“He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” *
Emily Bronte’s literary classic Wuthering Heights is quite brutal. This fact is often lost because of the novel’s common use as a mandatory reading assignment in middle and/or high school in our country. It stands to reason that all works of art would fare far better when undertaken with more willingness and a sense of choice.
Set in the bleak Yorkshire moors, Wuthering Heights tells the twisted love story of Catherine Earnshaw and Heathcliff, a “gypsy” foundling adopted by her father. This was Emily Bronte’s only novel, and her prose is unsympathetic and raw in its power. The two characters are raised together in their father’s house, and a deep bond grows between them. They circle one another, resisting the passion that only becomes stronger as they mature, taking a step forward then shying away with insecurity. And since no action is taken by either, Heathcliff wrongly believes that Catherine does not reciprocate his affections and leaves the farm to seek a fortune. He returns many years later to find Catherine married to a rich man. Torn apart by his lingering adoration for her and she for him, the two enact such psychological violence against one another that leads to both’s eventual demise.
Catherine and Heathcliff are mean, miserable people. They are nasty to one another, despicable in behavior. A reader could easily find these characters utterly unattractive and unsympathetic. But one must remember that there are times when we are horrible to one another in the throes of love. Insecurities and prejudice are strong forces against it. Heathcliff’s “otherness” due to being a foundling and mistreatment by his adopted family serve to create a thick barrier between himself and Catherine. In Bronte’s narrative, the tinge of classism and racism are implied throughout. And we see that Catherine is not above such things, and Heathcliff’s reaction to her withheld affection only sprouts resentment and a vengeful disposition towards her and those around her. It is painful, quite sorrowful, to hear their tale.
In the film adaptation (2012) of the novel by director Andrea Arnold, the tart voyeuristic nature of the story is upheld in the visuals. Arnold shoots the characters against the backdrop of the moors, illuminating how small and feeble they are against their meaner instincts. They move about the farm, playing, doing their chores, taking care of and killing the animals with little sentimentality. This landscape has little regard for them, and that is mirrored in their own actions. And the beauty and savagery of the nature on display parallels the way in which the characters treat one another. They taunt and spar in the darkened interiors of the low structures that barely manage to keep out the sullen weather. There are a few bittersweet moments that are quickly snuffed out but manage to linger long into the future, recalled with a fondness that is coupled with pain.
Arnold has made a bold choice in casting the part of Heathcliff as a young black man. This decision only serves to add to the subtext of racism and “otherness” that was implied in the novel and makes it plain — something a viewer is unable to avoid. The secondary characters now not only call Heathcliff nasty names maligning his intelligence and origins but also racial slurs that cut to the core of his identity as someone who will never be allowed to belong.
It is, at times, uncomfortable to watch. But this aligns the film closely with the experience of the novel. The savage love that Catherine and Heathcliff share but never consummate speaks to those reading and viewing on such deep levels. Specifically the nastier parts of our persons that we fear would likely cause us to do the same in similar circumstances.
“If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger.”*
*dialogue from the novel
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