It was with some trepidation that I sat to view a film version of 'Wuthering Heights' (made in 1992), especially one that called itself 'Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights'. Such titles from Hollywood are by norm the outcomes of copyright wrangles with little intention if any of actually paying homage to the original source, and more likely to defile their memory. This is, I warn you an unqualified review since I have read only a small part of the book (I'd started on it but it seemed too dark and insane to read en route to work, I promise I'll get back to it), but I'll say one thing: I've seen a very good film.
As expected the story essentially deals with the doomed romance between Heathcliff and his foster sister Cathy and the trail of human destruction wreaked by the former when he feels that the world has cheated him of his companion. The film is shot in close communion with the elements of nature that help to accentuate the raw passions that fuel its narrative. Color is an integral part of the screenplay, be it the warm hue of sunshine that plays on Cathy's innocent countenance in happier moments or the sepulchral black outfit that is Heathcliff's identity in the stormy sections. Music (Ryuichi Sakamoto) flows like a moor wind segueing through the various parts of the film, returning periodically to its distinctive title theme.
This is in no way your standard Hollywood costume romance and no small measure of the credit goes to the actors. Juliette Binoche (Cathy Earnshaw/Catherine Linton) is the pearl of the casting and as the object of Heathcliff's obsessions she is almost a justification for his vengeful acts. Her performance is this simmering pot of innocent charm and searing passion and it is difficult to come out of this film without being utterly touched by her delicate, yet compelling air. Ralph Fiennes' Heathcliff seemed a bit stiff in the opening scenes but picks up steam quickly (warmed, I assume by Cathy's love) and is stunningly savage when the film rushes headlong into its darker sections, reviving the memory of those qualities that made us wake up to his Amon Goeth (Schindler's List).
The film contrary to expectations does not flinch away from the more cruel aspects of the story (although whether to the novel's extent I cannot say). Heathcliff is not at any point of the plot a nice man to know, and the more we know him the less we like of him. He is an animal that stops at nothing to get what he wants and destroy what he can't get.
There are flaws, yes. The parts dealing with their youth seem glossed over and less credible. The Bible-reading Joseph is a mere comic cameo and Hindley Earnshaw not as spiteful as he seemed of what I'd read in the novel. Hareton (Hindley's son), a Heathcliff clone to match Cathy's daughter Catherine, appears to have been played by a magna cum laude of the Charlie Sheen School of Acting for the Bewildered. The character of Lockwood (whose entry into Wuthering Heights commences the novel) is dealt with carelessly and could have been altogether dropped from the narrative. The climax seems a letdown (Heathcliff shown to join the spirit of Cathy in a brightly lit unknown after-abode) and rather abrupt, but better abrupt than tediously drawn out. For God-knows-what reason, the plot is revealed as a narration by a hooded monk-type played by Skinhead O' Connor (restricted, thankfully, to the opening and closing sections of the film).
Still the good parts of this film far outshine its failings and I hope that those who have read the complete novel will be able to agree that this is one amongst few films based on a classic book that can be watched without cringing in embarassment.
As expected the story essentially deals with the doomed romance between Heathcliff and his foster sister Cathy and the trail of human destruction wreaked by the former when he feels that the world has cheated him of his companion. The film is shot in close communion with the elements of nature that help to accentuate the raw passions that fuel its narrative. Color is an integral part of the screenplay, be it the warm hue of sunshine that plays on Cathy's innocent countenance in happier moments or the sepulchral black outfit that is Heathcliff's identity in the stormy sections. Music (Ryuichi Sakamoto) flows like a moor wind segueing through the various parts of the film, returning periodically to its distinctive title theme.
This is in no way your standard Hollywood costume romance and no small measure of the credit goes to the actors. Juliette Binoche (Cathy Earnshaw/Catherine Linton) is the pearl of the casting and as the object of Heathcliff's obsessions she is almost a justification for his vengeful acts. Her performance is this simmering pot of innocent charm and searing passion and it is difficult to come out of this film without being utterly touched by her delicate, yet compelling air. Ralph Fiennes' Heathcliff seemed a bit stiff in the opening scenes but picks up steam quickly (warmed, I assume by Cathy's love) and is stunningly savage when the film rushes headlong into its darker sections, reviving the memory of those qualities that made us wake up to his Amon Goeth (Schindler's List).
The film contrary to expectations does not flinch away from the more cruel aspects of the story (although whether to the novel's extent I cannot say). Heathcliff is not at any point of the plot a nice man to know, and the more we know him the less we like of him. He is an animal that stops at nothing to get what he wants and destroy what he can't get.
There are flaws, yes. The parts dealing with their youth seem glossed over and less credible. The Bible-reading Joseph is a mere comic cameo and Hindley Earnshaw not as spiteful as he seemed of what I'd read in the novel. Hareton (Hindley's son), a Heathcliff clone to match Cathy's daughter Catherine, appears to have been played by a magna cum laude of the Charlie Sheen School of Acting for the Bewildered. The character of Lockwood (whose entry into Wuthering Heights commences the novel) is dealt with carelessly and could have been altogether dropped from the narrative. The climax seems a letdown (Heathcliff shown to join the spirit of Cathy in a brightly lit unknown after-abode) and rather abrupt, but better abrupt than tediously drawn out. For God-knows-what reason, the plot is revealed as a narration by a hooded monk-type played by Skinhead O' Connor (restricted, thankfully, to the opening and closing sections of the film).
Still the good parts of this film far outshine its failings and I hope that those who have read the complete novel will be able to agree that this is one amongst few films based on a classic book that can be watched without cringing in embarassment.