Wuthering Heights

Synopsis: Heathcliff is Cathy Earnshaw's foster brother; more than that, he is her other half. When forces within and without tear them apart, Heathcliff wreaks vengeance on those he holds responsible, even into a second generation.
Director(s): Peter Kosminsky
Production: Paramount Pictures
  1 nomination.
 
IMDB:
6.9
Rotten Tomatoes:
25%
PG
Year:
1992
105 min
2,368 Views


First I found the place.

I wondered who had lived there.

What their lives were like.

Something whispered

to my mind,

and I began to write.

My pen creates stories

of a world

that might have been-

a world of my imagining.

And here is one

I'm going to tell.

But take care...

not to smile at any part of it.

It begins with a stranger.

- Mr. Heathcliff?

- Mr. Heathcliff?

- You'll have to wait.

- You'll have to wait.

Who are you?

Lockwood.

Your new tenant

up at the Grange.

I'm surprised you'd choose

a storm to go wandering

about in, Mr. Lockwood.

Well, I, um...

I lost my way out on the moor.

Is the Grange far?

Perhaps I could get a guide

from amongst your lads.

You could not.

I'll go with him as far

as the park.

You'll go with him to hell.

Mr. Heathcliff, if I'm not

to have a guide

to take me up to the Grange,

I shall have to sleep

here tonight.

I don't keep accommodation

for strangers.

Or I'll sleep in the chair.

There's a room they don't use.

Don't leave it by the window.

Why not?

"Catherine Heathcliff. "

"Catherine Linton. "

"Catherine Earnshaw. "

Let me in.

Who the deviI

put you in there?

The deviI is right.

She's...

Her face.

She looked like...

You should not have

gone in there.

Lockwood has stumbled into

the end of a strange story...

a story that began

30 years before

when an old man returned

to Wuthering Heights...

weary after a long journey.

He's coming!

Joseph.

All right, don't rush me.

Father!

Ah, home again, Cathy.

What have you

brought me, Father?

Cathy, give Father

a chance to draw breath.

Just wait and see.

Wait and see.

Oh, my Lord.

I found him...

starving in the streets

of LiverpooI.

He's a filthy gypsy, Father.

He's a gift from God.

You're to treat him

as your new brother.

But where's my present?

Hasn't he got any family

of his own?

He's part of our

family now.

That's your brother- Hindley,

and this...

is your new sister-

Cathy.

Offer your hand as I showed you.

Earnshaw named him Heathcliff.

Cathy was drawn to the silent,

self-possessed boy.

But it was hardness,

not gentleness

that kept him silent.

Nothing here belongs to you-

not now, not ever.

From the very first,

Heathcliff was more Cathy's

brother than Hindley.

Like all wild things,

she shared with him a love

of the open moor.

The rock and the lowering skies.

Oh, mercifuI God,

Father of our Lord

Jesus Christ...

Though Heathcliff became

Mr. Earnshaw's favorite child,

his protection was limited

by the length

of the old man's life.

...shall not die eternally.

You have also taught us

by His holy apostle St. PauI...

Grant this, we beseech Thee,

O mercifuI Father,

through Jesus Christ,

Amen.

Your quarters are in

the stables from now on.

Heathcliff!

Morning, Cathy.

Morning.

"Then Rab-shakeh stood

"and cried with a loud voice

"in the Jews' language, 'Hear ye

the words of the great king.

"'Hearken not to Hezekiah,

"'for thus bade

the king of Assyria

"'make an agreement with me

by a present.

"'And come out to me and eat

thee every one of his vine

"'and every one of his fig tree

"'and drink ye everyone

the waters of his own

cistern... "'

'untiI I come and take you away

to a land like your own land,"

"'a land of corn and wine,

Hindley, don't...

a land of bread and vineyards. "'

Stop it...

"'Beware, lest Hezekiah

persuade you. "'

What, done already?

When Father was alive,

we could play on Sunday.

Why not let them be, Hindley?

You put these two down

to their scriptures.

And be sure to examine them

on it this time.

Heather...

AnimaI.

Pepper.

Pepper?

Pepper.

Feels like tree bark.

Silver birch.

Silver birch?

Mm. But it's warmer.

My turn.

Shame on you.

Think of your souls!

Master Hindley!

Master Hindley!

What are you thinking about?

I was thinking about the sea.

You ever seen the sea?

No, I was too little.

I don't remember.

My life didn't begin

untiI I...

untiI I...

Who sent you?

Nobody.

Was it a bird?

Bird.

Or a tree?

No, a bird.

Or the wind.

No, a bird.

I don't know.

Do you know anything?

Can you talk to trees?

No.

Talk to the wind?

Mm-mm.

Let's send your spirit

into that tree.

Where?

There.

There?

Make it talk to us.

Talk to me.

Listen.

Oh, listen.

They're calling your name.

How did you do that?

I can do lots of things.

What things?

Stand up.

Where are you going?

Come here.

Come back here.

Come here.

Close your eyes.

Close your eyes.

If, when you open your eyes,

the day is sunny and bright,

so shall your future be.

But if the day

is full of storms,

so shall be your life.

Now,

open your eyes.

What have you done?

I don't care.

Do you hear me?

I don't care.

Where are you going?

To have a look.

Come on!

Sheltered in a valley,

carpeted in crimson,

the Grange,

home of Edgar Linton

and Isabella, his sister.

Doesn't it make you

wish you'd been adopted

by the Lintons?

I wouldn't give up what I have

for a thousand lives

like the Lintons.

Come on.

Come on! Come on! This way!

Come! Come!

Go on! Run!

Oh, no, you don't!

Make room.

Ooh, my goodness.

It's Catherine Earnshaw, Father.

- Uh, Fitz.

- Yes, sir.

You had better send

for Dr. Kenneth.

Bring her through.

Leave her be! Leave her!

Come back here!

I think he must be

Earnshaw's gypsy.

Throw him out.

Catherine!

Cathy!

Look at the state of her.

Poor girI.

I will speak to Hindley

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Emily Brontë

Emily Jane Brontë (, commonly ; 30 July 1818 – 19 December 1848) was an English novelist and poet who is best known for her only novel, Wuthering Heights, now considered a classic of English literature. Emily was the third-eldest of the four surviving Brontë siblings, between the youngest Anne and her brother Branwell. She wrote under the pen name Ellis Bell. more…

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