Wuthering Heights: A2 coursework by Ellie Wood 2012

BY ELLIE WOOD

W U T H E R I N G     H E I G H T S

OVER BLACK

A door creaks and slams, then we hear the shuffle of chairs as people are sitting down.

BLACK FRAME

We hear a clock ticking.

QUOTE APPEARS:

‘Muse- Space Dementia’ plays loudly for 1:24.

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Anger is a manifestation of a deeper issue... and that, for me, is based on insecurity, self-esteem and loneliness.

-Naomi Campbell-

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QUOTE FADES OUT.

Music continues as background noise.

STAY ON THE BLACK FRAME.

-The door creaks quickly and slams, a WOMAN speaks and a MAN replies-

WOMAN

(sternly)

You’re late!

MAN

Ah. What of it? I doubt they’re bothered, and you Cathy; you’ve no right to whine.

WOMAN and CATHY are the same person.

FRAME SWITCHES QUICKLY FROM BLACK TO A P.O.V SHOT FROM THE MAN.

A dull, ill-lit yellow room in Thowarh City, scattered with various posters with positive messages and a large painting of Top Withens, and four chairs in a square. Two are occupied by an uptight Nelly and slouched Hindley. There is a ‘Bramwell furniture’ book case with poetry by Curer, Ellis and Acton Bell, and a tea stand on one side of the room and a large window on the other. The atmosphere of the room is cold and hostile. Like the people in it.

Cathy lunges forward to the man. The frame quickly switches to a wide shot showing CATHY waving her finger in front of the man’s face. Characters are frozen in the background.

MAN and HEATHCLIFF are the same person.

CATHY

No right? Ah yeah Heathcliff, marrying Edgar means I’m completely void of friendship, love or ‘owt we’ve developed since we were what-six? Seven?

Heathcliff looks down and Cathy strokes his matted hair.

CATHY CONT’D

I still love you Heathcliff and you’ll not change that with any shit you give me.

Music stops abruptly.

NELLY

Miss Catherine? Perhaps you shouldn’t over step t’mark, think of others present

(looks over to Isabella, head in hands)

Camera sweeps through the crowd zooming in on Heathcliff.

HEATHCLFF

(sudden interjection with a vicious tone. Removes Cathy’s hand from his face and slowly swaggers up to Hindley)

She’s never been one to think of others Nelly has she.

Silence and tension fills the room as Heathcliff stands behind Hindley, sternly dusting off his shoulders as if caring for him, then clutching them firmly. 30 seconds go by.

The shot is a view of each of their eyes in a thin wide shot. Hindley’s showing exhaustion and Heathcliff’s black and empty.

HEATHCLIFF CONT’D

Observe Hindley.

(grabs him by the chin. Hindley appears drunk)

Look how his sister torments him, how she fled from him, and how she still manages to disgrace him by loving me. Tut tut Catherine

(smiles wickedly)

Moves over to ISABELLA.

HEATHCLIFF CONT’D

And as for this one...

(strokes Isabella’s hair, she reacts by wincing. He says this quietly)

Cathy can do as she likes

(pointing at Isabella)

‘cos she doesn’t care for me anyway so...

(vaguely begins to laugh)

NELLY

(standing)

Heathcliff, leave her be.

HEATHCLIFF goes to react to Nelly aggressively, frowning and leaning forward pointing his finger, but Isabella interrupts. Heathcliff seems impressed and leans back folding his arms in a smug way.

ISABELLA

(mumbling in a timid way)

Nelly you haven’t bothered before so please, don’t.

NELLY

(shocked and seems offended. Turns attention directly to Isabella)

Miss Isabella? I don’t know what you mean.

ISABELLA interrupts.

ISABELLA

...well that’s not strictly true is it

(lifts head and begins to half smile)

You ignore me all’time.

NELLY

(shocked)

No. I never. I...

Heathcliff is sitting chewing his nails, legs crossed and enjoying the drama that is unfolding when he interrupts.

HEATHCLIFF

(coughs to get Nelly’s attention)

Nelly you do. And rightly so.

ISABELLA

(Standing and speaking with sarcasm)

how loving

(rolls eyes)

HEATHCLIFF

(unbothered by the sarcasm and goes on chewing his nails)

that’s me flower...loving and that.

