Yet another remake of the romantic classic Wuthering Heights. It's a book I've read several times, and each time it's a rich tapestry of mood, nuance, thwarted emotions, sexual tension and passionate unrequited love.
Now we have Margo Robbie who looks like a blonde hausfrau rather than the wild dark slip of a girl that was Cathy, (and at 35 she's too old looking IMO) a soundtrack from Hell and a Fifty Shades of Shagfest. I mean, this shouldn't be allowed. Half the magic of the original was the passion between Healthcliff and Cathy, the doomed love affair that never really was. I don't want to see Heathcliff's thrutching buttocks or Cathy's tits. I want my own imagination to run barefoot through the whole movie.
That bouquet looks like one of those cheap Temu nappy things you buy shaped as flowers.
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I haven't read the original story or seen too much about this latest movie, but they seem to have turned a romantic tale into one of sexual carnality. If that's the case it misses the important point of the original which is the romantic or spiritual ideal of a soulmate without whom we are somehow incomplete. In the original Catherine goes as far as to say "I am Heathcliff".
I haven't read the original story or seen too much about this latest movie, but they seem to have turned a romantic tale into one of sexual carnality. If that's the case it misses the important point of the original which is the romantic or spiritual ideal of a soulmate without whom we are somehow incomplete. In the original Catherine goes as far as to say "I am Heathcliff".
And who can forget this line....
My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it, I'm well aware, as winter changes the trees. My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary.
Somehow,"fuck me hard, Heathcliff!" doesn't quite cut the mustard.
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Your name is being called by sacred things that are not addressed nor listened to. Sometimes they blow trumpets
