Wuthering Heights

I'm not sure by what criteria this movie should be evaluated.  It would seem remiss to not include "faithfulness to the source material" as a criterion.  Adaptations exist in a vacuum even less than original works.  By that measure, and within the limits of my memory, the film passes fairly well.  I do not recall enjoying the book, rather finding the characters unsympathetic and dreary, and the structure unnecessarily meandering.  The movie, by way of contrast, was tightly woven, and the performances gave depth and sympathy, especially to poor doomed Heathcliff.

Even viewed on its own, the movie was perfectly watchable.  Score, direction, cinematography, and performance were all of a very high level, and I suppose I can't find fault with its inclusion in the AFI's "100 Movies" list.  But my reaction to the movie itself is exactly as tepid as it sounds.  It was . . . fine.

Evaluation, however, is not the only way of reacting to a work--either written or filmed.  There is something about the story of Heathcliff that transcends evaluation.  I, an inveterate evaluator, have no special place for it in my memory; I can barely remember reading it at all, though I believe I wrote a paper on it as an undergrad.  But its fans are legion, and mysteriously fanatic.  There is something about Heathcliff that speaks to people, making the book a legend, and the movie, to be honest, far more well-regarded than it merits.

Perhaps if I were to read the book again, I would find in the text that which was rather clearly woven into the film: that the worst people we meet often have very sound reasons for being that way.  The call is implicit in portraits of such tortured bastards that we should endeavour to understand them before passing evaluation.  That even terrible miscreants were once pure and innocent.  That all such Heathcliffs need is love, and all cruel and vile men deserve forgiveness.

It seems to be on this level that those who have a soft spot for the book, and I suppose the movie, react to it.  It is seemingly irresistible for a certain subset of optimistic romantics to embrace horrible people, trying to save, redeem, or heal them.  I have several personal acquaintances in mind when I write this, and know of far more second-hand.

As for me, it is likely a character flaw that I do not react to them the same way.  I have infinite patience for children, but once Heathcliff is an adult, his tragic youth ceases to be an excuse.  At a certain point we all, myself included, must heal and grow and unfuck ourselves from our universally tragic youths.  Only then can we lay claim to a greater evaluation than "fine".  The book was fine.  The movie was fine.  And the many Catherines in my acquaintance are fine.  But if any of them want a better reaction than that from me, they would do well to grow up.