Stürmische Leidenschaft

Famously, this portrays for the first time the whole of the story in the book, it is captivating and moves fast, and Fiennes deserves superlatives as the diabolical Heathcliff, menacing but with the eyes of a wounded animal.

There's something worthwhile here. That is the love story with love that was not consummated, not allowed to because they were from different worlds, because even though they connect in a deep way, the rules of the game say otherwise. Different times, but you can assume that it used to be so at Bronte's time, as it was later in Tolstoy's.

So they part, but they have grown roots so deep in each other, they cannot be parted, and distance only tears at them, distorts who they are, the distortion as memory. In the prisonworld Heathcliff creates in the end as punishing demigod of sorts, without which the story is incomplete, we can see the stark reflection of both the broader unjust world responsible for Heathcliff, and his private hell of vengeful recurring thoughts, both that stifle the soul.

All that is good enough in the film.

We get to puzzle about the name of Heathcliffe's adopted son being inscribed in a stone epigraph, on the door of a manor that was built centuries ago.

What isn't very satisfying is how we arrive at the story. The character who it is being narrated to, arrives at the manor, pores over books and images of Catherine, is captivated enough to dream of her, which leads to the housemaid's narration of the events. Instead of a dream, the visitor here sees Catherine's ghost, which sets a supernatural tone that is too obvious.

Too obvious because though even Bronte suggested ghosts, her main narrative gambit was layered dreaming, the notion that the hidden life of images and urges shapes the narrator's choosing of the story he tells about himself and things, some of which we externalize as destiny or demons, which is what we all do each time we remember, we dream of a story around a fictitious self.

But it's wonderful and moving as it is.

Although I would not suggest this film to anyone who has not read the book first (you would be thoroughly confused and missing out on major details of the plot!) I found Wuthering Heights (1992) to be the ideal visual aid to compliment the tragedy and passion of Heathcliff and Catherine's story. If Emily Bronte were alive, she herself would have cast Ralph Fiennes as Heathcliff (he was born for the role!) and Juliette Binoche was perfect particularly when she showed the more playful and childish sides of Catherine (her laughter was exactly as I had imagined - bright and bold...and just irritating enough that it really would drive Heathcliff - and later, Hareton - to suffer from wounded pride when it was directed at their egos). The beauty of this story is that you never really can decide who is the villain and who is the victim....

SPOILERS Much has been made of this version of Emily Bronte's novel being the first cinematic version to be really faithful to her book. For once, we see the story continue after Cathy's death, and Heathcliff is shown to be truly villainous. More importantly ,this version gets across the fact that BOTH Heathcliff and Cathy are mean, selfish people who destroy themselves, each other and don't seem bothered about destroying others too. Ralph Fiennes is almost Bronte's character on screen, and skillfully maintains a bit of sympathy for Heathcliff even when he is committing the most dreadful of acts. Visually the film, filmed for once in Yorkshire, is terrific- bleak in an almost beautiful way, and a few scenes, such as the hand of Cathy's ghost in the window, are indeed excellently done.

However the film is seriously flawed by it's odd lack of emotion. There is a stiff, 'Merchant Ivory' feel to the film, completely wrong with a story as full of powerful, destructive emotions such as this. Only one scene, when Heathcliff cradles Cathy's body in her grave, really has any real power. Heathcliff's end and reunion with Cathy should be tearjerking, but is hardly moving at all. The attempt to include more of Bronte's plot is not too successful either, because many important scenes are rushed to keep the running time low. And there are some odd changes which do not work. What is the point of having Emily Bronte at the start and at the end, especially when Lockwood still narrates the main story? Why do Heathcliff and Cathy appear to have a sexual relationship, and right near the beginning? Why have Heathcliff beat up his wife? Yes, he mistreated her but having him as a wife batterer makes no sense, is he not bad enough already?

Still a reasonably worthy attempt than, but, in terms of cinema, the 1939 version is far superior.

As I am a writer, very seldom am I at a loss for words. Yet now, I can find none suitable. I have written many reviews, in many places, for quite a long time. Yet, never, in all of that time have I sat down to write my thoughts immediately after watching a film. Still, I sit here now, trying vainly to describe what I am feeling. What this movie has MADE me feel.

