Watching the latest Wuthering Heights adaptation on Masterpiece Theatre, I'm reminded of just how much I hated all the characters in this book. Cathy is still an annoying little twit and Heathcliff is still a raging psycho who is in desperate need of some anger management therapy. It is NOT okay under any circumstances to exhume your dead lover's corpse to hug/cradle/whatever else (best not dwell on that plot point). I seriously wonder what sort of bizarre notions about love the Brontes must have had to come up with this sort of stuff, considering they were three spinster sisters who hardly left home.
The first half of the series was moderately entertaining, but the second half just sucked--even more than the book. Mostly Cathy just wanders around the moors half-crazed and preggo, while Heathcliff skulks about not combing his hair. Thankfully I taped the second half due to the fact that award shows rule my life (sidebar: despite rooting for Jon Hamm to win the Best Actor SAG, I'm also okay with giving any and all awards to Hugh Laurie simply because he is guaranteed to deliver a great acceptance speech), so I could fastfoward through Heathcliff being bitchy/mopey/suicidal. Seriously, the only saving grace was the satisfaction I got in watching all the main characters die.
I thought maybe this story in movie form with pretty costumes and scenery might make me like it a bit better, but I've come to the conclusion that there is absolutely no incarnation of this story that I will ever enjoy.
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