Wuthering Heights

So...this is the story that people have been swooning over for about a hundred and eighty years? From the start of this picture it is perfectly clear that this is a tale about some truly wretched people; one wonders how it can be that that fact has little bearing on how the story is perceived. That is, unless you cut through the dross about so-called love and words like doomed and tragic being tossed around and acknowledge what it’s all really about: rutting. Then things start to become much clearer. And perhaps that explains the film’s unusual—and probably unintended—appeal, for once I acknowledged the unpleasantness of everyone in the story, once I started laughing at much of the proceedings—and said proceedings do contain generous amounts of the genuinely comedic—the whole movie became substantially more entertaining. One even dares to suggest that, though the producers may not have made the movie they thought they were making, they did in fact succeed in making a film that holds the interest all the way through its running time. Further acknowledgment should be given to director Emerald Fennell's visual style, which is strong and artful in scene after scene. As for the tone of the movie, which runs a gamut from grim to horrible (when you’re not laughing at any given moment), I must suspect that the tone reflects less the realities of life on the 19th century moors and more the landscape inside the heads of the current cohort of people who infest the world—a group that, admittedly, old men like me take a dim view of. Generation AA has been a target of my criticism before, and this flick is probably more evidence that these creatures simply can’t see anything except through their own oddly skewed eyes. Bottom line: if you’re looking for tragedy and something to cry about and dote upon, I don’t think this movie works; but if you want an unexpectedly funny film experience, these miserable bastards have got you covered. 

Frankenstein (2025)

Director Guillermo del Toro takes a crack at telling a story everybody already knows—or do they? I daresay this exceptionally faithful adaptation of Shelley’s book (as near as I can remember it, having read it many years ago) will have more than a few surprises for those who only know the tale from James Whale’s film, and decades of Halloween decorations and other bastardized versions. More interesting than story setting (mostly, the Arctic) and details (he speaks) for those with broader knowledge are this work’s fascinating philosophical nuances. I’m not sure there’s been an adaption of the book that more clearly represents Victor’s work as not merely madness and hubris but actual outright villainy. That’s an important part of the story and makes it a primary analogy for any number of situations that involve the dangers of arrogance and overreach. From a cinematic standpoint, the most striking feature of this feature is its visual style; the scenes are all feasts for the eyes, especially the picture-perfect examples of gothic-romantic set design. (These sets really give vaulted ceilings a workout.) The script and acting are very good, too. Oscar Isaac does a fine job of being villainous without failing to convey that his character—the bad doctor—doesn’t believe himself to be the problem. Meanwhile, Jacob Elordi plays the creature from grunts to eloquence believably, while mixing in just the right amount of menace when the situation calls for it. This really is a strong candidate for best adaptation of this tale ever. Yeah, acts of creation often go awry, but sometimes they work out just fine.