Wuthering Heights (2026)

Emerald Fennell took Emily Brontë's novel and did what Fennell does — drowned it in visual excess until the source material became secondary to the spectacle. Margot Robbie and Jacob Elordi commit fully to the operatic misery, and there are individual frames here that belong in a gallery. But the structure staggers under the weight of its own ambition. The emotional core of Heathcliff and Catherine's destruction gets buried beneath production design that's competing for attention. A film that looks like a fever dream and feels like one too — sometimes effectively, sometimes just feverishly.