In some ways, one’s interpretation of Wuthering Heights can say much about one’s character; Sylvia Plath’s poem of the same name begins ‘The horizons ring me like faggots,/Titles and disparate, and always unstable’, while Ted Hughes’ similarly titled work in his collection Birthday Letters opens with the lines ‘Walter was guide. His mother’s cousin/ Inherited some Brontë soup dishes’.

For Stephenie Meyer, it was the inspiration for the Twilight series. In her new adaption and follow up from 2009’s Fish Tank, Andrea Arnold has Kaya Scodelario as the older Catherine Earnshaw, an actress whose appeal on the first series of Skins rested on her mystery. Mystery, however, is not Catherine’s distinctive feature, with her adult life being marked by desperation and a disquieting inability to control her emotions. As a result, I had deep misgivings as to whether or not this new film would be successful.

Thankfully, the overall sense was that Arnold is someone who understands Brontë’s vision. One of the key features in the novel is the number of different narrators, all with their respective biases and voices.

This adaptation does not have enough space for Nelly Dean or the cantankerous and fervently religious Joseph to be as present on screen as on the page, but this is for good reason. The third most significant character in the film is nature, the Yorkshire moors serving as more than just a picturesque backdrop for an inspiring love tale.

Nature is a complex and reflective force, never quite fully on Heathcliff’s side. There is enough sloppy peat to satisfy both Hughes and Heaney, and at times the branches and the twigs seem to be wailing and later raging, the tormented passions of Heathcliff and Cathy being too much even for the landscape.

The key turning point in the film occurs when the young Cathy and Heathcliff (excellently played by newcomers Shannon Beer and Solomon Glave) are spotted spying into the window of the more genteel Thrushcross Grange, home to the Lintons. After dogs are set on them, Cathy stays and recovers from her injuries in the Grange, while Heathcliff is thrown out. It is from this moment that the two become increasingly separated from one another, with Heathcliff’s sense of rejection being amplified by the cruel treatment he faces from Cathy’s older brother, Hindley. His bitterness becomes manifest and almost immediately disturbing: he takes to slitting the throat of a sheep.

The rest of the film is littered with similarly repugnant deaths of animals, most significantly when the young Hareton copies the hanging of a dog. Such moments are deeply uncomfortable, with two people during the screening I attended even walking out after the sheep scene. However, they are still justifiable: to be unperturbed by Wuthering Heights, a tale of opposition, inversion and unrestrained passions, is not to understand it.

Part of the reason Fish Tank was so successful was that it refused to swallow or cover its disheartening events with an ever-present soundtrack, instead being brave enough to punctuate the inappropriate relationship between a fifteen-year-old and her mother’s boyfriend with stillness. Such shuffles and mumbles are retained for the majority of Arnold’s third film, the squelch of hurried feet in mud and the swiftness of a caning matching the excellent cinematography, intermittently focussed and dull.

Unfortunately, the last few minutes of the film is mired by the inclusion of a song, the abysmally mediocre ‘Enemy’ by Mumford and Sons. The film centres on violent emotions and should not close with a band more appropriate for a John Lewis Christmas advert.

Although Scodelario’s performance was not as disappointing as expected, hers was still the weakest. In the years between Heathcliff’s departure and his sudden return as a wealthy man, his old foe Hindley has become weak and desperate, his old coarseness replaced by an anaemic appearance. Adult Cathy cries at the return of her old love, but she is not as petulant and vengeful as she ought to be. In contrast, James Howson fully understands the deranged nature of his character’s obsession, with some of his scenes again being difficult to watch. This is a film that understands and revitalises the classic, not just because it’s, unfortunately, the first version to feature a black Heathcliff. Rather, it rightfully shakes away any accusations that Brontë’s novel is essentially a clichéd romance.