Wuthering Heights

I have an opinion about things — is that a problem? Why are you so offended by my opinion? Could it be that I'm right and you're wrong? Not sure. Better call in a second opinion. Let me fact-check, see related news.

I have an opinion about a movie — is it worth talking about? I have an opinion on this article — does it matter?

I'm a woman. Does it matter how it makes me feel? You can say times have changed and feminism is common, but I disagree. Or maybe I don't — some women prosper, some get left behind like garbage.

I have the opinion of a man but I'm in a woman's body, so I see both angles. Does that matter? I have male interests but dress feminine and call myself a woman. Does that mean I behave like a man? Does that make me "one of the guys"?

The image I'm painting gets blurrier the further I go. Will you understand me better if I keep going? Or are you already wondering if I'm non-binary? I like men. I'm a woman. I carry a feminine purse and wear heels whenever I can. Why is my sexuality even a question?

May I continue? Or did your attention drift somewhere else? Did I not dress well enough to keep your mind in the present? Does my tone of voice scare you? Turn you on, maybe? Probably.

I don't like most female characters in books or movies — only a few. The rest make me wonder: who even wrote this? Would a person like this actually exist? And why are the male characters so compelling while the women fall flat? I could write movie reviews every day that would make you laugh and make you think. Does it matter whether I'm male or female if I keep it gender neutral? Or does that just widen the audience? As if anyone is reading this.

Romance movies are fruity — I'm straight, so I'll watch American Pie. Well, I'm gay, so I'll watch Hairspray. Ew, you liked that? That movie was stupid. What's with all this pressure around film and books? Why do our interests define who we are? These are fictional stories — but they tell us so much about how we think, feel, and move through the world. What we like and dislike doesn't define our personality, and it certainly doesn't measure our intelligence.

I watched a movie about a high school party. Does that mean I liked it? Or did I watch it to laugh at the stupidity? I watched Wuthering Heights even though the trailer disturbed me. During the film I laughed, and cried at the end — not because I loved it, and yes, I skipped the sex scenes — but because I gained something: insight into mental illness and unrequited love. I bet you watched it because Margot Robbie is in it. Good news: I didn't need that to show up. I would've watched it either way.

So here's my opinion on Wuthering Heights — as an asexual, straight woman. Let me get straight to it.

What is up with Hollywood and the glamorizing of high-profile celebrities? Right off the bat I'm laughing at the two leads, Catherine and Heathcliff. Literally everyone in the movie fit the setting — except those two. I get it, they need to stand out, but you can tell they've had work done, and I'm pretty sure cosmetic surgery wasn't a thing back then. I even texted a friend about it and she said the same thing, so I know it's not just me. Fact check.

Typical story: semi-wealthy family, beautiful daughter, destined to wed a man of high status. That's her fate regardless — marry, have kids, that's life. How it starts, though, is interesting. Catherine's father takes in a stray little boy, and before long that kid becomes the family's lackey — an outlet for the father's anger. That little boy loves her. He'd take every hit for her. And early on, you can see she loves her father too; she's begging him to stay in the opening scenes, so there's no foreshadowing of abuse toward her.

The two kids are inseparable, clearly in love — they sleep together, hold hands, confess everything to each other. So why, after a massive time jump into adulthood, does it all fall apart? Worth noting: she names him after her dead brother. The film quietly plants the seed of how emotional entanglement and proximity can blur into something complicated. It adds to the learning factor.

As adults, Catherine is acting like a child. She knows exactly what she means to Heathcliff and decides to test it. Their dynamic is brother-sister: playful, rough, loving but cruel. Will she marry him or won't she — she loves him but can't, because he's a nobody. Typical, once again. None of this reads as romantic to me. What I'm watching is a forbidden lust that was never explored in a healthy way. There's a scene where Catherine watches two people in a barn, and Heathcliff comes up behind her, presses against her, covers her eyes. She's confused, shocked, maybe a little gutted that she's never had that for herself. She becomes disconnected after that — unsure of what she wants or how she feels.

Then Heathcliff overhears a conversation between Catherine and her handmaid. The handmaid clocks him and twists what was said. The man ran. Gone.

He comes back rich, fresh cut, ready. She's already married and practically pregnant. But he's back — angry, spiteful, and still completely in love. I kept thinking: if Heathcliff could read, could write, could access some way of processing how he felt — would any of this have gone differently? Could he have found a healthier outlet? This is exactly why media matters. Breaking things down, analyzing stories, gives people a way to recognize patterns — in fiction and in their own lives.

He's a man in love who cannot express it without destroying something. They commit adultery. Then Catherine pulls back, and Heathcliff, true to form, goes straight to revenge — straight to her sister-in-law, Isabella. Isabella is educated, theatrical, obsessed with Shakespeare and tragedy. She knows exactly what Heathcliff is doing. They both do. They start playing mind games with Catherine, and so does the handmaid — the same one who made Heathcliff leave in the first place.

Ultimately, I don't see much Catherine did wrong, aside from the adultery. Heathcliff is the problem. You see it clearly in how he treats Isabella — if Catherine had witnessed that, she wouldn't have been so consumed by him, so unable to care for herself or her baby. That's what it is: a sickness. A mental illness that spreads from one person and poisons everything around them. If the handmaid had been honest, if Catherine had actually received those letters — maybe she could've heard her husband out. Maybe she could've snapped out of it.

Edgar is easily my favourite character in this film. Call me.

But seriously — Catherine is left to die. And I recognized that look in her eyes. That blank, hollow stare. The inability to move. The bedridden girl with no reason to get up. Broken-hearted, full of regrets, mind running everywhere. Because I've been there — left without answers, blindsided by something unbelievably hurtful. A paralysis that doesn't just live in your head; it gets into your body. It can complicate a pregnancy. It can result in death. Which is ultimately what happened.

What is wrong with this girl? How can someone be so destroyed over a man? But you only watched two hours. You got a glimpse. You didn't see every smirk, every private joke, every heartbeat they had when they spotted each other across a room. You didn't see their whole life. So how could she not fall apart?

What's really killing Catherine is the weight of everything at once: social status, family legacy, the pressure to carry on a name, to keep her husband happy, to be kind, to be fair, to be perfect. Heathcliff was the only person she ever truly had. As she was to him. The loss of her brother, the way Heathcliff filled that gap — the teasing, the rough affection, the sibling-like bond. It was real. It built over a lifetime.

Heathcliff was brought to that house and given one purpose: protect the only person who ever treated him like a human being. That's his entire programming. He never read literature, never wrote a letter, never had a way to process what he felt. He is pure, unfiltered emotion with nowhere to go. That's not a love story — that's what happens when passion has no outlet, no language, no tools. He was raised on abuse. He was an orphan. He wanted one thing his whole life, and the world made it structurally impossible. That kind of pressure doesn't just make you sad. It makes you dangerous. It makes you sick. It kills you.

So the next time a girl is broken-hearted over a boy — I hope you reconsider.