Emily opens when Wuthering Heights is already a burgeoning success, and the titular Brontë sister (Emma Mackey) is seriously ill with an unknown condition. Tending to her, her well-meaning but patronizing sister Charlotte (a pitch-perfect Alexandra Dowling) demands to know how she could write such a dark and ugly book, full of cruel people and tragic goings-on. Emily says she simply used her imagination.

‘There must be something more,’ insists Charlotte and the camera is then left lingering on Emily’s defiant, impenetrable gaze.

This exchange could serve as a rationale for the rest of the film, which then rewinds to show us how we reached this point. The main thrust of the plot is a sharp and profoundly asocial Emily falling for the new curate at her father’s parish, the thoughtful and charming William Weightman (Oliver Jackson-Cohen). Their chemistry builds through witty and combative French lessons, stolen kisses in a barn in a rainstorm, and over handwritten notes and a sinkful of dirty dishes, before eventually being consummated in a delicate and steamy scene that revels in peeling back the many layers of clothes the era was so fond of.

It’s sexy, delightful stuff; the period drama played straight, with excellent chemistry between Mackey and Jackson-Cohen, projecting palpable longing long before the clothes start coming off.

Of course, this all happens in the first half of the movie, so it’s safe to assume things will eventually go horribly wrong, and that this will greatly influence Emily’s worldview. Or maybe it’s not safe to assume anything, because - and here’s where things get messy - according to historians, Brontë’s romance with Weightman never happened.

While Weightman was a real person, who did work at Brontë’s parish, there’s no evidence that he and Brontë were ever romantically involved. This puts the film in an uncomfortable middle ground between biopic and historical romantic drama.

Now, it’s not uncommon for historical fiction to take a little bit of the truth and make it go a long way. But it’s not usually billed as a biopic.

The film’s writer-director Frances O’Connor (herself the star of another beloved period adaptation, the 1999 adaptation of Mansfield Park) has stated gleefully that she knows her film will ‘piss historians off’ - an answer that strikes me as someone glib. Having entered the film knowing little about Brontë’s life, I put a certain trust in the narrative: finding out later it was in part a work of fiction felt like something of a betrayal, and a bit unsatisfying. Assigning Emily her own tragic love story that hews closely to the plot of her masterwork (and only work) is a neat little explanation that rubs out all of the mystery surrounding this author’s powerful imagination. It feels a bit patronizing.

There is also a frustrating incoherence to the timings - it’s never really clear how much time has passed or how old the characters are meant to be. The movie is very much marketed and sold on its connection to Brontë - yet the ultimate focus of the plot is pure speculation on O’Connor’s part, putting words in her mouth.

That said, if taken entirely out of this murky context, the film is a beautiful watch and an extremely accomplished directorial debut. The cool and brisk lighting and cinematography beautifully evoke both the freshness and harshness of the tough Bradford landscape. Nature feels almost violently alive, and the sensuousness beautifully parallels the passion shared by Brontë and Weightman.

The acting, too, is excellent throughout. Mackey instils her Emily Brontë with a troubled, smouldering depth that makes it easy for us to empathize with her at times difficult personality, while Jackson-Cohen makes his character feel sweetly sincere. Fionn Whitehead, as Emily’s doomed, rakish brother Bramwell, is another standout.

The film also has some complex and interesting things to say about grief. It’s clear from very early on that all four Brontë siblings are still reeling from the loss of their mother, and each trying to deal with it in their limited way. In some ways, the quiet witness the film bears to the adrift siblings, each in their own way so utterly lost at sea, ends up being its most moving feature. It would have been lovely to see this explored further. The pained allyships and rivalries between the Brontë kids ring so true.

Should you go to see Emily? Maybe. If you prefer your films investigatory, succinct and historically accurate - then no. But if you enjoy sumptuous period dramas, and stories about creativity, passion and grief - and don’t mind quite a bit of artistic license - I’d say go for it, you’re in for a treat.