Wuthering Heights is back in the cultural forefront with the new adaptation out in February. With that, it brings a new wave of references and takes on the classic novel out in spades. Whether you liked the new adaptation or found it too far from the source material to stomach, you’ve got an opinion! And so does everyone else!
Like with a lot of classic novels, this isn’t the first time pop culture has made reference to the gothic tragedy first published by Emily Brontë in 1847. The tortured story of Heathcliff and Cathy is poked at quite frequently in modern-day media, and many, many Pinterest pins and Tumblr blogs love to share one of the novel’s most enduring quotes about souls and whatever they’re made of. It’s an enduring, if polarizing, novel that has wormed its way into the vernacular of today, especially with the main characters. Many a TV character or modern novel has made reference to the dour, angry leading man or the emotionally volatile leading woman. What better time to take a look at just some of the numerous references to the classic novel in pop culture over the years?
In literature, the novel has been adapted into plays, like John Davison’s Wuthering Heights: a play from the novel in 1942, as well as riffed on in poetry. Sylvia Plath, for example, wrote a poem titled “Wuthering Heights,” though it’s debated whether there’s any connection to the novel rather than the location, as did Ted Hughes.
Modern authors have taken on the novel’s complicated, for some romantic, character dynamic, adapting the story in different lenses like Tasha Suri’s What Souls are Made of, Layne Fargo’s The Favorites, in which Kat and Heath are figure skaters, or Windward Heights by Maryse Condé, which sets the story in the Caribbean instead of the windswept moors of Yorkshire. You can’t forget to mention the Twilight references to Wuthering Heights, in which young Bella reads the romantic tragedy, quotes from it, and makes a declaration that the real problem of the novel is Catherine, not Heathcliff, after all.
Musically, of course, Kate Bush’s 1978 song, “Wuthering Heights“, is a classic take on the novel with a must-watch ethereal music video to match in which the young singer dances around in a white dress while singing about Cathy coming home to Heathcliff. You’ve also got Yoko Ono’s “You’re the One” that references Heathcliff and Cathy, and “Cath” by Death Cab for Cutie.
There are also operas that were adapted from the story: Carlisle Floyd’s in 1958, for example, and Bernard Herrmann’s, which was first recorded in 1966 and then staged in 1982.
Film and screen adaptations aren’t new to Brontë’s enduring novel either. Filmmakers have been taking a crack at depicting the story as far back as 1920 in a silent film by A.V. Bramble. Soon after came a film adaptation in 1939, directed by William Wyler, with subsequent adaptations to follow, featuring Richard Burton (1958), Ralph Fiennes (1992), and Tom Hardy (2009) as the leading man, Heathcliff.
Television hasn’t escaped the enduring vocabulary of Heathcliff and Cathy’s love, either. Shows like Seinfeld, The West Wing, Sabrina the Teenage Witch, and even My Little Pony make reference in some way to the story, its characters, and their moody moors. Often, these references need little more than to say the name Heathcliff for those in the know to understand the comparison to the brooding villainous leading man.
This is by no means a comprehensive look at the novel’s pop culture references, either. It seems that anywhere and everywhere you look, the doomed love of Heathcliff and Cathy is there, waiting for you to pick up on the story’s enduring impact in pop culture. It’s clear that this take on the book in the new film adaptation isn’t the first, and it certainly won’t be the last to take Brontë’s source material and run with it. (Addison Rizer)
The Beaver sees Wuthering Heights 2026 as 'The Latest Embodiment of our Literacy Crisis'.
“Wuthering Heights” is sold as ‘the greatest love story of all time’ at the expense of almost all of the novel’s other themes. Brontë’s work was about revenge, class struggle, power, whiteness, and generational trauma. Rather than incorporating these tensions into the relationship between Cathy and Heathcliff, the film instantly pairs them together as soulmates, star-crossed lovers separated by circumstance. This is not the toxic love portrayed in the book. Everything unspoken and rich with ‘maybes’ was simply resolved, explicitly having them talk about their feelings to each other and repeatedly showing them having sex throughout the movie. Fennell’s Heathcliff is not brutal or terrifying like the characters tell us over and over. He never behaves abominably and even asks for consent to use Isabella to avenge himself against Catherine, which she turns out to enjoy. The taboo of Cathy’s desire for him is thus completely void of meaning in the film. Heathcliff is not a man who abuses the innocent Isabella, having murdered her dog on their wedding day; he is nothing more than a horny and moody newly rich man. Catherine is not a torn girl corrupted by the workings of the world; she appears innately mean and stupid, obsessed with Heathcliff, who comes nowhere near the monster he is supposed to be.