Cathy laughs and Heathcliff is offended, delivering a scowl that she ignores.

HEATHCLIFF

(in a sharp tone and quickly spoken speech with raised volume)

Don’t you dare start this Cathy cos’ I’ll finish it. I’ve done now’t but love you as long as I can remember and I’ll be damned before I let you think otherwise.

CATHY

(retaliating identically to Heathcliff)

OH!!

She goes toward him as if to engage in a fight when Hindley stands upright maintaining his drunken state. Attention is on Hindley. He pushes her away and reaches into his inside coat pocket bringing out a gun. Nelly goes to his aid.

Nelly

Come on Hindley sit down you big lump

(in a mothering attitude not offensive)

Hindley lets her hold him but refuses to sit down.

HINDLEY

YOU! BASTARD!

(shouting. points gun at him)

HEATHCLIFF

(rubbing his forehead as if lost his patience)

Sit down Hindley or I’ll put you on your arse (pauses) again.

HINDLEY

(all a drunken slur)

Don’t threaten me gypsy! You’ve torn my family apart taken all I cared about. House. Money.

HEATHCLIFF

Yes Hindley all you cared about and yet you only mentioned the house and money which you lost through your own shit luck and poor gambling techniques. The rest you lost yourself through the wonderful mistress drink! I’ll not lie, I had the time of my life watching you lose everything but you did it yourself Hindley

(smiles)

Bird’s eye view shot. Hindley falls to his knees crying. Nelly helps him up and they both leave the room. Heathcliff shoots emptying the ammunition into the floor.

Heathcliff looks over to Cathy proud of his self for ‘breaking’ Hindley. Cathy scowls at him.

HEATHCLFF CONT’D

(surprised but maintains his smile)

What?

CATHY

Why are you like this?

(inquisitive and distressed tone)

HEATHCLIFF

What?

pause for a minute as Heathcliff’s smile fades and Cathy attempts to control her temper.

CATHY

You’re evil.

He reacts as if proud.

CATHY CONT’D

Look what you do. How many times have you broken my heart? You say you love me but you play games and wreck other people’s lives.

(Isabella looks up at him, he looks back not caring)

HEATHCLIFF

I... (Cathy interrupts)

CATHY

No! Look!

(holds up Isabella’s bruised arm)

This is not right. I don’t know what’s happening at the Heights but you know this wouldn’t happen with me so why is it acceptable to do it to Isabella!

Heathcliff speaks not letting her continue.

HEATHCLIFF

(Angry)

how do you know what's right?! I don’t think you’ve ever done what’s right. You’re a hypocrite!

CATHY

Yes Heathcliff but I’m not the one that’s beating my spouse and humiliating our brother!

HEATHCLIFF

Hindley deserves everything he gets for how he treated me. Us...

CATHY

And Isabella? Why her?

HEATHCLIFF

(sulking)

what’s it to you.

CATHY

Answer me Heathcliff.

CATHY CONT’D

Answer me or live with the responsibility that you finished us and I’ll never speak to you again.

Pause for 30 seconds.

CATHY

(shouts)

HEATHCLIFF!

HEATHCIFF

(shouts and stands)

SHE’S NOT YOU!

Pause as Cathy begins to cry, Heathcliff clenches his fists and rubs his hands on his face as if both are totally overwhelmed.

CATHY

...and that makes it right?

HEATHCLIFF

No... (pauses)...It makes it necessary. I’d slit my own throat if I thought I was capable of anymore suffering than I’m already going through. But I can’t. And she looks so like her bastard brother and wants so much for me to love her like I do you and I can’t, I won’t and then it just happens...I’d apologise but I don’t care Cathy I just want you.

Cathy walks towards him tucks his hair behind his ear and cuddles him although he doesn’t put his arms round her.

CATHY

(whispers and is crying)

I love you.

(kisses his forehead)

but I’m pregnant.

(walks away)

The colour drains out of the scene leaving it in black and white. Slow motion Cathy exits the room not looking back then a close up of Heathcliff’s shocked face and here a muffled sound getting clearer- his heart beat. This continues until we see Cathy in the background of the close up getting in a car with a MAN (assumed to be Edgar) and driving away.

Heathcliff walks over to Isabella who is sitting down with a plastic cup of hot tea. He seems zombie like- obviously fuming but is speaking calmly and sharply.

