Yet this world of endless doubling is not new. The doppelganger first appeared in Jean Paul’s novel Siebenkäs, published in three volumes between 1796 and 1797, and has been with us as an almost constant companion since. From gothic touchstones such as Edgar Allan Poe’s William Wilson, Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre and James Hogg’s The Private  Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner, to modern classics such as Nabokov’s Despair and Muriel Spark’s The Ballad of Peckham Rye, the double has outpaced every trend and appears in just about every genre.

In these novels, the double frequently functions as the embodiment of unacceptable, inexpressible desires and impulses. Brontë gives Jane Eyre an anima figure, in the form of Bertha Mason, a shadow self capable of expressing what Jane cannot. (Lauren J Joseph)

There is an abundance of nuanced detail bridging Fennell’s film to Brontë’s novel, and the liberties it takes are beautifully executed. The soundtrack feels both relevant and immersive. I especially loved “Dark-Eyed Sailor” and the slowed-down reunion scene, which, cinematically, was stunning. The intimate moments between Heathcliff and Catherine are deliberately slowed, making them all the more hypnotic.

Visually, the film paints a striking gothic landscape, particularly in its contrasts between the overcast moors and the vivid Thrushcross Grange. This contrast emphasizes Catherine’s internal world, one that feels feverish and dreamlike. She is perpetually torn between societal reality and the pull of her own heart.

Fennell also repeatedly employs red and black to symbolize the passion and aggression of Catherine and Heathcliff’s love, while also evoking unfaithfulness, sexual awakening, and unrelenting grief.

On a final note, both lead performances are striking. Robbie is magnetic, fearlessly surrendering herself to Catherine’s intensity and emotional naivety. Elordi delivers a compelling performance as the brooding, obsessive antihero. I believed in Catherine and Heathcliff’s love story, partly due to Robbie and Elordi’s performances, but also because of Owen Cooper and Charlotte Mellington, who were cast as the younger Catherine and Heathcliff. 

From the film’s opening, I was invited to believe in their bond. The younger actors beautifully capture the innocent yet foreboding spark between the two as children.

As a whole, I found the film brilliant. It is a bold and beautiful approach to a novel I cherish deeply. If you missed some of these details, I encourage you to revisit it. It was precisely these nuances that allowed me to find so much richness and enjoyment in the adaptation. (Isabella McHugh)

Perhaps catering to emotionality and aesthetics instead of authenticity and critics, isn’t doing Fennell as many favors as she hoped. The film may be largely enjoyable on the surface level. We, the authors of this piece, found it a rather good watch. It’s full of bright colors and beautiful sets, emotion and heartbreak. 

The stars, Robbie and Elordi, are attractive and very impressive actors—but art is inherently political. Undoubtedly, this film was going to create a stir, especially in our current social and political climate. The film is worth the watch especially for those planning to follow next award season, but the controversy will likely follow it, casting a shadow on any awards it may win. (Christina McManus and Antonia Spellacy)

Although this rendition of Wuthering Heights ultimately crumbled under the weight of its own buildup, it was worth seeing, if not for Emerald Fennell’s strength in pushing the artistic envelope at a time when Hollywood is largely not investing in these types of projects. This, along with Margot Robbie and Jacob Elordi’s addictive synergy — plus one of the best macabre love stories in the Western diaspora — culminates in a naturally captivating film that will be revered as a cult classic, for all its successes and faults. (Karli Mae)

I think it would be in Fennell’s best interest to write a heartfelt apology to the Brontë estate. I bet a trillion bucks that Emily is rolling over in her grave. So are literary scholars everywhere. (Stella Perdue)

The last year has seen clothes in film shift from the background music of a rollout, to something central. See the outrage around Margot Robbie’s frocks in Wuthering Heights – the English Lit girls were not happy about those anachronisms – or the hype around Marty Supreme. This wasn’t even about the clothing in the film. Instead, A24 – the original pranksters of film merch – moved the goalposts again. Queues formed around streets for fans to buy a ​’90s-style Nahmias windbreaker with the film’s name on – and that was even before it got to cinemas.

Meanwhile, Emerald Fennel’s Wuthering Heights adaptation brought Jacqueline Durran’s costumes to the red carpet in February, with Robbie’s outfits going method and paying tribute to the era of the novel. There were corsets, ribbons and even a Dilara Findikoğlu dress using hair, referencing Victorian mourning bracelets made from the hair of loved ones. With a 25% increase in cinema trips for Gen Z this year, this is a trend that has only just started. Could it be that 2026 is the year that fashion and costume design come together in more ways than ever before? (Lauren Cochrane)

You also mentioned the Brontës in your album description. Do you have a favorite Brontë sister or a favorite Brontë novel?

