Under the Hollywood sign, I mounted my steed and inhaled the crisp air, trying—earnestly—to picture myself inside Emily Brontë’s gothic universe. For a fleeting moment, Los Angeles’s Griffith Park morphed into the Yorkshire Moors and I was Heathcliff galloping towards ruin. By nightfall, I would be attending the global world premiere of Wuthering Heights, the novel once again reimagined for the big screen. Written in the 1840s, Wuthering Heights has lived many cinematic lives: a 1939 film starring Laurence Olivier was followed by adaptations in 1970, 1992, and 2011. Attending a Hollywood premiere in Hollywood—the cattle-call choreography of velvet ropes, handlers, and hurried gestures—when you are not involved in the film is uniquely humbling.