Mark Reviews Movies: EMILY

Emily, Bleecker Street

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Review by Mark Dujsik | February 16, 2023

Not too much is known of Emily Brontë, except what we know from her older sister Charlotte and the assumptions we might be able to make from her writing. Foremost among those writings, of course, is Wuthering Heights, that melodramatically tragic (or tragically melodramatic) romance, which might be known as much for its mood as it is for the story's actual content. The novel gave us something of a standard metaphor to describe the behavior of some haunted, unrequited lover. As long as the book is read by school students and hopeless romantics of generations now and to come, we'll always have the notion of someone howling across the moors to call upon from the literary arsenal of allusions.

Whether or not one cares for the second-youngest Brontë sibling's novel is probably irrelevant to one's enjoyment of Emily. Writer/director Frances O'Connor, the actor making her filmmaking debut here, has made a biography that is as much about mood and atmosphere as it is about the quality of character of its subject or the events in that person's life.

Since there is so little known about Brontë beyond the sibling gossip and the content of her only novel, O'Connor has had to imagine certain details of her subject's life and character or restructure certain events. Some might find this to be some form of biographical or literary blasphemy, but to whatever degree the Brontë of this film is real or imagined, the result is a compelling, considered, and credible portrait of the kind of person who would give Wuthering Heights to the world. In its fictionalized and tone-focused way, O'Connor's film might be a better biography than some alternative version that would care more about getting all of the facts correct.

This supposed version of Brontë's life gives us an Emily played by Emma Mackey, an actor whose entire look and specific presence in this film radiate a certain set of qualities that define the character as much as what happens in the screenplay. Mackey is relatively new to the screen, and O'Connor's casting of her is inspired. She offers a beguiling but clear impression of mystery, intelligence, beauty, shyness, and a headstrong nature that's all somehow dark and sympathetic at the same time.

Emily is a bit of a recluse, to say the least, and around the town where she and her family live, people refer to her as the "strange one"—of either her relatives or the population in general. That news comes from Emily's elder sister Charlotte (Alexandra Dowling), a schoolteacher who's a bit judgmental, a bit of a scold, and, if her attempt to instruct Emily about not becoming lost in the past but looking instead toward the future is any indication, a bit of a secret optimist.

This Brontë sister, of course, will go on to write a novel that's essentially about that lesson. One has to admire the subtle way O'Connor juxtaposes these two sisters, as well as what that says about the contrast between the works for which each one is most famous (When Emily looks out the window upon the Yorkshire moors for inspiration, it's all a quiet gloom, but when Charlotte sits and views the same vista in a scene that slightly alters history for a dramatically satisfying end, the sound of the birds is what strikes her).

The other siblings—elder brother Branwell (Fionn Whitehead), who becomes Emily's closest friend and confidant and inspiration, and youngest sister Anne (Amelia Gething)—are creative people, too. The brother looks to painting, before deciding the written word would better communicate his ideas, and the third sister still enjoys making up stories with Emily as they all did as children. Their widower father Patrick (Adrian Dunbar), an Anglican priest, wants to maintain the family's reputation, and his children are overwhelmed by a desire to match those expectations or by their feelings of failure in doing so.

O'Connor establishes these dynamics so well and with such clear-eyed simplicity that they become an inherent part of the tapestry of the kind of person this version of Emily is. She wants to live up to the standards of her father, as Charlotte does with such apparent ease (There's more to her than that, obviously), but is haunted by the awareness that she cannot. She tries to follow Charlotte's example but ends up hiding in a closet at the school where she tries to teach.

Emily wants the freedom of thought and action exemplified by her brother, but as he falls to the perils of drinking too much and indulging in opium, she witnesses the gradual loss of the person and artist he might have been. All of the siblings still mourn the mother they barely knew, and there's a particularly melancholy scene in which Emily, wearing a blank mask and playacting as her deceased parent, convinces them all—including herself, perhaps—that their mother's ghost has come to visit.

There's a romance, too, of course, and it involves William Weightman (Oliver Jackson-Cohen), newly arrived to the parish as a curate. He's handsome and poetic, catching the attention of all the local women, but Emily is initially unimpressed. The young priest becomes her French tutor, though, and as Emily becomes more free-thinking and strong-willed and sensual in her poetry, she certainly begins to catch William's attention.

Obviously, there is nothing particularly new or revelatory in this story, but that's irrelevant to the film's purpose. Here, O'Connor wants us to understand Emily as a complex figure, defined by her surroundings, her personal connections, her circumstances, and her tricky relationship with her desire to create. More than that, though, the filmmaker wants us to feel all of this on a level that cuts to some core about Emily's loneliness, her difficulty with connecting to others, her rebellious side, and, ultimately, how all of this formed the shape, attitude, and essence of the author who would write Wuthering Heights.

Emily certainly accomplishes that goal, thanks to O'Connor's sharp filmmaking, which does concentrate more on tone and emotion than matters of narrative, and Mackey's fully committed performance. We feel the pain, longing, and passion of this character in a way that some ordinary, by-the-books biography might not have achieved.

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