Such narrative streamlining is nothing new for book-to-screen adaptations.
Of course, this isn’t always a bad thing. Take Stanley Kubrick’s interpretation of The Shining, for example. He considered Stephen King’s book as a jumping-off point rather than a full guide for his movie. But it didn’t matter because Kubrick’s The Shining stood on its own as a masterpiece. “Wuthering Heights” is not a new interpretation of Brontë’s novel. Fennell doesn’t add new dimensions, reframe storylines, or reinterpret the material to make it her own; she simply strips the original story of all its intricacies. Emily Brontë’s book is about characters who are hateful but still full of enough complexity that we are desperate to learn their messy tale. Emerald Fennell’s film is merely about two people overcoming obstacles to fall in love. There are plenty of movies loosely inspired by classic literature (Clueless, 10 Things I Hate About You, Anyone but You, for example) that acknowledge their influences but do not claim to be adaptations of the original, as Fennell did with Wuthering Heights.
And this matters. At a time when we rely increasingly on AI for everyday tasks, when we do not read as much, and when polarisation has replaced nuanced debate, promoting a film that dumbs down one of the greatest novels of the 19th century as a ‘love story’ is dangerous. I have seen many people say that this movie is very enjoyable without an “annoying English lit major in your ear.” And that scares me. Literature is by nature political, and Wuthering Heights is no exception. This is not just a ‘fun time.’ It feeds into our current literacy crisis. It is whitewashing. It is an erasure of the original material. I would have no problem if this film had been billed as an original. But if you have seen the movie and think you are now familiar with the story of Wuthering Heights, please go read the novel and realise how far you were from the truth. (Chloé Cerisier)
As an English major, of course, I have a critique of this film; it is by no means deserving of the classic’s title. I read the Brontë novel for the first time about four years ago. I found it to be a long build-up of trauma and complex motives, with a satisfying ending that leaves one wanting nothing more. This movie was anything but satisfying. It eliminated characters critical to the original plot, including the narrator of the novel, one of 11 characters left out. The entire second half of the book is missing, and the movie’s ending had no similarity to that part of the book.
However, rather than offering a straightforward comparison between the film and the novel, which has been widely discussed in the media, I believe there is a broader societal insight to consider. The renewed attention to the novel, prompted by this adaptation, highlights shifts in literary engagement and the increasing displacement of classic literature by film. Moreover, the deliberate changes made in these adaptations reflect the intended audience and shape our engagement with the story.
I cannot help but wonder if this signals a broader cultural shift, one I find deeply troubling: the death of the novel. While there will always be individuals who appreciate and immerse themselves in literary worlds, I question whether classics such as Brontë’s Wuthering Heights have become too inaccessible for the average reader. Fennell’s film significantly dilutes the original novel; although it was never intended to be identical, the aspects it emphasizes are noteworthy. Rather than exploring themes of class, race, revenge and psychological obsession, the adaptation presents the characters as overtly sexualized, and the story as predominantly an intimate romantic one. In 1847, when the novel was published, there were no explicit sex scenes; the narrative focused on the soul and the tragedy of love. The film amplifies the characters’ destructive and petty actions, reimagining their relationship as a conventional romance, which was not present in the novel. Additionally, the generational narrative is omitted in the absence of any children from either Cathy or Heathcliff, as evidenced by the death of Cathy’s child at the film’s conclusion.
Why do we feel the need to dilute these complex stories and reject attempts at literary accuracy? Are we losing our appetite for complexity?
Classics are being adapted to reflect modern social values, to captivate your attention.
There is no quick satisfaction from reading; it is a slow burn that even when the fire has died, smoke warms the air for longer. People crave instant gratification and are left pining for days. With film, what they’re given is conclusive. Stories are made more exciting to draw in the audience’s attention and make them feel it’s worth their time. We’re evolving into consumers who prefer our stories to be chewed and digested for us rather than attempting to understand the uncomfortable process that comes from real understanding.
Not to mention, the language of classic literature is perceived to be far too dense and old for people to understand with ease today. People don’t want to have to put in cognitive effort to achieve entertainment. Our digital habits are leading to a decline in engagement with slow-paced texts, texts that require effort.
After the film ended, I overheard a group of teenagers in the restroom. One girl remarked that her mom had given her the book years ago. However, having seen the movie, she felt there was no need to read it. She already had the story, and now, the visualization of her favorite actor in it. This moment spoke volumes about how adaptations can supplant, rather than supplement, these great classics. [...]