CAROLYN: Definitely Jane Eyre. While thinking about how to describe the album, I was like, “It's Gothic with a capital G, like Gothic literature.” Andy was like, “No one will know what that means; they’ll think it means dark wave.” So I described it as “a Gothic tale, in the Brontë sisters’ sense.” 

I think, too, that there are feminine aspects to the music, reminiscent of a journey that might get scary at times. You might encounter big landscapes and ghosts. You may not be able to entirely understand what's going on, and there is a lot of heightened emotion. The Brontë sisters created huge worlds, even though their worlds were actually really small. They were governesses; they didn't traverse that much area, yet they were able to build these magnificent emotional universes. 

My friend actually asked me recently which Brontë sister each member of Mt Fog is. I was like, “We're not the sisters, we’re actually long-lost characters from the Brontë sisters' imagined world of Gondal. [Laughs] (Audrey Vann)

Wuthering Heights is back in the cultural forefront with the new adaptation out in February. With that, it brings a new wave of references and takes on the classic novel out in spades. Whether you liked the new adaptation or found it too far from the source material to stomach, you’ve got an opinion! And so does everyone else!

Like with a lot of classic novels, this isn’t the first time pop culture has made reference to the gothic tragedy first published by Emily Brontë in 1847. The tortured story of Heathcliff and Cathy is poked at quite frequently in modern-day media, and many, many Pinterest pins and Tumblr blogs love to share one of the novel’s most enduring quotes about souls and whatever they’re made of. It’s an enduring, if polarizing, novel that has wormed its way into the vernacular of today, especially with the main characters. Many a TV character or modern novel has made reference to the dour, angry leading man or the emotionally volatile leading woman. What better time to take a look at just some of the numerous references to the classic novel in pop culture over the years?

In literature, the novel has been adapted into plays, like John Davison’s Wuthering Heights: a play from the novel in 1942, as well as riffed on in poetry. Sylvia Plath, for example, wrote a poem titled “Wuthering Heights,” though it’s debated whether there’s any connection to the novel rather than the location, as did Ted Hughes.

Modern authors have taken on the novel’s complicated, for some romantic, character dynamic, adapting the story in different lenses like Tasha Suri’s What Souls are Made of, Layne Fargo’s The Favorites, in which Kat and Heath are figure skaters, or Windward Heights by Maryse Condé, which sets the story in the Caribbean instead of the windswept moors of Yorkshire. You can’t forget to mention the Twilight references to Wuthering Heights, in which young Bella reads the romantic tragedy, quotes from it, and makes a declaration that the real problem of the novel is Catherine, not Heathcliff, after all.

Musically, of course, Kate Bush’s 1978 song, “Wuthering Heights“, is a classic take on the novel with a must-watch ethereal music video to match in which the young singer dances around in a white dress while singing about Cathy coming home to Heathcliff. You’ve also got Yoko Ono’s “You’re the One” that references Heathcliff and Cathy, and “Cath” by Death Cab for Cutie.

There are also operas that were adapted from the story: Carlisle Floyd’s in 1958, for example, and Bernard Herrmann’s, which was first recorded in 1966 and then staged in 1982.

Film and screen adaptations aren’t new to Brontë’s enduring novel either. Filmmakers have been taking a crack at depicting the story as far back as 1920 in a silent film by A.V. Bramble. Soon after came a film adaptation in 1939, directed by William Wyler, with subsequent adaptations to follow, featuring Richard Burton (1958), Ralph Fiennes (1992), and Tom Hardy (2009) as the leading man, Heathcliff.

Television hasn’t escaped the enduring vocabulary of Heathcliff and Cathy’s love, either. Shows like Seinfeld, The West Wing, Sabrina the Teenage Witch, and even My Little Pony make reference in some way to the story, its characters, and their moody moors. Often, these references need little more than to say the name Heathcliff for those in the know to understand the comparison to the brooding villainous leading man.