HEATHCLIFF

We’re going. Put that down.

ISABELLA

I’m not going anywhere with you.

HEATHCLIFF

Yes you are. Put down your drink or wear it.

ISABELLA

(Putting down her drink)

I don’t want to.

HEATHCLIFF

(Bending down to her height and speaking in a spiteful way)

And when have I ever cared what you wanted.

grabs her by the scruff of the neck and drags her out the room with him as she is shouting ‘NO’ and crying.

Doors are flung open and we see the long corridor ahead of them as he is dragging her- the doors shut slowly and make a loud bang as they fully shut. ‘Muse- Space Dementia’ begins to play again loudly.

FADES TO A BLACK FRAME : QUOTE APPEARS.

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My heart was taken by you... broken by you... and now it is in pieces because of you.

--Anonymous

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CREDITS

Wuthering Heights’ – Kate Bush plays.

tonka. killer pup.

got a little puppehh for my 21st. cutest little ball of fluff you ever did see.

but its not all loveliness.

he wees in the house and eats his own shit. things could be better.

he unravels the loo roll down the stairs and gets in the dishwasher to help out.

he jingles the keys in the door even when he doesn't want to wee outside, just to piss us off.

he humps. like anything.

he barks at loud noises, music, dogs on tv, people on tv, me, my mum, his own reflection anything really.

he sits down on his walks anytime we pass another animal, human or car. the walks take us a very long time.

he won't do anything without a treat on the cards.

we think we taught him instructions but he sits as a result of every one. down. he sits. paw. he sits. i cannot decide if he's really stupid or a complete genius.

he begs for bacon, he begs for cheese and he begs for pizza. like mother like son.

he bites my nose and chin when he kisses me because he's a little bastard.

he bolts across the garden, side to side like a loon when left alone.

he gets jealous when i sit with my girlfriend and wont leave us alone.

but mostly he wees indoors and eats his own shit.

this is just an opener to the chronicles of Tonka... there will be more.

So I'm writing my dissertation on media manipulation. vaguely I wanted to discover, with reference to UK Murdoch print publications how the media manipulates its content and consequently their audiences.
I've researched news values for content construction, sociological perspectives of media construction, marxist, pluralist and functionalist perspectives and their views on audience interpretation and participation, the historical perspective of Machiavellian manipulation and also researched Chomsky's views on agenda setting. I've matched these to some quotes about how Murdoch runs his businesses and how he came to be a media mogul, and what makes him stand out from the rest, usually for negative reasons. And now, I need to write it up into a concise piece of academia.

But in this search for answers i was listening to music and heard the lyric "we're sculptured from youth, the chipping away makes us weary, as for the truth it seems we just pick a theory" and it made me wonder, are we not so much manipulated by the media in stages, but are we born into a theory that is chosen for us, and is constantly reinforced.

At sixth form, being in sociology and being a Tory was a questionable affair. The teachers claimed to be teaching us impartial information, facts of which we could make our own mind up. Yet they were very obviously of the Labour political leanings, and preached about inequality that stemmed from our current Conservative Government. There was no balance to what they taught. Has education, much like religion or media, become a biased institution, are our theories chosen for us in more than one way?

Despite preaching socialist propaganda, as i saw it at the time, the teachers were still endorsing capitalism and and still endorsing the 'work hard achieve more' lifestyle choice. so is this pre-chosen for us?
the right to education seems like a blessing but is it? education on the terms of our prevailing ideology? with tests set out by prevailing governmental system? to achieve jobs who's rights, pension, wages are set out to serve capitalist values of worth? financial worth above all?
do we seek escapism in media and do not realise we're being manipulated by that? do we think we know we're being manipulated by media chosen for us in the papers but forget the evils of tv news? do we know our 'villains' (Murdoch) but think other media is impartial? do we think education is impartial? do we really think that it enlightens us to all the facts and religion is a biased institution, one of a kind?

As i'm getting further and further into this dissertation i'm seeing that print media is a 'known evil' but there is secret manipulators that people really over look. we're even manipulated into knowing what is manipulating our opinions. i just think its important that you're all forewarned. i know its exhausting to constantly be on the 'what is this trying to make me think? and what does it want me to avoid thinking?' guard 24/7 but please don't take everything at face value.

