“Wuthering Heights” was mismarketed. 

The Valentine’s Day release sold romance…but the actual movie is a lot more psychosexual (along the lines of a triple feature with the recent Pillion and Dreams).

Despite the novel’s status as a classic, the media campaign led audiences to expect to cheer for the central coupling, in a Jane Austen fashion. But these characters and their ships are darker, and more fucked up, and harder to root for unreservedly.

Which isn’t criticism! 

A prime example of how the movie distances us from the lovers: is their sex supposed to be sexy? Cathy and Heathcliff are seemingly aroused by their boning…but are we? The undeniable hotness of Margot Robbie and Jacob Elordi primes us to be titillated, which rubs up against such alienating tactics as their wet tongues smacking each other’s gobs with the loudest, squishiest sounds.

If you try to refute my interpretation of the movie’s intentional repellence by citing the fact that the final scene is executed like a straightforward weepy…it’s called a subjective ending; the underscoring music captures how the characters feel, not necessarily how we may feel about their courtship. 

And, unlike the last beats of Marty Supreme and Is This Thing On?, “Wuthering Heights” lacks musical juxtaposition to aurally undercut the conclusion’s apparent sincerity.

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Elordi is starting to look like Christian Bale I’M NOT COMPARING THEIR ACTING SKILLS.