This is by no means a comprehensive look at the novel’s pop culture references, either. It seems that anywhere and everywhere you look, the doomed love of Heathcliff and Cathy is there, waiting for you to pick up on the story’s enduring impact in pop culture. It’s clear that this take on the book in the new film adaptation isn’t the first, and it certainly won’t be the last to take Brontë’s source material and run with it. (Addison Rizer)

“Wuthering Heights” is sold as ‘the greatest love story of all time’ at the expense of almost all of the novel’s other themes. Brontë’s work was about revenge, class struggle, power, whiteness, and generational trauma. Rather than incorporating these tensions into the relationship between Cathy and Heathcliff, the film instantly pairs them together as soulmates, star-crossed lovers separated by circumstance. This is not the toxic love portrayed in the book. Everything unspoken and rich with ‘maybes’ was simply resolved, explicitly having them talk about their feelings to each other and repeatedly showing them having sex throughout the movie. Fennell’s Heathcliff is not brutal or terrifying like the characters tell us over and over. He never behaves abominably and even asks for consent to use Isabella to avenge himself against Catherine, which she turns out to enjoy. The taboo of Cathy’s desire for him is thus completely void of meaning in the film. Heathcliff is not a man who abuses the innocent Isabella, having murdered her dog on their wedding day; he is nothing more than a horny and moody newly rich man. Catherine is not a torn girl corrupted by the workings of the world; she appears innately mean and stupid, obsessed with Heathcliff, who comes nowhere near the monster he is supposed to be.

Such narrative streamlining is nothing new for book-to-screen adaptations.

Of course, this isn’t always a bad thing. Take Stanley Kubrick’s interpretation of The Shining, for example. He considered Stephen King’s book as a jumping-off point rather than a full guide for his movie. But it didn’t matter because Kubrick’s The Shining stood on its own as a masterpiece. “Wuthering Heights” is not a new interpretation of Brontë’s novel. Fennell doesn’t add new dimensions, reframe storylines, or reinterpret the material to make it her own; she simply strips the original story of all its intricacies. Emily Brontë’s book is about characters who are hateful but still full of enough complexity that we are desperate to learn their messy tale. Emerald Fennell’s film is merely about two people overcoming obstacles to fall in love. There are plenty of movies loosely inspired by classic literature (Clueless, 10 Things I Hate About You, Anyone but You, for example) that acknowledge their influences but do not claim to be adaptations of the original, as Fennell did with Wuthering Heights.

And this matters. At a time when we rely increasingly on AI for everyday tasks, when we do not read as much, and when polarisation has replaced nuanced debate, promoting a film that dumbs down one of the greatest novels of the 19th century as a ‘love story’ is dangerous. I have seen many people say that this movie is very enjoyable without an “annoying English lit major in your ear.” And that scares me. Literature is by nature political, and Wuthering Heights is no exception. This is not just a ‘fun time.’ It feeds into our current literacy crisis. It is whitewashing. It is an erasure of the original material. I would have no problem if this film had been billed as an original. But if you have seen the movie and think you are now familiar with the story of Wuthering Heights, please go read the novel and realise how far you were from the truth. (Chloé Cerisier)

As an English major, of course, I have a critique of this film; it is by no means deserving of the classic’s title. I read the Brontë novel for the first time about four years ago. I found it to be a long build-up of trauma and complex motives, with a satisfying ending that leaves one wanting nothing more. This movie was anything but satisfying. It eliminated characters critical to the original plot, including the narrator of the novel, one of 11 characters left out. The entire second half of the book is missing, and the movie’s ending had no similarity to that part of the book. 

However, rather than offering a straightforward comparison between the film and the novel, which has been widely discussed in the media, I believe there is a broader societal insight to consider. The renewed attention to the novel, prompted by this adaptation, highlights shifts in literary engagement and the increasing displacement of classic literature by film. Moreover, the deliberate changes made in these adaptations reflect the intended audience and shape our engagement with the story.

I cannot help but wonder if this signals a broader cultural shift, one I find deeply troubling: the death of the novel. While there will always be individuals who appreciate and immerse themselves in literary worlds, I question whether classics such as Brontë’s Wuthering Heights have become too inaccessible for the average reader. Fennell’s film significantly dilutes the original novel; although it was never intended to be identical, the aspects it emphasizes are noteworthy. Rather than exploring themes of class, race, revenge and psychological obsession, the adaptation presents the characters as overtly sexualized, and the story as predominantly an intimate romantic one. In 1847, when the novel was published, there were no explicit sex scenes; the narrative focused on the soul and the tragedy of love. The film amplifies the characters’ destructive and petty actions, reimagining their relationship as a conventional romance, which was not present in the novel. Additionally, the generational narrative is omitted in the absence of any children from either Cathy or Heathcliff, as evidenced by the death of Cathy’s child at the film’s conclusion.

Why do we feel the need to dilute these complex stories and reject attempts at literary accuracy? Are we losing our appetite for complexity?

Classics are being adapted to reflect modern social values, to captivate your attention. 

