on love and monsters
It somehow seems incredibly fitting that the adaptation of Wuthering Heights dropped just as I was starting my own adaptation of a pre-existing literary work (albeit a play rather than a film). While there are nearly half a century and an entire Atlantic Ocean between them and their authors, both are often considered feminist literary hallmarks with some similar themes and gothic tones. There has been much contention in the reviews and social media takes on WH, with vastly different takes. It is very different and yet I think Emily Bronte would approve. No one wants a boring book-exact adaptations of a well-known text, especially when there have been countless others over the last two centuries, some more rigid than others.
Fennel's Wuthering Heights is less a retelling and more a vibe. A mood. A piece of film art in itself. As someone who once claimed I had a Heathcliff complex in my romantic choices, he actually gets off a little lighter here, where his brutish ways are still there, but Catherine Earnshaw becomes the monster who makes a monster out of him. There has also been much discussion of the fate of Isabella Linton, who not only has a larger role and far more agency than Bronte originally gave her, but also is featured in some of the film's most interesting examinations of kink and consent. While we lose the structure of the original novel, it builds its own structure bookmarked between a brutal hanging that Catherine eagerly enjoys and her death at the end (which may be the only flaw I saw in the film, its sort of abrupt wrap up that just felt like it needed one more scene. ) There are meditations on the dangers of childbirth, of captivity, of femininity and class. While, as many say in a fair point , they could have chosen a more varied ethnicity for Heathcliff (who many believe has a darker complexion than the other characters.)
We still get the longing of lingering glances, but we also get the payoff in a brief sprint and montage of scandalous behavior between the adult and torn apart lovers, complete with a rain-soaked tryst that puts The Notebook to shame. Its also a very lush and squishy movie--gelatin, egg yolks, breathlessly fondled bread dough. We also get startling visuals like parallel scenes of a pig slaughter and a miscarriage. Like many have said, it feels like a fever dream that captures a very subjective interpretation that is less about restraint and longing glancing and more about what happens when you give into those desires (nothing good.)
My own adventures with The Yellow Wallpaper are going well so far, and also has me thinking about love and monsters. So far I have just a couple scenes, and have been working some of the original text into the dialogue and a set of letters that opens some of the scenes. As a couple, the husband and wife have a scene that brings out the worst in both of them and its a push and pull. I am hoping to flesh out the original story a bit into something lengthier than the many one-act versions I've encountered. So we will see how it goes in the coming weeks.
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