A friend of mine, in argument recently proclaimed about terrorism what he saw as fact. it took over an hour to educate him that YES what he was regurgitating is accurate to what he has read and so it appeared as fact, but its a manipulated one sided view and when dismantled wasn't the actuality of it. a grown, intelligent man was brain washed into thinking the news was a fact. so much so he couldnt even understand the news within the news. the 'inception' of the content. that was a very scary moment. people need to become a little more active in their media consumption.

just a thought like.

For Emma

ox blood original, scared of now't and intimidating. laced up tight, nothing out of place. occasional scuff buffed out sooner or later. and patent docco school shoe with bouncy sole and scuffed front. bow laces optional.

a seminal trend.

thats my friend, emma.

and when out and about. two very unapologetic, somewhat strangely put together peas in a pod dropping the metaphorical c bomb where appropriate; casual. and on occasion, where inappropriate; not casual. finding the footprint.

a seminal trend.

thats my friend, emma.

dragging ourselves through punk into britpop. a test of all sturdiness. bile fired and the crashing sounds slowly transitioning into a steady bop, eventually becoming more infrequent, but no less important.

a seminal trend.

thats my friend, emma.

Character Poem.

I don't need much from you,
just honesty and trust.
I can give you all I have,
It's still not quite enough.
'Cos I am living, in the shadow of the man
Who broke my woman, and trapped her in the past.
I waited my life for her, then caught her with my charms.
'Cos life means nothing without her in my arms.
Leave that life behind, start a fresh, and be.
Don't dwell on your past pain, forget that guy, choose me.

Love is hard for her,
I can tell, she aces lust.
The difficulty lies within,
Respect and faith and trust.
'Cos when he left her,
Crying and on the floor.
He had a vage idea,
He'd wrecked her heart for sure.
I waited my life for her, then caught her with my charms.
'Cos life means nothing without her in my arms.
Leave that life behind, start a fresh, and be.
Don't dwell on your past pain, forget that guy, choose me.


Character Poem.
By Ellie Wood.

I've been away for a while. I've been writing my book which is sadly only a chapter or so ahead of where I was 8 months ago but we're getting there. Just letting you know where I've been hiding. I can clearly tell my adoring public have missed me so, and are utterly thrilled I'm back to spill sarcastic bile throughout the online world.

Enjoy.

Christmas time: mistletoe and wine?

The day is finally up and it's reached that time again, and when I say that time I mean the point where even the advertisers have abandoned all notion of a merry Xmas and are instead trying to flog you their leather look dining set that's been ignored by customers all year for the 'amazing price of nine nine nine nine nine nine nine nine nine' 

The fickle nature of the advertising business should be enough to remind the enthusiastic public that year after year buy into the giving and receiving festivities that it is just things that they're pulling out their hair and losing limbs over in the last minute supermarket dashes. 

The thought of Xmas, pre turkey is an all very jolly one. You must watch the cooking shows and the Christmas specials of shows like This Morning and all seems as the day can only go to plan. English society and jovial upper class parties, however, are not the usual Xmas and there is some room for catastrophe. Yet you remain hopeful in the notion that all will go to plan and the grandparents will gleefully receive their box of milk tray an purple v-neck jumper/tin of Bassetts liquorice and john Lewis voucher/ Amaryllis and theatre tickets to Jersey boys ensemble, and be happy. You squint your eyes hoping the turkey WILL fit in the oven and NOT be dry as it has in previous years, most notably in 1991 when you had 12 to feed and an uncooked turkey at 5 in the afternoon. You hope the youngest siblings will not sneakily drink the sherry behind the sofa and you hope the dog will not mistake the authentic synthetic plastic tree for woodland and raise a leg, unleashing a tidal wave of canine territory marking upon the newly fitted cappuccino coloured carpet. 

Whilst you're fantasising about how you may roast a pork lion like Tom Kerridge, present your icing sugar laden delicious home made buns to your guests and dress your tree like Kirstie Allsop does, you observe your children playing in a calm and most surprising manner as they discus their wish list to Santa; notes accompanied by pictures cut out from the Argos catalogue functioning as visual aids in case of emergency, and your hubby whom you do so love on Xmas day pours you a festive tipple of baileys over ice and mouths the words to 'baby it's cold outside' in an entirely charming, and not one bit slimey fashion. 

