Emily

There is a specific kind of "weird" that only survives in the middle of a rain-lashed moor. It’s the sort of isolated, high-fever eccentricity that makes a person talk to the wind and write 400-page novels about generational trauma and ghosts. In 2022, while the rest of the world was arguably suffering from franchise fatigue and flocking to the high-octane thrills of Top Gun: Maverick, a quiet, moody masterpiece titled Emily slipped into theaters and then almost immediately out of them. It earned less than two million dollars at the box office, a casualty of a theatrical landscape that currently only seems to have room for blue aliens or superheroes.

I watched this film on a Tuesday evening while wearing a particularly scratchy wool sweater that made me feel like I was actually haunting a 19th-century parsonage, and honestly, the physical discomfort only added to the experience.

Not Your Grandma's Wikipedia Biopic

If you go into Emily expecting a dry, chronological retelling of Emily Brontë’s life, you are going to be very confused, and perhaps a little annoyed. Writer-director Frances O'Connor (who many will remember as the lead in 1999’s Mansfield Park) isn’t interested in facts; she’s interested in feelings. She has crafted a piece of speculative fan fiction that attempts to answer the question: How could a "spinster" who never left home write something as raw and feral as Wuthering Heights?

Emma Mackey, moving miles away from her breakout role in Sex Education, is a revelation. She plays Emily not as a polite Victorian lady, but as a social misfit who is clearly "too much" for the people around her. She’s twitchy, stubborn, and deeply uncomfortable in her own skin. When she stares at the camera, you don't see a historical figure; you see that one intense girl from college who definitely owned a deck of tarot cards and refused to wear shoes. Biopics that stick strictly to the facts are usually just boring Wikipedia entries with better lighting, and O'Connor wisely chooses to burn the history books to find the emotional truth.

The Siblings and the Secret Language

The heart of the film isn't just Emily’s "forbidden" romance with the curate William Weightman (Oliver Jackson-Cohen, bringing the same smoldering but slightly dangerous energy he had in The Invisible Man). It’s the toxic, beautiful, and ultimately tragic bond she shares with her brother, Branwell. Fionn Whitehead, who was so stoic in Dunkirk (2017), is absolutely chaotic here. His Branwell is a failed artist fueled by laudanum and a desperate need to be seen as a genius.

There is a scene involving a ceramic mask—a party game that goes horribly, chillingly wrong—that serves as the film's turning point. It’s one of the few moments where the movie leans into full-blown Gothic horror, suggesting that the Brontë house was less of a home and more of a pressure cooker for the imagination. The chemistry between Mackey, Whitehead, and Alexandra Dowling (as a surprisingly stern Charlotte Brontë) feels lived-in and sharp. They love each other, but they also know exactly where to twist the knife.

A Modern Lens on a Classic Ghost

What makes Emily resonate so strongly in our current cultural moment is its refusal to apologize for its protagonist's "strangeness." In an era where we are constantly discussing neurodivergence and the right to exist outside of societal norms, this version of Emily Brontë feels like a contemporary icon. She is a woman who refuses to perform "femininity" for the benefit of a world that doesn't understand her.

The cinematography by Nanu Segal is stunning but bleak. Haworth is rendered in shades of grey, damp green, and bruised purple. You can almost feel the mildew on the walls. It’s a film that understands that the Yorkshire moors aren't just a setting; they are a character that eats people alive. Abel Korzeniowski’s score—heavily rhythmic and insistent—drags the period drama out of the "polite strings" territory and into something that feels like a heartbeat.

Why You Need to Find This Film

Emily is a victim of the "streaming vs. theatrical" war. It’s the kind of mid-budget adult drama that used to be the bread and butter of the Oscars, but now often gets buried under an algorithm on a Tuesday. It’s a "forgotten" film not because it’s bad—it’s actually one of the best directorial debuts of the last five years—but because it didn't have a cape or a multi-million dollar marketing campaign.

It’s a movie for the outsiders. It’s for anyone who has ever felt like they were speaking a language no one else understood. By the time the credits roll and the connection between Emily’s life and the writing of Wuthering Heights is fully forged, you realize you haven't just watched a movie; you've sat through a seance. It’s moody, it’s messy, and it’s gloriously, unapologetically weird.

If you’re tired of "safe" cinema, Emily is the antidote. It takes the stuffy period drama and sets it on fire, leaving us with a portrait of an artist that feels dangerously alive. Seek it out on whatever platform is currently hosting it, turn the lights down, and let the moors take you over. Just maybe skip the scratchy wool sweater.