"Swarthy" my foot, Heathcliff is a black man!

So maybe you already know that someone has been playing closer attention to Wuthering Heights than I initially did with Jane Eyre.

In this miniature article published by my most favorite magazine, a vague, but to-the-point piece of news was revealed regarding the casting of Heathcliff for the new Wuthering Heights adaptation supposedly being released next year.

I'm not quite sure why, in the past, casting directors forgot that Heathcliff resembled a "dark-skinned gypsy," but this good Andrea Arnold is just about to make up for past losses (I'm talking about you, Ralph Fiennes).

Bam. Heathcliff is a black man from Leeds named James Howard, who appears to have been plucked out of thin air with nothing but a single picture floating about the Internet to give him any credit. Most importantly, he's a young guy, although that does make me think that perhaps this version won't carry on into the second generation, which… kind of sucks. They could, I suppose, use cruddy prosthetics on Howard, but I can't see that going particularly well. Hm.

Anyway, props to the director who isn't afraid of using unknown actors, and props to those people who know what a "dark-skinned" Heathcliff means. (Even though… not all gypsies are dark-skinned, and I actually pictured Healthcliff to have somewhat of a Middle Eastern flair to his looks, but… that's cool). Let's all be excited!

Jane Eyre in 2011

After I came out of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Part 1) yesterday, I started thinking about the trailer I'd watched weeks earlier for Jane Eyre. Probably because I'd had the sudden urge this vacation to finally watch that version of BBC's from 2006 that was supposedly so excellent (and which was excellent). Also, since I had just come out of a theatre, I might have thought of it because I just wanted to think of a movie more interesting than the one I'd just seen. My poor friend fell completely asleep during the tent-hopping scenes. For what dignity could be saved between us, I forced myself to stay awake.

Harry Potter aside, here's the thing about Jane Eyre. BBC's Jane Eyre was beautiful; simply, ruggedly that. Listen, though; I read the novel sometime in my junior year, and found myself not quite falling in love with it. I couldn't explain it. For some reason, it just made me really depressed. Jane's life pretty much sucks all the way through the darn thing, and even her happiness doesn't always seem like so desirable. And Mr. Rochester was kind of a butt. I really hated that guy. But the little miniseries from 2006--you guys, it showed me what I'd been missing out on! Perhaps I'd been tired when I read the book before (as we all know, or as you will find out, junior year is the worst year of all years), but what I'd missed completely in the novel, and what turns out to make magical Jane's dreary, grouchy world of people who either hate her completely or remain indifferent--is the absolute purity of human emotion displayed throughout. Bottled, actually, but bursting just the same. 

Ruth Wilson as Jane Eyre, I rediscovered, was perfect. She showed the Jane that I'd missed, and the Jane that existed truly, and that was beautiful. I discovered, especially through her gorgeous performance of that famous "poor, obscure, plain, and little" scene, that Jane Eyre has such a graciously, enormously human significance to the story. 

Which is exactly why I already cannot stand 2011's Jane, played by Mia Wasikowska.

Look at her in that picture! Look at her in the trailer if you haven't already! Watch Ruth Wilson break herself into pieces when she is vulnerable and wonderful as she is "poor, obscure, plain, and little," and then watch Mia's same line in the trailer! Mia, pretty a girl as she is, cannot be Jane Eyre. I hate to be critical, really, but the girl shows no emotion. Which, remember, I thought Jane's character to be before I watched Ruth's performance. But now... nothing is good enough! (Although... I can appreciate Michael Fassbender's general shmexiness...). As far as their blonde hair goes--no, I won't begin. 

I am such a purist, everyone. And yes, I know that I am judging too soon. I feel as if I should have written an essay for my first post instead of this poorly articulated and unorganized rant (which, coincidentally, was basically the structure of Deathly Hallows). I'll be back, mark my words, with a vengeance! if this Jane Eyre does not make my heart break with happiness.