Part of the problem comes in the limitations of British television from four decades ago: a conspicuously low budget, grimy black-and-white videography, and acting that veers heavily into theatrical emoting.
This "Wuthering Heights" is best accepted as a curio for diehard Anglophiles and devoted Bronte lovers.
Some interest on this side of the Atlantic may come in watching a young Ian McShane as Heathcliff. Despite being burdened with a heavy wig and unflattering dark make-up, McShane captures the emotional brooding of Emily Bronte’s compelling anti-hero. McShane is clearly channeling Laurence Olivier’ s Heathcliff from the 1939 film, yet he manages to bring a sense of visceral danger to his seething, vengeful machinations. McShane’s charisma, however, tends to overwhelm Angela Scoular’s Cathy, who often seems more like a bystander to the commotion around her rather than being the crux of the story.
At three hours (divided into four parts), there is also too much of a good thing here. The production could have easily dropped at least a half-hour to help speed along its story.
This televised version of Wuthering Heights is best accepted as a curio for diehard Anglophiles and devoted Bronte lovers.
Phil Hall’s latest book is "The History of Independent Cinema" (published by BearManor Media)
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