I knew nothing about it going in and assumed I was in for a sort of [b:Pride & Prejudice|1885|Pride and Prejudice|Jane Austen|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1320399351s/1885.jpg|3060926] rom-com... “Heathcliff” sounded like the name you’d give a sort of romance novel cover guy.

Nope nope nope. Imagine Hannibal Lecter directing the cast of Rocky Horror Picture Show to turn the camp down to 2 and do the play in the style of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf... at gunpoint.

“Cut!” Lecter slams his cognac down on the table in front of him, almost hard enough to shatter the glass. “Heathcliff, Martha, relax. You're almost there: a soupçon more Übermensch and less verklempt, capiche?” Heathcliff and Martha stand completely still, silent, staring at Lecter’s casually rocking pistol with wide eyes. “Riff Raff! What did I tell you: this scene needs more dead puppies. More! Dead! Puppies!” Riff Raff hurriedly limps off to the puppy vat, stage right.