The story of Heathcliff and Cathy is not about love as most know it. It is MORE than love. It is a fusion, a union of two souls separated by society and circumstance, yet bonded so completely that even death could not sever them. Love beyond pain, beyond place, beyond reason.

Never has an adaptation brought this classic Victorian novel so completely to the screen. That, in itself, is high praise. Wuthering Heights had been made 14 times before this, the 1992 incarnation. It is the only version to tell the complete story in all of its dark detail. It is also the LAST time, to date, it has been made. And that should be the highest praise of all.

Why? Because there is no need to do it again. It cannot be improved upon beyond this. Yes, the movie can be a bit confusing, even abrupt in the plot shifts for those who have never read the book. But for those who have: Anne Devlin treats her screenplay with reverence for Emily Bronte's novel. Many whole scenes are intact, the dialog exactly as written originally. The scenery was breathtaking. And the house, the Heights itself, was perfect. Still standing there, after centuries, keeping its own secrets in the silence of its stones.

The cast of actors includes not one single Hollywood darling. Thank God. They would have ruined it. But, because the cast is not overly well known in the US, you concentrate on the PERFORMANCES rather than the performers.

And, it is in these performances this film rises above its predecessors. The actors all turn in solid efforts. Each is true to character, from selfish Cathy (Juliette Binoche) to vapid Isabella (Sophie Ward). Simon Shepherd's Edgar Linton is far more likable than the novel. His portrayal is an improvement on the original, and you actually pity him for being caught between Cathy and Heathcliff.

Heathcliff. An immortal character, like Sherlock Holmes, or Hamlet. Sir Laurence Olivier, arguably the best Hamlet, played Heathcliff in the 1939 version opposite Merle Oberon as Cathy. Until tonight, I thought his was the best Heathcliff, as well. Until tonight.

Tonight I watched Ralph Fiennes play Heathcliff. No, not play. He BECAME Heathcliff. Bronte's Heathcliff. A Heathcliff I had always pictured clearly in my mind, but had NEVER seen before my eyes. Before tonight. This man is RIVETING. He commands the story, seizing it, wrenching it to his will as Heathcliff does the lives of those around him.

Yet, you do not hate him for it. Rather, you ache for him. You look into his eyes and feel every rip in his soul, the agony of every jagged edge in his shattered heart. You watch him wear his cruelty like a mantle, lashing out at a world which denies him the only thing he has ever wanted, the only thing which will make him whole. I cry at movies all the time. Seldom, though, am I torn in a grief so absolute I am left at the end empty, and spent.

I don't know much about Ralph Fiennes work. I tend to like films that deal in anything BUT reality, so have not seen much of him. I loved Red Dragon, but until I read his filmography, I never connected Francis Dolarhyde to Heathcliff, which is perhaps the greatest compliment one can give an actor. Fiennes alone is the reason you cannot improve on this film. No one could ever bring Heathcliff to life like this. The role belongs to him.

I have loved Emily Bronte's novel since childhood. I have read it often. But now, something has changed it for me, forever. No matter how many times I may read Wuthering Heights in future, after tonight, I know I shall never again read it without seeing the face, or hearing the voice, of Ralph Fiennes.

I first happened across this movie on cable, and found myself absolutely captivated by Ralph Fienne's portrayal of Heathcliff. I can think of no better actor for the part, as Fiennes speaks volumes with his eyes alone, and magnificently portrays the tortured, twisted protagonist/antagonist. The rest of the lead cast is likewise brilliant, especially with regards to Juliette Binoche's endearing Catherine. The movie strays from Bronte's novel only on minor issues, and overall, performs in a manner worthy of the classic story.

The sensitive and masterful score by Sakamoto is almost a character in itself. Listening to it without distraction, it is almost impossible not to absorb the desolate and haunting mood of the film. The choice of locale for the movie was absolutely perfect, capturing the metaphors represented by the two great houses and the stark English moor.

This is definitely one of my favorite movies of all time, and one of the few occasions in which it may equal or even supercede the original novel. A must-see for fans of twisted period romances or anyone interested in pondering the roles of love and evil in the human soul.