• When does an adaptation become a retelling?

The new ‘Wuthering Heights’ movie (quotation marks very much intended) has taken the box office and public discourse by storm. We assume by now you have either watched the new film or at the very least have strong opinions about it. 

This will be largely spoiler-free, though how does one truly spoil a story that has been in the public domain for over 175 years? The Sunday Morning Brunch, like many fans of the original story, rushed to cinemas, and here are our unfiltered thoughts. 

The 2026 adaptation of ‘Wuthering Heights,’ produced, written and directed by Emerald Fennell, arrives not as a quiet period drama but as a stylised, cinematic statement piece. 

Loosely based on Emily Brontë’s 1847 novel, the film stars Margot Robbie as Catherine Earnshaw and Jacob Elordi as Heathcliff, and was described by Fennell as an attempt to “recreate the feeling of a teenage girl reading this book for the first time”. And really, that description tells you everything. 

The film very much carries Fennell’s now recognisable ‘style over substance’ approach to storytelling. And before that reads like criticism, let us clarify: we mean that as a compliment. Fennell’s films are lush, indulgent, visually intoxicating, and unapologetically heightened. We were among those who thoroughly enjoyed ‘Saltburn,’ and despite its polarising reception, ‘Promising Young Woman’ undeniably left a cultural imprint.

That said, the film ‘Wuthering Heights’ perhaps suffered most from being called ‘Wuthering Heights.’ Yes, the stylisation of the title in quotation marks and Fennell’s open admission that this was her own teenage-girl interpretation should have prepared audiences for something unconventional. 

Yet expectations are powerful things. For a novel so beloved (even if we personally found it more atmospheric than exhilarating), fidelity matters to many viewers. And this film is not a faithful retelling.

Instead, what we are given feels far more like ‘Cathy’ and we say that with intention. Without veering too deeply into spoiler territory, the film largely focuses on the first half of the novel, centring Catherine’s desires, her turmoil, her romantic intensity, her guilt, her petulance, her growth, and ultimately her unravelling. The characters who remain most prominent are those orbiting Cathy’s emotional world. The love story is heightened, romanticised, almost mythologised through her lens.

Had the film been marketed explicitly as Catherine’s story, a romanticised, fever-dream retelling shaped by her perspective, much of the backlash may have softened. Because through Cathy’s eyes, Heathcliff is not simply brooding or vengeful; he is magnetic, dangerous, irresistible. The darkness becomes part of the allure. And suddenly, the tonal shift makes sense.

But when you call it ‘Wuthering Heights,’ you invoke a gothic epic of generational consequence. What Fennell delivers instead is something more intimate, more indulgent, and far more personal – a moody romance filtered through heightened emotion and aesthetic boldness. Whether that works for you may depend entirely on whether you’re willing to let go of Brontë’s Yorkshire moors and step into Fennell’s windswept fantasy.

A balancing act 

Given the swirl of opinions surrounding ‘Wuthering Heights’ as an adaptation, Brunch found ourselves asking a broader question: when does an adaptation drift so far from its source that it almost forfeits the right to call itself one? How far is too far? And who gets to decide – the director, the studio, or the audience?

To explore this, we spoke to Sri Lankan film producer Basuru Siriwardana, who offered a pragmatic industry perspective. While he admitted he was not deeply familiar with the specific source material of this film, he understood the mechanics behind adapting beloved literature.

“A story that comes with a built-in audience is always appealing,” he explained. “From a producer’s standpoint, that existing fan base is incredibly valuable. But with that also comes responsibility.”

That responsibility, he said, lay in honouring at least the spirit of the original work. “Creatives absolutely have the liberty to interpret literature; art is its own creation,” he noted. “But regardless of interpretation, you must maintain a certain level of integrity to ensure the final product is recognisable to fans.”

At the same time, he acknowledged the balancing act involved. Producers, after all, are not only caretakers of artistic vision but also stewards of commercial viability. “Personally, I like to back stories that appeal to mass audiences,” he said candidly. “You want something entertaining to the widest possible demographic.”

For Basuru, success lies in navigating both camps. “If a director’s vision can somewhat placate original fans while also speaking to newer audiences, especially those who may have never read the book, then I would consider that a success.”

As for the question of faithfulness, he disregards the idea of a strict percentage scale. “I don’t think anyone has the authority to say whether something stops being an adaptation if it’s less than 70%, 60%, or even 50% faithful,” he reflected. “It’s art, after all. Ultimately, it’s up to the audience to decide.”