However, the reality of Xmas sneaks up on us all like catholic pregnancy or the shits. No one has ever gifted the right things and all too often we hand out the 'emergency three for two' soaps from Boots we bought back in October, which entirely defeats the object of gifts at all but Xmas seems to bring out a sense of neurosis and who to buy for dread in all the best people, and it can only be remedied by a cheap beauty product from a high street chain. 

Grand parents are very rarely overwhelmingly grateful and over joyed by their gifts. The milk tray is ever so well thought out as so to not interfere with the productivity of their dentures and although the jumper is a large and borderline insulting upon initial opening, post Xmas excessive eating and general greed it fits snug and suddenly a sense of 'bloody good present that' sets in. The liquorice, to some degree is a small gesture to oneself. Despite being a firm favourite of your grandparents the confectionary itself resembles your soul at this late stage in the season, black and bitter. Although the comedy becomes very apparent as you watch grandpa chew... And chew... And continue to chew... And further chew... And chew some more... Chew... Chew... And as we reach 2016 he continues to chew... You understand where this is going, yes? 

All the gifts are lifted to eye height and given a vague nod of approval then put to one side which is quite disheartening for the buyer and often leaves an air of ungratefulness although fainting and crying with excitement would probably be considered an over reaction so it is difficult to find a happy medium. 

Dinner prep becomes more like the Royale Family each year and as you discover your turkey won't fit in the oven, or take three millenniums to cook, you seriously consider the pros and cons of microwaving the majestic creature. A Xmas dinner of turkey is characterised by it's dry texture and accompaniment of week boiled veg and out of date condiments, which will ring all too true if you're a member of my family. Pudding is often a disappointment, fruit and booze like sherry and brandy, especially in a desert, are something we try to avoid all year round and eat in the name of tradition over Xmas willingly...baffling behaviour really. 

Hubby is probably not charmingly pouring you a baileys over ice... He's probably working out the cheapest drink to mark the occasion which often leaves you holding an 80s throw back over frothy snowball and trying to look happy about it. The children's conversation you're listening in to will start off as a delight but inevitably it all ends in disaster when your child tells her friend or sibling of a present they want, but have not once asked for in the run up to Xmas... Again, my family will be giggling now as they think 'Wendy dress' 

At the Xmas meal, as you're all sat around the table at different heights in dining chairs new and old, deck chairs from weekends in Blackpool in the summer of 1974, patio furniture and your grandmas old machine chair that spins in every plausible direction defying science on so many levels, you tuck into your meal giving each other the same banter as the year before. Again my family will be thinking of my mothers obsession with finding out if she likes crab sticks every year. Then as people try to help the day unfolds. And funnily enough so does the sanity. Too much horrendously cheap wine is consumed and one too many jokes are made about whomever chose the bottle of Chardonnay that is sat in the centre of the table and everyone is avoiding; clearly someone wasn't informed about the ABC of wine (anything but Chardonnay), party hats are worn, unless the crackers are cheap and they are too small to fit on our family of large heads, the Queens speech is talked through- because nobody actually listens to it in the entire country, do they? And nothing is as Jamie Oliver Said it would be. The tree by this point is lop sided and 99% Of decorations have jumped ship and spread themselves across the floor and all notion of a festive cabin that was the initial thought behind decoration has absolutely gone to shit. All that's left for the day is horrendous television and too much booze. Watching various soap characters die or have their affairs outed with a Morrisons home brand Irish cream and a toblerone, followed by Love Actually is how you end your 25th December, providing you're doing it right of course. 

Upon reflection, you've made jokes at each other's expense all day with a vague undercurrent of resentment and tried to, in some cases, suppress disappointment because you haven't received your Lego Star Wars storm trooper key ring. You've eaten too much and drunk too much and not one thing you've overly indulged in has been something you consider to be your favourite. Tv has been an exceptional let down and the company has been compulsory. And despite it being utterly amazing to give presents and see a smile stretch across and otherwise miserable loved ones face, the entire day is an celebration of pure greed. Which you've whole heartedly basked in all day. Merry fucking Christmas. 

P.s do not fear... I got my storm trooper key ring *thumbs up*