We are witnessing the death of the in-depth exploration of moral, philosophical and social structures critiqued and examined in classical novels. This is not to say that film does not explore these topics; contemporary films reflect societal anxieties, values and shifts. Literature, however, has the greater ability to create space for interpretation and learning. Film adaptations can be enjoyable on their own. But to equate them with the classics that they borrow from is to do a disservice to the intricacy of the originals. If we truly value these stories and all they offer, we must resist thinking of screen versions as substitutes and encourage people to experience the richness of literature itself.
I hope that we can all remember the experience of a good book. Remember: no adaptation can replace the experience of losing and finding ourselves within the pages. (Ellie Walsh)
Missing Perspectives might be reading a bit too much into it all (although apparently by saying that we are 'refusing to engage with critical thinking for the sake of enjoying our slop in peace').
The “it’s not that deep crowd” only further justify this mentality. Those that claim that the racism in Wuthering Heights is a coincidence or urge us not to read too deeply into what is meant to be “just a steamy romance movie” refuse to engage with critical thinking for the sake of enjoying their slop in peace. Denial, denial, denial. Mindless consumption. White supremacy. Anti-intellectualism. I’m just a girl. The toxic cocktail that has made our society into what it is today.
We are in a media literacy crisis. Anti-intellectualism is a tool of the right to suppress critical thinking, so we can’t push back against harmful narratives, racist propaganda and revisionist history. The fact that we are being told to ignore Fennell’s in-film politics, and even what is right in front of our eyes, should ring alarm bells.
Wuthering Heights is not a right-wing dog whistle, but it is a litmus test for how much we are willing to let slide. Netflix has recently revealed it will be making a modernised adaptation of The Picture of Dorian Gray called The Grays, in which Basil and Dorian will be rewritten as siblings, erasing the text’s queer themes. This does not feel like a coincidence.
When we enter fascist times, what we see is a push by those in power to reimagine history as being without the undesirable groups they seek to eradicate. We’re seeing this happen in real time, and we can’t let it slide. (Soaliha Iqbal)
By all means fight the rampant fascism of our times but maybe pick a worthier, less imaginary battle than a novel adaptation and its casting? Goodness know there are plenty more battles.
LSU Media discusses '“Wuthering Heights” and the Rise of Toxic Relationships: You don’t need a Heathcliff, Trust Me'.
This is not a healthy love. It is disrespectful not only to the source material, but also to our own intelligence to suggest that we should view it as ‘the greatest love story of all time’.
What is even more disrespectful and degrading to the source material is how Fennell presents Wuthering Heights as exploration of the lustful, Byronic hero, setting Heathcliff alongside the likes of Dracula or Eric from the Phantom of the Opera. There is a crucial difference between Heathcliff and the aforementioned. Yes, he is violent and prone to dramatic mood swings, but his ‘love’ for Cathy and their relationship is not driven by physical touch in the novel. Heathcliff rather shares a spiritual, almost supernatural connection with Cathy. He is not driven by lust or sexual desire. Fennell’s characterisation however disregards this aspect and instead favours her Saltburn style aestheticism. Margot Robbie and Jacob Elordi spend more time dancing around each other than taking the time to properly explore their friendship and bond as adults. It does not make sense to me that Heathcliff and Cathy had not explored their feelings for each other before, as they both seem to be in their mid 20’s in this adaptation.
“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same” is the most notable line from Brontë’s novel for a reason.
Furthermore, Fennell’s choice to cast Jacob Elordi as Heathcliff is a complete misjudgement of who he is. Heathcliff is described as plucked from “the streets of Liverpool” with a “dark skinned” appearance. Brontë’s reference to Liverpool, to me, strongly suggests her intention for Heathcliff to be an orphan because of Liverpool’s slave trade in the late 18th century. His race is crucial to his arc; an outsider to the Earnshaw family who is never fully accepted because of his background. Instead of challenging racial prejudices through introducing an adaptation of Wuthering Heights that takes the subject of Hearhcliff’s race seriously (as many former adaptations have disregarded this topic and cast white actors), Fennell instead gives into them, and ends up dismissing the most fundamental part of Heathcliff’s character and therefore the overall novel. Her choice is reductive: Heathcliff’s treatment as the outsider and his arc do not make sense without the racial power dynamics at play in the novel.
I was also left feeling a pit of uncomfortable dread towards the portrayal of Isabella Linton. From literal ‘puppy play’ to sexual abuse, Isabella is painted as a participant in her own assault. Again, a misreading of a character from the novel. Brontë’s Isabella blindly trusts her marriage to Heathcliff, hoping for love and companionship. She is not stupid but rather naive, acting as a literary vehicle for how upper-class women were controlled by the men in their lives without choice. Therefore, to depict Isabella as a participant in her own erasure is insulting to the purpose of her character. It is unforgivable to portray Isabella as rather compliant in her abuse. What initially served as a symbol of hope for women in toxic marriages is completely absent in Fennell’s film, and the implication that she is compliant in her own abuse is damaging to women’s perceptions of relationships and romance, as well as an inaccuracy to the novel and Brontë’s intentions.