Adaptation vs. interpretation 

Brunch also spoke to filmmaker Yasodhara Kariyawasam, an avid reader with strong views on adaptations and artistic interpretation. 

“You’ve asked someone who is both an avid reader and a filmmaker,” she laughed, before diving straight in. “I don’t think there are rules or regulations when it comes to adapting art. Art is inherently open to interpretation; the artist interprets something and then the audience interprets what the artist has created. Once you create art and release it into the world, you no longer have control over it. You can’t dictate what someone hears or how they understand it.”

For Yasodhara, adaptation is part of that ongoing conversation. “Why would you restrict art in a world where wars are not restricted? That’s ridiculous to me,” she said. 

However, she draws a clear distinction between freedom and quality. “That doesn’t mean we can’t criticise careless adaptations. ‘Persuasion’ is one of my favourite books, and I believe it was adapted in such bad taste. Just because someone has the right to make the art doesn’t mean it’s beyond critique.”

She pointed to ‘People We Meet on Vacation’ as another example. “I enjoyed the book. I think it’s one of the author’s better works. The film was relatively well done in terms of timelines, but it lacked emotional impact. The book devastated me. The movie was just a fun watch. It didn’t hit those emotional beats, especially in the dialogue and the build-up to the key moments.”

When it comes to ‘Wuthering Heights,’ Yasodhara believes the real issue lies in marketing. “They marketed it as a straight-up adaptation, not as an interpretation. The director has said this was her teenage reading of the book, and if that had been emphasised, maybe it would have softened the blow. But honestly, you don’t need to soften the blow with art. It’s not necessary.”

She also highlighted examples she felt worked well. “Both ‘Pride and Prejudice’ adaptations are excellent. ‘Atonement’ is a beautiful interpretation. And if you look at ‘Anna Karenina,’ we know from the start that what we’re getting is Joe Wright’s ‘Anna Karenina,’ not Tolstoy’s. When you know that, it becomes so much more enjoyable. And wasn’t that a beautiful film?”

Audience perspectives 

Brunch also reached out to some of our readers, film enthusiasts who had watched the movie, for their thoughts on whether the film truly works as an adaptation, and at what point a reinterpretation strays too far from its source material to carry that label at all.

Nilakshi Ranasinghe, a self-confessed devotee of Brontë’s novel, shared that she was not at all forgiving of Fennell’s version. For her, the original ‘Wuthering Heights’ was never simply a brooding romance but a layered exploration of othering, racial undertones, social class divides, and generational trauma. 

“The book’s power comes from its discomfort,” she said. “Heathcliff is othered. There are clear themes of racism, class hierarchy, and social exclusion woven into the narrative. That’s what gives the story its weight.” 

In Fennell’s adaptation, however, Nilakshi felt those complexities were diluted. “It looked stunning, yes. But visually stunning isn’t the same as meaningful. I just didn’t feel any of the substance that made the novel endure. It became all aesthetic and no edge.”

Prathiba Lakmali offered a more measured, if slightly amused, take. Having read the novel but not feeling fiercely attached to it, she was open to reinterpretation, to a point. What pulled her out of the experience, she said, was the decision to age up the characters. “Margot Robbie is clearly in her mid-30s,” she laughed. “You cannot be acting that messy at that age, even if you’re a sheltered maiden. I just couldn’t fully buy it.” 

For Prathiba, the emotional recklessness that defines Catherine works when it feels youthful and impulsive. “By ageing up the characters, the story loses its sharpness. It becomes less tragic and more dramatic in a slightly theatrical way.” 

That said, she was quick to acknowledge the film’s strengths. “They were all incredibly attractive and the cinematography was next level. It was beautiful to look at.”

Senali Pathirana approached the film without the burden of literary loyalty. Having never read the book, she went in blind, and perhaps with the most relaxed expectations of all. “The story was fine,” she shrugged. “Maybe a little boring at times.” 

She described the film as visually indulgent, “like one great music video shot after another,” but felt it lacked the provocative punch many anticipated after Fennell’s previous work. “It wasn’t even as spicy as advertised. ‘Saltburn’ was way spicier,” she joked. Still, she doesn’t regret the watch. “At the end of the day, it fell a bit short, but I had a good time regardless.”