There is no quick satisfaction from reading; it is a slow burn that even when the fire has died, smoke warms the air for longer. People crave instant gratification and are left pining for days. With film, what they’re given is conclusive. Stories are made more exciting to draw in the audience’s attention and make them feel it’s worth their time. We’re evolving into consumers who prefer our stories to be chewed and digested for us rather than attempting to understand the uncomfortable process that comes from real understanding. 

Not to mention, the language of classic literature is perceived to be far too dense and old for people to understand with ease today. People don’t want to have to put in cognitive effort to achieve entertainment. Our digital habits are leading to a decline in engagement with slow-paced texts, texts that require effort. 

After the film ended, I overheard a group of teenagers in the restroom. One girl remarked that her mom had given her the book years ago. However, having seen the movie, she felt there was no need to read it. She already had the story, and now, the visualization of her favorite actor in it. This moment spoke volumes about how adaptations can supplant, rather than supplement, these great classics. [...]

We are witnessing the death of the in-depth exploration of moral, philosophical and social structures critiqued and examined in classical novels. This is not to say that film does not explore these topics; contemporary films reflect societal anxieties, values and shifts. Literature, however, has the greater ability to create space for interpretation and learning. Film adaptations can be enjoyable on their own. But to equate them with the classics that they borrow from is to do a disservice to the intricacy of the originals. If we truly value these stories and all they offer, we must resist thinking of screen versions as substitutes and encourage people to experience the richness of literature itself. 

I hope that we can all remember the experience of a good book. Remember: no adaptation can replace the experience of losing and finding ourselves within the pages. (Ellie Walsh)

To be fair, much of the commentary is warranted. Wuthering Heights is a beloved nineteenth-century novel with a transgressive heart. Fennell is a buzzy, frequently provocative storyteller who gleefully embraces excess in all its forms. The idea that she might take on not just a period piece but one of literature’s most famous love stories was a fascinating one, the kind of project that naturally lends itself to all sorts of discussion. And, as it turns out, a wide range of opinions.

Reviews of Fennell’s “Wuthering Heights” have been mixed, with critics lamenting its significant structural changes from the source material, its revision of the races of several characters in a story where race matters, and its refusal to directly confront the class issues that are so central to the original novel. The movie’s fans are quick to point out its rich visual style, love of anachronism, and unabashed embrace of the toxic darkness at the heart of its central love story. Some viewers love her desperate, erotic take on Cathy and Heathcliff; others insist that, despite the steamy sex scenes, the film doesn’t get freaky enough. Perhaps this, in the end, is truly what Fennell’s films do best: make us argue with one another. [...]

This goes double for something like Wuthering Heights, an uncomfortable, dark tale of class, generational abuse, trauma, and revenge that features toxic leads, a doomed romance, and a multigenerational revenge plot that’s so difficult to untangle that most adaptations don’t even try. (The vast majority of film and TV remakes of Brontë’s work almost immediately excise its back half, as Fennell herself does.) Adapting a work like this forces you to make choices and inevitably disappoint. After all, the very act of adaptation is subjective, and some of the best onscreen versions of famous novels (“The Godfather,”“The Shining,”“Dune,” Guillermo del Toro’s recent take on “Frankenstein”) shred their source material with just as much gusto and receive much less criticism for it.

This isn’t to say there isn’t plenty to complain about with regard to Fennell’s films. Her work is purposefully indulgent in both tone and subject matter. She has a repeated blind spot about class issues, is often incredibly unsubtle in her storytelling, and wields shock value like a hammer rather than a scalpel. Her movies aren’t for everyone, it’s true. But as a director and a storyteller, it’s hard to ignore that Fennell also likes to take big swings, gleefully embracing the kind of narrative risks that don’t always pay off, but that land like a thunderclap when they do. And although her frequently provocative style can certainly be polarizing, it’s also necessary, perhaps more than ever these days, when our pop culture landscape is dotted with so many sequels, reboots, and retreads that are little more than slight variations on the same kind of story.

Love her or hate her, Fennell’s got guts. Her work loves to push boundaries, to make statements, to get people talking. Not everything she tries works, but every choice is made with the kind of full-throated commitment to her vision that too many filmmakers lack. We need more of that kind of attitude in our moviemaking, not less.

“Wuthering Heights” is Fennell at her least subversive but perhaps most ambitious. Her take on Brontë’s classic is just that: hers. Viewers may not agree with her particular interpretation—in her foreword to a new edition of the novel, she speaks of recapturing the feeling she experienced reading it for the first time—but her determination to do things her own way is deeply admirable. And the result is not so much an adaptation but a reimagining, a take that explores the feelings connected to the text as much as any of the words on the page.

