What a wicked, wicked film this is and the depths to which non-academics misunderstand Wuthering Heights reeks throughout this lush and engaging period drama.
Emily Bronte never had an affair, she never married, and she is quoted in an earlier biopic from 1979 in her preference for friendship over the fleeting illusion of romance, in her preference for holly over wild dog's roses.
Wuthering Heights is many things but it has never been a silly romance novel. The first thirty pages or so are hilarious pitch black comedy, making a mockery of middle class manners in the rudeness and brutal company of "the inmates of Wuthering Heights."
As the story of Heathcliff and Cathy unfolds, it becomes readily apparent that Heathcliff is a full blown sociopath and Cathy is criticized for throwing her life away on him. The last 200 pages of the book feature a psychopathically evil Heathcliff, a dead Cathy, and a rather obvious derision of their unholy union in favor of other characters like Nelly Dean and Cathy's daughter Catherine.
Someone who doesn't have the background in literature to understand the novel should definitely not be making a movie about Emily Bronte's life, but it's a fun film if you can get over the horror of the blatant lies.
