Cathy's here, and Heathcliff too -- but that’s nearly we get from Emily Brontë’s 1847 novel in the latest of a long line of adaptations and interpretations, this one from director Emerald Fennell. In place of the full story, we do get eggs, synth pop and swoony lighting. In the latest episode of Fo You See What I Mean, Mia and Joe explore why Fennell made the choices she did, who this version is for, and why the amount of sultry steam we were promised in the trailers — ended up being conspicuously small.

There are all kinds of films that reference, or stage in the story, or explicitly discuss sex but have little to none onscreen. These are films that felt the romance, sexual identity, gender identity, or sex scenes had to go because they would hurt the storyline, not help it. (Or for other reasons.)

Sometimes, Hollywood flinches. Sometimes a performer says “no thanks.” And sometimes, these decisions work — while at others, they leave something missing. We take a look back at five films from the last several decades and ask why.

• The Color Purple (1985)
• Fried Green Tomatoes (1991)
• The Silence of the Lambs (1991)
• A Few Good Men (1992)
• 300 (2006)

In this episode of Do You See What I Mean, Mia and Joe take on two recent films about motherhood pushed to the breaking point: Lynne Ramsay’s Die My Love and Mary Bronstein’s If I Had Legs, I’d Kick You. Both films center mothers in crisis—but they provoke very different reactions. As the conversation unfolds, Mia and Joe find themselves sharply divided, interrogating not just the films themselves but the assumptions critics and audiences bring to stories about maternal suffering. Together, these films raise difficult questions: what happens when motherhood is moralized on screen? When does empathy curdle into indulgence? And do we allow women to be monstrous when they become mothers?

Racing through awards season is Jessie Buckley for her raw portrayal of a longsuffering mother and wife of William Shakespeare in Chloe Zhao’s adaptation of the Maggi O’Farrell novel. Mia and Joe share slightly different takes about this fatiguing story that features a whole lot of wailing and very little Shakespeare. Nonetheless, it has captured audiences for its simplicity and raw portrayal of loss, in a return to form for Zhao, who described having a breakdown after the misfire that was Marvel’s The Eternals. Is her hyper natural approach enough to fuel a long career? What about her did producers Steven Spielberg and Sam Mendes jump to get behind? And is there anything to learn from such a dour slog through parental pain?

Joe and Mia reflect on the 98th annual Academy Award nominations, and the surprises and shutouts that always surface.

Mia and Joe unpack Joachim Trier’s Sentimental Value, a quiet, prestige drama about grief, family, memory, and the emotional inheritance passed down through generations. From comparisons to Birdman and Lost in Translation to a sharp critique of prestige filmmaking that prioritizes aesthetics over narrative clarity, this episode asks a central question: What does a film actually need to do in order to justify its existence? How do families tell their histories through the medium?

Lifelong obsession, painstaking craft and the gothic horror of the romantics – Mary Shelley’s time tested tale is brought, finally and passionately to screen by one of our modern masters of the macabre. It’s gorgeous, it’s engaging, and yet something doesn’t quite work, even after the two years del Toro spent in his thirteen home libraries reading and writing. Mia and Joe get up on the surgical table to slice apart the what and the why of del Toro’s latest – blood, guts and all. What do we want from well trodden remakes? How should we receive passion projects of masters of their craft? And how should we think about a hot Frankenstein?

In their first episode, Mia and Joe dive into One Battle After Another, PTA’s most political and provocative film yet. From ensemble performances to fetish, class shame, and state power, they explore why this film unsettles—and why that matters. Much buzzed about as 2026’s Best Picture winner (having already nabbed that Golden Globe prize), it’s a rollicking modern fable in three arresting acts, featuring a dynamite cast and a whole wacky range of ideas. Beneath the PR campaign, the director’s legacy and the star studding, does it have something substantive to say? And what does it show us about the world we live in today?