Overall, even if Fennell had done “Wuthering Heights” justice in her adaptation, we should not be mistaking Emily Bronte’s novel for ‘the greatest love story of all time’. Heathcliff and Cathy are both selfish and cruel.
These are not the ‘chains of love’; these are the chains of blind lust and obsession. (Clara Hayhurst)
However, a contributor to
Roger Ebert argues that 'Whatever You Think of “Wuthering Heights,” We Need More Filmmakers Like Emerald Fennell'.
To be fair, much of the commentary is warranted. Wuthering Heights is a beloved nineteenth-century novel with a transgressive heart. Fennell is a buzzy, frequently provocative storyteller who gleefully embraces excess in all its forms. The idea that she might take on not just a period piece but one of literature’s most famous love stories was a fascinating one, the kind of project that naturally lends itself to all sorts of discussion. And, as it turns out, a wide range of opinions.
Reviews of Fennell’s “Wuthering Heights” have been mixed, with critics lamenting its significant structural changes from the source material, its revision of the races of several characters in a story where race matters, and its refusal to directly confront the class issues that are so central to the original novel. The movie’s fans are quick to point out its rich visual style, love of anachronism, and unabashed embrace of the toxic darkness at the heart of its central love story. Some viewers love her desperate, erotic take on Cathy and Heathcliff; others insist that, despite the steamy sex scenes, the film doesn’t get freaky enough. Perhaps this, in the end, is truly what Fennell’s films do best: make us argue with one another. [...]
This goes double for something like Wuthering Heights, an uncomfortable, dark tale of class, generational abuse, trauma, and revenge that features toxic leads, a doomed romance, and a multigenerational revenge plot that’s so difficult to untangle that most adaptations don’t even try. (The vast majority of film and TV remakes of Brontë’s work almost immediately excise its back half, as Fennell herself does.) Adapting a work like this forces you to make choices and inevitably disappoint. After all, the very act of adaptation is subjective, and some of the best onscreen versions of famous novels (“The Godfather,”“The Shining,”“Dune,” Guillermo del Toro’s recent take on “Frankenstein”) shred their source material with just as much gusto and receive much less criticism for it.
This isn’t to say there isn’t plenty to complain about with regard to Fennell’s films. Her work is purposefully indulgent in both tone and subject matter. She has a repeated blind spot about class issues, is often incredibly unsubtle in her storytelling, and wields shock value like a hammer rather than a scalpel. Her movies aren’t for everyone, it’s true. But as a director and a storyteller, it’s hard to ignore that Fennell also likes to take big swings, gleefully embracing the kind of narrative risks that don’t always pay off, but that land like a thunderclap when they do. And although her frequently provocative style can certainly be polarizing, it’s also necessary, perhaps more than ever these days, when our pop culture landscape is dotted with so many sequels, reboots, and retreads that are little more than slight variations on the same kind of story.
Love her or hate her, Fennell’s got guts. Her work loves to push boundaries, to make statements, to get people talking. Not everything she tries works, but every choice is made with the kind of full-throated commitment to her vision that too many filmmakers lack. We need more of that kind of attitude in our moviemaking, not less.
“Wuthering Heights” is Fennell at her least subversive but perhaps most ambitious. Her take on Brontë’s classic is just that: hers. Viewers may not agree with her particular interpretation—in her foreword to a new edition of the novel, she speaks of recapturing the feeling she experienced reading it for the first time—but her determination to do things her own way is deeply admirable. And the result is not so much an adaptation but a reimagining, a take that explores the feelings connected to the text as much as any of the words on the page.
This isn’t that unusual. Genre films are, as often as not, as much about what they make us feel as any specific action that’s happening onscreen at any given moment. Sci-fi epics and superhero blockbusters often don’t even make sense, comprised of the kind of technobabble that falls apart if you squint at it funny. Why shouldn’t Fennell embrace the idea of a “Wuthering Heights” that is little more than the burning emotion and sharp-edged eroticism that’s conveyed in the original but rarely stated outright?
Brontë’s novel is, among many other things, a tale of destructive, frustrated, haunting love, and Fennell’s film is too, a mix of nightmare and ecstasy in which vibes rule the day. It’s hardly what anyone would call a particularly faithful adaptation of the source material. But it gets so much of its spirit exactly right, a translation that speaks to many of the reasons we all keep coming back to this story in the first place.
