Emily (2022)

What makes Emily special is that it doesn’t try to “museum-ify” Emily Brontë—it lets her breathe as a young woman of ferocious appetite for life, love, and language, and it makes the act of becoming an artist feel thrillingly alive. Frances O’Connor directs with a confident, windswept intensity, turning the moors into an emotional landscape, while Emma Mackey gives a vibrant performance that’s equal parts defiant spark and private ache. The film’s tone is romantic and raw, with striking visuals and a heartbeat of family tension—especially in the messy, magnetic bonds between the Brontë siblings—that makes the drama feel intimate rather than dutifully historical. It’s more imaginative than strictly biographical, so purists may bristle, but if you want a period romance with real emotional teeth and the electricity of a voice being born, this one lingers.

Emily is clearly aiming for a moody, romantic origin story—less strict biography, more “how the fire got lit” before Wuthering Heights. The problem is that its big swings with artistic license can make the whole thing feel unconvincing if you’re hoping for credibility or a grounded portrait of Emily Brontë. Even with a committed lead performance and some evocative atmosphere, the film can keep you at arm’s length emotionally, like it’s posing rather than pulling you in. If you enjoy poetic, impressionistic period dramas, you may appreciate it; if you want historically faithful storytelling or a deeply involving character study, this might test your patience.