Emerald Fennell follows the empty shock value and cheap psychosexual spectacle of her previous film, “Saltburn” with an overheated and underdeveloped reimagining of a literary classic. Fennell’s new spin on “Wuthering Heights” is more in love with itself than with anything Emily Brontë put to page in her highly regarded 1847 novel. Sadly, it results in a surprisingly hollow and frustratingly scattershot exercise in overindulgence.

Fennell significantly reshapes Brontë’s story in a number of peculiar ways. So fans of the novel shouldn’t go in expecting a faithful adaptation. It starts with Fennell’s decision to transform the book’s dark, haunting, gothic tale into a soapy, sexually charged, period romance. Pseudo-eroticism is more of a focus than the raw dysfunction that Brontë explored. Also, any hint of the supernatural is erased. And main characters undergo jarring dramatic changes, often to fit within the film’s bawdy vision.

For the entirety of it unnecessarily long running time, Fennell’s story remains fixated on the relationship between Catherine (Margot Robbie) and Heathcliff (Jacob Elordi), essentially cutting out the entire second half of the novel. As a child, Catherine lived with her alcoholic and cartoonishly abusive father (Martin Clunes) in the family’s remote estate on the Yorkshire Moors. One day her father brings home an orphan boy he rescued from the street. The bossy and possessive Catherine names him Heathcliff and treats him as her pet. But over time the two children develop a close yet vaguely defined relationship.

From there the film lurches forward several years with Catherine and Heathcliff now young adults yet still playfully cavorting around the neglected estate like children. That is until Catherine lays eyes on their wealthy new neighbors, the Lintons. With her father having gambled away the family’s fortune, Catherine maneuvers herself into the arms of Edgar Linton (Shazad Latif). When he overhears her plans to marry Edgar, a heartbroken Heathcliff rides away and doesn’t return.

More years pass. Catherine is now married to Edgar and living a life of luxury at the Linton’s villa. But everything changes when Heathcliff suddenly returns, now mysteriously rich and more dapper than ever. Suddenly the emotions she never expressed come rushing to the surface and the two begin a torrid affair. But outside of rampant sex, Catherine refuses to commit to Heathcliff due to her marriage to Edgar and the child they’re expecting which she keeps a secret.

The rest of the story erratically bops from point to point, force-feeding us a wild array of emotions that always feel more contrived than organic. Following along is never easy because there’s never a steady measurement of passing time. Worse are the gaps in the story that lead to bizarre character shifts with little buildup, as well as undercooked relationships that never make sense. This is especially true for the increasingly mopey second half.

But while she leaves her characters and her stories begging for more attention, Fennell finds the time to inject her kinky fascinations, often to the detriment of her movie. Pointlessly crude flourishes are thrown in, seemingly to jolt the audience more than anything else. Meanwhile character work gets back-burnered to satisfy some lusty appetite. Take Edgar conveniently vanishing without a mention so that Catherine and Heathcliff can repeatedly and openly hook-up. As for Robbie and Elordi, they’re mostly served up as rain-soaked eye-candy, doing their best with what they’re given.

Whatever the goal, it’s hard to see 2026’s “Wuthering Heights” pleasing longtime fans of the novel or drawing new fans to it. But even if you take away its literary inspiration, Emerald Fennell’s latest even fails as a simple melodrama. The choppy storytelling impacts everything, including the characters who are left shuffling through ambiguity and absurdity. This despite the efforts of Robbie and Elordi, and great supporting turns from Alison Oliver and Hong Chau.

On a positive note, “Wuthering Heights” isn’t as galling or insufferable as “Saltburn”. And while its attempts at eroticism often feel silly and performative, the movie is visually sumptuous in ways that highlight Fennell’s impressive technical savvy. But overall it does nothing to recreate the excitement we felt with her debut film, “Promising Young Woman”. Instead it demonstrates a concerning trend where her expression is overwhelmed by excess.

VERDICT – 2 STARS