With the recent release of Emerald Fennell’s adaptation of Wuthering Heights, and all the controversy surrounding the lack of faith to Brontë’s original material, it got me wondering. Who else has attempted an adaptation of classic literature, only for it to completely flop?
There is no doubt that classic literature is common fodder for adaptations. People love a romantic construction of the past, in which everyone wears glamorous dresses and declares their love in dark and stormy fields rather than via awkward DMs. However, with every new adaptation comes a crashing tidal wave of English literature students complaining about accuracy. Let me just say, guilty as charged. But I’m not a complete stickler – I don’t mind that Pride and Prejudice (2005) isn’t entirely period accurate, because it is still a gorgeous representation of the heart of Austen’s novel. It captures her wit, her character building and her strength as a writer. That is what is important to me (although Caroline Bingley’s spaghetti straps still make me wince). Fashion historians hate the costuming in Little Women (2019), but I can’t help but admire the perfect capturing of childhood innocence, growing up, and the powerhouse that is Jo March.
“The writing and language is out of place and stuck in 2022 lingo that has aged like milk”
However, not every director sees the heart of the original novel as what is important. They have a wild time twisting and tearing up their source material for the sake of it, and it gets to a point where I have to put my foot down. When I think of recent, poorly-done book adaptations, my mind isn’t immediately drawn to Wuthering Heights. It is drawn straight to Netflix’s 2022 adaptation of Persuasion. Not to speak for the dead, but I imagine Austen absolutely tearing Dakota Johnson’s performance of Anne Elliot to pieces.
Austen describes her protagonist as having “an elegance of mind and sweetness of character,” and yet Johnson decided to go for a Fleabag-inspired, wine-drunk, stock ‘quirky’ character, who carries a rabbit for some utterly bizarre reason. Anne is supposed to be ‘plain’, kind, slightly shy and a bit of a misfit in her snobbish family for her strength of character and her goodwill – Johnson simply does not portray this at all. Not to mention the zero commitment to any time period. It is not modern, and not regency, but a weird floating disaster in the middle that doesn’t know where to fit. Persuasion is a shining example of Austen’s wit and sheer ability in her craft, and Netflix decided to tear up all of that beautiful material. Instead, the writing and language is out of place and stuck in 2022 lingo that has aged like milk. I don’t think it’s a strength when you’re watching the adaptation of a dearly beloved book, and think to yourself: “Am I forgetting things from the book?”
While Persuasion (2022) is undoubtedly a poor representation of Austen, I don’t know if I could call it directly offensive. I cannot say the same for the proposed adaptation of The Picture of Dorian Gray titled The Grays. Already, it’s an interesting start. Who makes up the other Grays? Is this an original exploration into his family? It’s an intriguing title to be sure. Then you learn the truth. The writers on this film have decided to make Basil and Dorian brothers.
If you’ve read the novel, you understand the gravity of this statement. Basil and Dorian’s relationship is explicitly framed as homoerotic in Wilde. Other adaptations have completely embraced this dynamic between the two, noticeably the 2009 Dorian Gray that makes it clear of the toxic, obsessive romance between the two. Oscar Wilde wrote “it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very art itself” in reference to Basil’s obsession with Dorian, and I’m expected to accept that in this movie universe they’re related? This does not just render one of the main themes of the novel redundant, as the painting represents the romantic desire Basil harbours for Dorian. This goes so far beyond creative liberty and branches into a strange erasure of queer history. Wilde was arrested in 1895 for his active participation in a gay relationship with Lord Alfred Douglas and he often wrote his own sexuality into his work, some of which was used as evidence against him in court. From the act of ‘Bunburying’ in The Importance of Being Earnest to the dynamic of Basil and Dorian, there is clear coding in his words, and to deny that twists fun creative liberty into potential prejudice. Queerness is a huge part of the novel itself, and its erasure by making the pair into brothers makes my skin crawl.
Wuthering Heights has had this same issue of erasure. As I’m sure that many of you now know, as this discourse has dominated my feed for the past two months, Heathcliff is explicitly framed as non-white, meaning the casting choice of Jacob Elordi is incredibly questionable. Although the title is put in quotation marks, to change such an important part of the novel should not be casually brushed aside.
“This goes so far beyond creative liberty and branches into a strange erasure of queer history”
The thing is, inspiration from classical literature is not inherently a problem. Neither is creative liberty. People have been adapting writers like Shakespeare and Austen and Homer for centuries. But the difference is that they are not always framed as direct adaptations because of the directorial originality applied. Clueless is not called Emma. She’s The Man is not called Twelfth Night. Percy Jackson is not called The Iliad. People take rough storylines, maybe a name or two, the general feel of the original, and play around with it to create something new, fun, and takes old material in different directions.
You can’t expect me to not critique The Grays, a clear referential adaptation, for completely disregarding significant parts of the novel. But I don’t have to criticise Clueless for not following the exact direct plot of Emma because it’s simply an inspired piece of work that takes old material in different directions in a completely different universe. They’ve become two different pieces of work, and the inspiration drawn from Emma becomes a fun fact. Fennell’s Wuthering Heights may not have been pitched as a direct adaptation, and is promoted as her own interpretation, but it’s undoubtedly a questionable one. Replacing well-crafted prose about class, race and abuse with awkward sex between two people with poor chemistry is certainly a choice. It screams of ignorance. She didn’t need to use the IP to write a moody, sensual script set in gloomy hills, yet she chose to frame this as an adaptation. It could have just been an original title.
When you tell your audience that you’re adapting a famed, well-beloved piece of classical literature, and completely change half of the novel’s themes, characterisation and plot, you have to expect them to be upset, and rightfully so. These adaptations can stretch too far into poor writing, disregard for respected, well-done material, and create the same thought in everyone’s mind – if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.
