Wuthering Heights (1939)

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On the barren moors of Yorkshire, a young girl befriends an orphan boy her father brings home from a trip to Liverpool. The friendship turns romantic, but when the girl’s father dies, her nasty blood brother becomes master of the estate and forces her adopted brother into the role of stable boy. Eventually, the young woman marries a wealthy neighbor and the stable boy runs away — only to return at a later date and marry the wealthy neighbor’s sister. The lovers — Catherine and Heathcliff — still have feelings for each other, but neither can find the courage to admit their true feelings until it’s almost too late.

William Wyler directs this adaptation of Emily Bronte’s classic, torrid romance, photographed beautifully by the great Gregg Toland (Citizen Kane). I like the early scenes in the film, when Cathy and Heathcliff are played by child actors, running through the moors and pretending a craggy rock is their castle. But once they become adults, the casting is uneven — with Laurence Olivier commanding the screen as the scowling, smoldering Heathcliff, and Merle Oberon woefully in over her head as Cathy.

But to be honest, I’m not a fan of the story, anyway. Catherine and Heathcliff are the victims of their own stupidity. If Catherine really loved Heathcliff, she wouldn’t treat him so badly (like, all the time). And if Heathcliff had an ounce of self-respect, he’d dump her snobby ass. If I’m in the mood for star-crossed lovers torn apart by fate, I’ll turn to Romeo and Juliet — those kids have real problems and never disrespect each other. By comparison, Catherine and Heathcliff are just a couple of whiny sadomasochists.

Academy Award: Best Cinematography (Gregg Toland)

Oscar Nominations: Best Picture, Director, Actor (Olivier), Supporting Actress (Geraldine Fitzgerald), Art Direction, Score (Alfred Newman), Screenplay