That is, of course, what good storytellers do. Fennell will almost certainly keep right on enraging the critics who find her work unsubtle, excessive, or stubbornly unwilling to interrogate larger intersectional issues, even as she delights those who embrace her sharp wit, sumptuous details, and her feverish determination to have it her own way. And we’ll keep talking about whatever she makes next—for good or ill—because we need her, and filmmakers like her, whether we want to admit it or not. (Lacy Baugher)
But set design, no matter how striking, is not enough to save a movie that seems so content to say so little. It’s easier to enjoy the movie when I stop comparing it to the book, but I still feel that Fennell prioritized shock value and visual impact over good storytelling. Even the steamy relationship at the center of the romance falls flat, despite all the corsets, sideburns, and gorgeous Australians involved. In glossing over the ugliness and complexity of Brontë’s original work, Fennell has also discarded the emotional depth that makes the original “Wuthering Heights” such a powerful story. (Anya Petrone Slepyan)
Collider lists '10 Movie Characters Who Look Nothing Like Their Book Counterparts' and of course Heathcliff is in there:
Jacob Elordi as Heathcliff
'Wuthering Heights' (2026)
One of the easiest examples to include here, Jacob Elordi being cast as Heathcliff in the 2026 version of Wuthering Heights did indeed raise quite a few eyebrows. There was an attempt to stress that this wasn’t Wuthering Heights entirely, and was instead “Wuthering Heights” (the poster includes the quotation marks), so you could argue that mitigates the casting to some extent (they also really only adapted half the novel, if that).
Jacob Elordi very much isn't dark-skinned, or of any ethnicity other than Caucasian.
Still, Heathcliff is said to be dark-skinned in the book, and there are some other less politically correct (by today’s standards) words used to describe him, and then Jacob Elordi very much isn't dark-skinned, or of any ethnicity other than Caucasian. The 2011 version of Wuthering Heights, directed by Andrea Arnold, is one where Heathcliff – as both a child and an adult – looks more in line with how he’s described in the original book. (Jeremy Urquhart)
For this skin-deep analysis (no pun intended?), previous white Heathcliffs such as Laurence Olivier and Tom Hardy (to name but two of many) are fine. It's just Jacob Elordi that's wrong.
A contributor to
The Conversation reminds readers that 'Female writers and readers have been challenging the patriarchy for more than 200 years'.
Emerald Fennell’s film adaptation of Wuthering Heights has been pulling in the crowds recently, which is quite a feat in troubled times for cinema. Published in 1847, Emily Brontë’s tale of psycho-sexual power dynamics is just one of many enduring female-authored 19th century novels exploring female sexuality and desire for autonomy. These characters existed within a system that allowed women few education or career opportunities.
The ever-popular work of canonical British female writers such as Jane Austen, the (other) Brontë sisters and George Eliot were very different in style and tone. But they also draw attention to various forms of gender inequality.
Their novels focused on issues such as inheritance and property laws, the pressure on young women to marry for financial security, the sexual double standard and the lack of career prospects for women. In doing so, they gave voice to the frustrations of an expanding female readership in the 19th century.
The work of these and lesser-known female authors was crucial in shaping and fuelling public debates on what was referred to in the mid-Victorian period as “the woman question” (women’s right to vote). It later became the first-wave feminist movement in the late 19th and early 20th century. (Roberta Garrett)
Times Now News features the 'idiot plot' and '7 books where it all could've been avoided' including
2. Wuthering Heights – Emily Brontë
Catherine and Heathcliff are what happens when two people decide vulnerability is overrated. Instead of confessing love clearly, they choose pride and emotional theatrics. The result is generational trauma, broken families, and extremely aggressive weather. If either one had simply said, “I love you, but I’m scared,” we would have had fewer ghosts and fewer revenge plots. But repression apparently builds better atmosphere.
3. Jane Eyre – Charlotte Brontë
Mr. Rochester proposes marriage and somehow forgets to mention one very significant detail about his existing marital situation. It is not a small detail. Jane eventually finds out, and everything unravels. Could he have disclosed this earlier? Absolutely. Would that have prevented the gothic emotional explosion? Yes. But then we would not get attic secrets, dramatic departures, and moral triumph. The plot runs purely on selective disclosure.
Early Bird Books tackles 'Where to Begin with the Brontë Sisters'.
Mental Floss lists '6 Novels Charlotte Brontë Loved (and 6 She Loathed)'. A contributor to
Her Campus reviews Wuthering Heights 2026.
El Periódico (Spain) reviews Charli XCX's Wuthering Heights album.
Nova discusses 'How Kate Bush’s ‘Wuthering Heights’ Changed Pop Forever'.
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