Maddie Glanton

To be honest John Wick under reacted. I would have done more. Vengeance for Daisy. And nothing for Josef. Period. (But seriously awesome action movie. Can’t believe it took me so long to see it. Like watching the film equivalent of a dark comic book.)

This was Wuthering Heights if Wuthering Heights was a carcass of its former self, devoid of any meaningful messages or themes, and was told through a series of shock value moments, inelegant sexual innuendos and bizarre directorial choices. To watch this film and enjoy it is to believe one is only capable of feeling anger, sadness, and horniness. The entire film misses the entire point of Bronte’s work, romanticizing Cathy and Heathcliff’s toxic childish unevolving passion and twisting it into some sick awe-inspiring love. Not to mention, by taking out the entire 3rd act of the novel, Fennell flat out removes the Gothic from one of the quintessential gothic novels in favor of creating a cheap corset busting romance novel book cover that someone is likely to find in the airport gift shop. The sexual nature of the entire thing was grotesque, serving no other purpose than to make audiences think the work is edgy. It’s not. It’s trite. Jacob Elordi and Hong Chau and even Owen Cooper put in some serious work to save this film, but you cannot save a sinking ship. By the time I got to the end of the film, I wanted to cry at Cathy’s death. Not because I was sad, oh no. Because I felt like I was supposed to but I could not bring a tear to the eye. I didn’t feel it. It had no soul. No feeling. It felt dystopian sitting in a theatre watching others eat up the shit they were being fed. The costume choices, the bizarre doll house imagery, the cinematography, even the casting of the actors were all just to generate buzz and get a reaction. It was all to create an aesthetic. It’s like Fennell looked at a Pinterest board of Wuthering Heights and just ran with it. One thing I did enjoy was the music, but if I wanted to watch an aesthetic music video, I would have stayed at home and watched YouTube. This is not Brontë. It’s barely even the concept of it.