This isn’t that unusual. Genre films are, as often as not, as much about what they make us feel as any specific action that’s happening onscreen at any given moment. Sci-fi epics and superhero blockbusters often don’t even make sense, comprised of the kind of technobabble that falls apart if you squint at it funny. Why shouldn’t Fennell embrace the idea of a “Wuthering Heights” that is little more than the burning emotion and sharp-edged eroticism that’s conveyed in the original but rarely stated outright?

Brontë’s novel is, among many other things, a tale of destructive, frustrated, haunting love, and Fennell’s film is too, a mix of nightmare and ecstasy in which vibes rule the day. It’s hardly what anyone would call a particularly faithful adaptation of the source material. But it gets so much of its spirit exactly right, a translation that speaks to many of the reasons we all keep coming back to this story in the first place.

That is, of course, what good storytellers do. Fennell will almost certainly keep right on enraging the critics who find her work unsubtle, excessive, or stubbornly unwilling to interrogate larger intersectional issues, even as she delights those who embrace her sharp wit, sumptuous details, and her feverish determination to have it her own way. And we’ll keep talking about whatever she makes next—for good or ill—because we need her, and filmmakers like her, whether we want to admit it or not. (Lacy Baugher)

Emerald Fennell’s film adaptation of Wuthering Heights has been pulling in the crowds recently, which is quite a feat in troubled times for cinema. Published in 1847, Emily Brontë’s tale of psycho-sexual power dynamics is just one of many enduring female-authored 19th century novels exploring female sexuality and desire for autonomy. These characters existed within a system that allowed women few education or career opportunities.

The ever-popular work of canonical British female writers such as Jane Austen, the (other) Brontë sisters and George Eliot were very different in style and tone. But they also draw attention to various forms of gender inequality.

Their novels focused on issues such as inheritance and property laws, the pressure on young women to marry for financial security, the sexual double standard and the lack of career prospects for women. In doing so, they gave voice to the frustrations of an expanding female readership in the 19th century.

The work of these and lesser-known female authors was crucial in shaping and fuelling public debates on what was referred to in the mid-Victorian period as “the woman question” (women’s right to vote). It later became the first-wave feminist movement in the late 19th and early 20th century. (Roberta Garrett)

Did I love it? No. Did I enjoy being transported to a world where I could forget about impending midterms and get lost in the messy ride? Absolutely. This film may not be a cinematic masterpiece but for two hours and 16 minutes, “Wuthering Heights” had an entire room of people — Stanford students, middle-aged couples and teenage girls alike — hysterically laughing, gasping and sobbing together. (Chloe Loquet)

The wonder of it is that Wuthering Heights, which was declared to be “unquestionably and irredeemably monstrous” upon publication, exists at all, its creative origins forever obscured by the brief and enigmatic life of its author. The novel, published in 1847 under a male pen name (Ellis Bell), was written by Emily Brontë, a 27-year-old virgin so reclusive she makes Emily Dickinson seem positively sociable. Brontë, who died a year after her book came out, somehow managed to call forth from her vivid, anarchic imagination one of the darkest love stories in Victorian (or any other) literature, creating an unprecedented Demon Lover in the portrait of Heathcliff and an obsessed madwoman in that of Catherine Earnshaw. The erotic undertones are unmistakable and all the more powerful for being suppressed. For all its heaving drama, the plot of Wuthering Heights is remarkably simple, even primitive. It is the age-old one of a soured romance, of childhood sweethearts who are foiled by the adult reality they grow into. Filmmakers and television producers have continually returned to this elusive work ever since it was made into a movie in 1939, starring Laurence Olivier and Merle Oberon. This adaptation, written and directed by the controversial Emerald Fennell (Promising Young Woman, Saltburn), is characterized as “loosely inspired” by the novel—ergo, at liberty to take liberties. The adult Cathy is played by the blonde, blue-eyed Margot Robbie, whose acting chops are in full view once again. Heathcliff is played by Jacob Elordi. Influenced by the aesthetics of soft porn and high fashion, this is a movie with its sights firmly fixed on Gen Z. It works, in its edgy stylistic way, and it should sell heaps of tickets. (Daphne Merkin)

When details are altered to the point where the messaging of the book and core ideas are lost, these movie remakes aren’t just misinterpreting the value of the original text for a modern audience. Oftentimes, they are also forgetting things like the commentary embedded into a story that made these books so controversial or beloved, and ignoring the reason why these classics have been adored across generations. (Alyssa Mathews and Reese Neiger)

As in the movie that inspired it, “there’s messiness here, and messiness feels like the point.”