‘Wuthering Heights’ Review: Jacob Elordi and Margot Robbie Bring Heat to a Romance That Burns Too Fast

“He is more myself than I am,” says Catherine (Margot Robbie), moments before rejecting the idea of marrying Heathcliff (Jacob Elordi), even though she loves him. "Wuthering Heights"  (2026) is, in many ways, an embodiment of that contradiction.

It’s always compelling to see how classic texts evolve onscreen with time. "Wuthering Heights" , a novel once treated as romantic fantasy, has been adapted countless times, often leaning into doomed romance. But when Emerald Fennell (Saltburn) takes over, the genre flips into something far more erotic, evocative, and tragic. Unfortunately, ambition alone doesn’t always hold water, and in some places, not at all.

Emily Brontë’s 1847 classic gave the world one of literature’s most iconic antihero figures. Heathcliff is a character who has fascinated writers, readers, and filmmakers for generations. Played here by Jacob Elordi, he has been interpreted on screen many times, with varying degrees of intensity. This latest version is perhaps the most obsessive and feral take yet. Starring Margot Robbie alongside Elordi, "Wuthering Heights"  is not a love story, nor is it about love waiting to bloom. It is a story of toxic obsession, and such stories usually head in only two directions: toward destruction, or toward the deeply unsettling fulfilment of desire.

Related Stories

‘Marty Supreme’ Review: Timothée Chalamet Unleashed in the Beautiful Mess of Hustle, Ego and the American Dream

Jacob Elordi’s BIG Test: Can ‘Wuthering Heights’ Turn Him Into a True Movie Star?

Yet "Wuthering Heights" (2026) misses its own point in many places, even as it occasionally finds it. Developed by Fennell, the screenplay feels like multiple drafts written in parallel and stitched together in the hope of forming something whole. Instead, the final shape often feels abrupt and, at times, emotionally distant. The blueprint is hell-bent on focusing on Heathcliff and Cathy, yet it rarely pauses long enough to do them full justice. Their tension crackles briefly, but struggles to sustain itself beyond a point.

Think of it as decorative poetry: ornate, aesthetically rich, but shallow beneath the surface. At almost every juncture, "Wuthering Heights"  comes close to landing the tragedy of a moment, only to abandon it and move on.

There is striking visual poetry throughout. Cathy’s mansion resembles a dungeon from a bleak noir, a space where Heathcliff grows up after being brought home from the streets by her father, less as a son and more as something to be possessed. In stark contrast stands the palace Edgar (Shazad Latif) inhabits, lifted straight from an opulent British opera. He paints the walls of a room to match Cathy’s skin tone and even adds a freckle to mirror hers. Yet for Cathy, this devotion feels like another kind of prison.

Just as this metaphor begins to fully register, Fennell flips the narrative, rightly so, but not always in the right way. Ideas are introduced only to be abandoned, sometimes forever, sometimes temporarily, leaving inconsistencies painfully visible. Everything is broad-stroked; moments rarely breathe, and insanity is neither explained nor shown developing gradually. The audience is expected to simply accept what unfolds and make peace with it. The resulting jump cuts and tonal shifts are stark, and often distracting.

There are two phenomenal lead actors on screen, supported by equally capable co-actors. Robbie delivers a strong performance as Catherine, capturing her volatility and restraint in equal measure. Elordi brings Heathcliff’s internal turmoil to life, leaning into the character’s rage and wounded pride. However, more often than not, these performances are undermined by a script that shows little interest in probing deeper or finding complexity beyond surface-level chaos.

While Heathcliff remains the novel’s most discussed character, Catherine is often overlooked despite being equally destructive. She carries a lethality similar to Shakespearean figures like Macbeth, but her world denies her the freedom to act on it. The film hints at this complexity early on. It opens with sounds that suggest intimacy, even orgasm, only to reveal a man being hanged in the town square on a day known as Hanging Day. What follows is a disturbing celebration. At the centre of it stands Cathy, unflinching, almost detached. For a character introduced with such striking confidence, Fennell does not develop her with the same precision going forward.

Suzie Davies’ production design is immaculate, grounding the film in a tactile, lived-in world. Jacqueline Durran’s cinematography is equally impressive, capturing the texture of this landscape with remarkable sensitivity. The visual poetry works in almost every frame, allowing the audience to feel the cold, the dampness, and the weight of the spaces. Anthony Willis’ music complements the story effectively, never overpowering it but always making its presence felt.

"Wuthering Heights"  could have been many great things. Instead, it settles for being an abruptly paced and hurried costume drama. While most of its elements work in harmony, Fennell seems to be operating on a different track altogether. The result is a film rich in intent and atmosphere, but one that never quite allows its tragedy to fully take root.