

I hadn’t thought to bring any, but the comment immediately set the tone: this might be an emotional evening.

If you know me, you’ll know I’m a sucker for a love story – even one that is, at its core, deeply toxic.

As the film began, we followed the lives of Catherine (Margot Robbie), ‘Cathy’, and Heathcliff (Jacob Elordi). Through both spoken and unspoken exchanges, it was clear they were bound tightly to one another.

Yet the ever-present class divide made the relationship feel doomed from the outset, particularly once Cathy received a proposal from someone considered far more ‘appropriate’.

What I first assumed would be a straightforward romance quickly revealed itself to be something more unsettling: a portrait of love distorted by jealousy, pride and revenge.

Nearly every character displayed a vindictive streak at some point, often without warning.

Nelly, Cathy’s paid companion, emerged as a quiet but pivotal force in the eventual unravelling of Cathy and Heathcliff’s bond.

The passion between the two leads was intense and, at times, exhausting.

I found myself silently urging Cathy to leave her husband and commit fully to Heathcliff.

Then I had to remind myself that this was the early 1800s, when escaping marriage was far from simple, especially for a woman.

Flawed from the beginning, their relationship was riddled with questionable choices and painful detours.

I caught myself drawing parallels between my own tumultuous love life and that of Cathy and Heathcliff.

Many of us have that one person – at least I do – who we believe we are destined to end up with.

Set against the wild sweep of the Yorkshire moors, the film almost persuaded me that people do eventually find their way back to each other.

Admittedly, my own situation lacks the gothic drama: no foster-brother dynamic, no crumbling manor, just a man halfway across the world in Australia who has made no attempt to call and a flat on Broadway.

Overall, I genuinely enjoyed Fennell’s loose interpretation.

The final 15 minutes saw my tear-streaked cheek and hoodie sleeve develop a relationship of their own. If you share my colleague’s doubts, I would say give it a chance.

It may surprise you.