In a seminal essay titled ‘The Movies and Reality’, published in The New Republic, acclaimed novelist Virginia Woolf criticised cinematic adaptations of literature as a parasitic venture. She believed that films based on novels create friction between the eye and the mind. As we absorb the visuals on the screen, our mind is rendered passive, feeling none of the compulsion to think for itself that it would when we read a book.
When viewed from such a cynical lens, any adaptation of a novel will undoubtedly seem lacking. However, Zoe Kazan’s Netflix adaptation of John Steinbeck’s magnum opus East of Eden doesn’t feel derivative. Instead, it develops its own language by deepening the audience’s understanding of the novel and offering fresh insights into key characters and events.
Steinbeck’s 1952 multigenerational novel, set in California’s Salinas Valley, follows the interconnected lives of two families: the Trasks and the Hamiltons. Through the parallel stories of two sets of brothers, the novel mirrors the biblical story of Cain and Abel, revealing how the choice between good and evil rests with the individual. However, Steinbeck’s novel has been widely viewed as male-centred because it pushes female characters to the fringes of the narrative and even villainises them for exercising free will.
The Netflix adaptation attempts to rectify this by offering a more nuanced depiction of characters Steinbeck’s pen failed to portray fairly. The most vilified among these characters is Cathy Ames (Florence Pugh), who transforms from a unidimensional vamp into a multi-layered, unconventional woman in the Netflix series. Through her vociferous rejection of motherhood and social norms, Cathy could easily have become a caricatured villain. Instead, in Kazan’s capable hands, she avoids this stereotypical fate, though she isn’t pigeonholed as a feminist icon. At one point, Pugh’s stunning portrayal of Cathy and the anticipation around her next decisive steps single-handedly hold viewers’ attention. When Cathy’s storyline ends abruptly, audiences may lose interest or skip ahead to the final credits.
However, the other characters are also carefully crafted. Adam Trask (Christopher Abbott), Cathy’s estranged husband, has a strong presence throughout the series. Lee (Hoon Lee), the Trasks’ loyal Chinese house servant, is memorable for his struggle to combat racism in early 1900s America. Unfortunately, the challenges faced by Adam and Cathy’s two children, Aron (Joe Anders) and Caleb (Joseph Zada), don’t fully come to life. Because they appear relatively late in the series, the two brothers feel like an afterthought. Their inclusion seems like a threadbare attempt to stay true to the novel.
Moreover, the Hamilton family, indispensable as a contrast to the melodrama surrounding the Trask lineage, has been reduced to secondary characters. For readers who have enjoyed Steinbeck’s novel, this exclusion feels like sacrilege, depriving the series of a crucial dimension. Such decisions, though, are often made for purely practical purposes. This leads critics to question whether adapting East of Eden as a multi-season show, rather than a limited series, would have been more appropriate.
That said, Woolf’s criticism of cinematic adaptation partly holds true for Kazan’s adaptation. Although the series is not parasitic and seems to develop a unique rhythm, it still encourages the mind to grow passive. Viewers are, therefore, advised to read the novel before immersing themselves in this seven-part series. Only then can they engage visually and intellectually with Steinbeck’s intriguing tale of abandonment, jealousy, and the vicissitudes of time.
Leave a Reply