Heathcliff loses. Cathy loses. Isabella loses. Edgar loses. Everybody loses.
That being said, I have NEVER regretted watching a film before reading the novel as much as with Wuthering Heights! To my credit, I was at least astute enough to go with the 1939 film version.
As I've been crying myself a river of 'poor me' lately, I tricked myself into thinking I'm not able to hold down lengthy readings or whatever because I'm so lazer-focused on a goal to attain when, in fact, all along I should have been focusing on something else to absorb my mind and take me away from fretting.
Wuthering Heights put me back in the game. What a roller-coaster of emotions. After approaching the first 45 minutes with trepidation, I continued on after a long break. What a treat! I absolutely love it when I prove myself wrong about such matters. Heathcliff seemed so... sullen and subdued; sometimes a lapdog to Cathy's whims and at the same time he is willingly becoming a glutton for Hindley's punishments. Both Cathy and Heathcliff were insufferable, but then something changed.
Heathcliff found his way back to Wuthering Heights, after a long stay in America, as a 'gentleman'. Oh, the irony of experiencing the 'American Dream'. Yet, his heart returned filled with revenge and darkness. The next hour filled me with so many emotions: mostly rage and frustration at how both protagonists continued to make themselves, and others, suffer due to their inability to deal with their past complexities and so put on a front to continue on, seemingly unaffected.
This 'doomed lovers' trope isn't unusual (Romeo and Juliet, Inês de Castro and King Pedro I, Tristan and Isolt...), but it isn't usually my cup of tea. Watching to the end, I was captivated; I was invested in all the characters' lives and, at the same time, forgot about my shit going on.
The death scene where Cathy asks Edgar to bring her a bunch of heather from the moors (why?) and then Heathcliff shows up at her deathbed... well, this part was a wee-bit cheesy. It honestly pissed me off; Isabelle got fucked over. Why did she marry Heathcliff knowing that his heart was still attached to Cathy? Why does Edgar go on as if his wife is happy and satisfied? Ugh. This movie was torturous for me, and I loved it.
However, watching it made me realize that the novel would have filled me with so many more raw emotions and visualizations. With the movie now stuck in my head, I will find it more difficult to free myself from these pre-set ideas of what characters 'should be.' I will work hard to get past Laurence Olivier's Heathcliff, for sure.
The day continues on over here in the mid-Atlas Mountains, and I've moved on to Fellini's "La Strada." Imagine my surprise to see that Zampanó is also Zorba the Greek (Anthony Quinn). Yes, I'm on a short break from this movie as well.
Although it is and has been a stunning day, it was the right choice to stay home, make food, shutter the curtains and watch movies here in my Gothic cathedral while the musky scent of heather from the moors wafts in with the late afternoon breeze.
Back to La Strada
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