Emerald Fennell’s psychedelic adaptation of “Wuthering Heights” declares that it will play by its own rules right at the start. This is a period-defining and admittedly subversive take of Fennell’s loose – very loose – interpretation of Emily Brontë’s 1847 book, the sole novel of the English author and poet that mainly tells the story of two star-crossed lovers, Catherine (Margot Robbie) and Heathcliff (Jacob Elordi), in the late 18th-century England. It’s a dare, and an invitation to experience all the ways Fennell herself felt the arousing sway of the classic, where she sees lust and demise as two inseparable sides of the same coin.

It is unfortunate that the film becomes an increasingly timid affair, with a series of aggressively styled set pieces and, inexplicably, even oppressively hushed emotions. Brontë’s novel is not just about romance, but also class. It’s not just about class, but also racism. It’s not only about this, but also that (violence, trauma, domestic abuse, societal outcasts…the list goes on), as if the story isn’t encompassing of all of the above.

With already countless film, TV, and stage adaptations of “Wuthering Heights”, Fennell is more than allowed to mine her own impression and memories of the text. But if modernising the setting with anachronistic choices in music and design and leaning into the inconsolable longing between the tale’s stubborn and destructive lovers was her priority, you can’t help but wish that she really committed to the bit.

Instead of an effervescently out-there emotional scope, she gives us something halfway, intriguingly sizzling when yearning takes center stage between Robbie and Elordi, two of the greatest actors working today, but oddly cold and even wooden when the duo finally falls into each other’s arms. This seems to have less to do with Robbie and Elordi, but more with Fennell’s style-over-substance approach to the material. While the filmmaker has always married excessive colours and textures with her storytelling, like in the pitch-perfect “Promising Young Woman” (still her finest film) and the deliciously Gothic “Saltburn,” her instincts feel misguided here. It’s hard to feel free when you are constantly and loudly reminded by every aspect of the movie that you are supposed to feel things.

The strongest segment of Fennell’s “Wuthering Heights” is its first chapter, when we are introduced to the world of young Catherine and Heathcliff (Charlotte Mellington and Owen Cooper of “Adolescence”). Catherine is the daughter of the Earnshaw family at the increasingly neglected Wuthering Heights farm, and the latter, an orphan, Cathy’s abusive, hard-drinking father (Martin Clunes) has taken in to raise. (Since it is strongly suggested in the book that Heathcliff isn’t white, Fennell’s casting of Elordi in the role stirred up some recent whitewashing controversy.)

Matched perfectly in their volatility, the two grow up causing trouble, having fun over the expansive and foggy Yorkshire moors, and misbehaving, with Heathcliff often taking the blame for Cathy’s wrongdoings. Meanwhile, there is also the housekeeper Nelly (played by the great Hong Chau, with Vy Nguyen in a younger role). One of the book’s main narrators, she is defined here more by her silent observations as Cathy’s lifelong friend and companion, derailing a possible romance between Cathy and Heathcliff. A deeply emotive performer, Chau is absolutely perfect in the part – so much so that you increasingly wish Fennell’s adaptation allowed her character a crescendo or two.

Despite harboring obvious feelings for one another, the gruff Heathcliff and insatiable Cathy won’t confess and get together right away. Instead, Cathy marries Edgar Linton (Shazad Latif), the wealthy tenant of Thrushcross Grange estate, after Heathcliff abruptly leaves due to a misunderstanding. When he returns years later, rich and well-groomed, it’s already too late for the two, especially with Cathy’s pregnancy. Things take a darker turn when Heathcliff sets his sights on Edgar’s sister Isabella (a scene-stealing Alison Oliver) with a messy and heartless scheme of revenge.

On paper, the stakes couldn’t be higher. But in Fennell’s hands, the all-consuming nature of the world feels softened, even flattened. There is something too tidy and uninteresting about the great majority of Robbie’s later garments, though there are some inspired pieces, like Cathy’s lush wedding gown, and a richly draped black frock. And Suzie Davies’ production design explores several interesting concepts, but many of them don’t blend into the story’s Gothic hues. Cathy’s pink Thrushcross Grange room feels almost comically bare, going against the visual excess we yearn for in these types of melodramas.

Fennell is a bold filmmaker unafraid to try something new and unexpected. And “Wuthering Heights” deserves some recognition for being a movie that she made entirely on her own terms. If only those terms ignited the riotous feelings that we were promised.