Heathcliff’s hands close around Cathy just as she whispers ‘No’—is that longing or warning? That single frame, electric with tension, charges the air in Fennell’s new Wuthering Heights teaser. It’s not a courtship; it’s a collision.
This is the language of obsession, elegantly spun into cinema. Robbie’s Catherine pants in corset-bound breathlessness, Elordi’s Heathcliff pitches hay like a ritual, and moors swell around them as though breathing in their guilt. Below it all, Charli XCX’s “Everything Is Romantic” pulses like an incantation. (“I first read it when I was 14… emotionally devastating,” Fennell confesses of the novel.)
Is this devotion—or domination?
Drive Me Mad
In every deliberate shot, the film flirts with danger. Robbie, radiant yet unpredictable, molds Cathy into a force that feels less tragic heroine, more femme fatale. Elordi’s Heathcliff looks less tortured outcast, more sleek predator—burnished, beautiful, and probably very, very cruel. Critics aren’t just whispering—they’re accusing: “Casting two white people… why is this the third movie to cast a white dude as a person of color?”
Amid mounting backlash, a casting director offers a provocation of her own: “You really don’t need to be accurate. It’s art.”
What happens when the fury in Wuthering Heights is polished rather than raw?
More Than a Ghost Story
This isn’t a revival. It’s a challenge. Fennell doesn’t whisper romance—she yells it from the cliffs. “Bananas,” Robbie teases. “Brilliant.” Every frame suggests that this won’t be remembered fondly, but fearfully, like a fever dream on Valentine’s Day.
There’s calculation here: moors drenched in blood-red sunsets, costumes that bleed theatricality, a soundtrack that eclipses dialogue. It’s a fevered reimagining, promising not comfort, but confrontation.
This reawakened landscape—wild, irreverent, dangerously beautiful—invites more than admiration. It dares us to ask: when love becomes chaos, are we witnessing romance… or ruin?
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