Netflix’s East of Eden is a big swing at a classic, and it mostly connects. Zoe Kazan, the actress and writer behind the series, has taken John Steinbeck’s sprawling family saga and turned it into a seven-episode limited show. The result is a bold, sometimes uneven adaptation that puts two characters front and center: Cathy Ames, played by Florence Pugh, and Lee, played by Hoon Lee.
The show is not a straight retelling. It opens with Cathy, not with the Trask brothers who anchor the novel. That choice is deliberate. Kazan wants to make Cathy the story’s engine, and she pairs her with Lee, the Chinese American cook whose role in the book is often reduced to a supporting part. The series is faithful to Steinbeck, but it rearranges the focus. That’s the point.
Pugh’s Cathy Runs Hot and Cold
Pugh was an Oscar nominee in her late 20s for her work in Greta Gerwig’s Little Women. She has since spent several years without a role that matched her talents. Getting pulled into the Marvel machine tends to do that to a young actor. But Pugh has always done her best work on television, most notably in Park Chan-Wook’s 2018 adaptation of John Le Carré’s The Little Drummer Girl.
In East of Eden, Pugh executive produces as well as stars. She gets a character who shifts over decades, from a beaten teenager to a reluctant wife to a skilled prostitute to a hardened madam. That range suits her. Watching her, it’s clear why she came back to the small screen.
Cathy arrives in Connecticut as a beaten and bloody teen, showing up at the doorstep of half-brothers Adam Trask and Charles Trask. Their father, Cyrus Trask, has pitted them against each other since birth, molding Adam into a soldier and Charles into a farmer despite either boy’s natural instincts. The Trasks are already carrying the emotional inheritance they will pass on to the next generation. But we see them first through Cathy’s eyes, which burn with an animal intelligence even through a mosaic of bruises and scabs.
Adam is simple and trusting. He is an easy mark for a desperate woman looking for a life raft. Charles is canny and discerning, a threat and maybe a kindred spirit. Pugh is fantastic in these early episodes, establishing Cathy as a kind of psychopath in the clinical sense — a creature of instinct who treats any threat to her agency, from parental discipline to full-blown abuse, as a lethal attack to be repaid with interest. Her performance recalls Scarlett Johansson’s man-eating alien in the 2013 film Under the Skin: Cathy acts less out of malice than an innate, unchangeable essence.
When she likens her marriage to something that “can be slipped out of, like a poorly made knot,” we understand how inimical she is to any kind of constraint, legal or otherwise. Abandoning her newborn twins is less sympathetic, but in a different era Cathy would have options beyond a domesticity that never suited her.
Kazan Explains the Monster
Steinbeck believed monsters were born to human parents. Kazan seems to disagree. She plays up the explanatory power of an incident from Cathy’s childhood, suggesting that monsters are made, not born. The origin story helps explain why Cathy suffers and isolates herself in her later years, when she runs a Salinas brothel. But it also softens the sharp edge of her early characterization and gives viewers a reason to feel for her.
Kazan has said she originally intended for East of Eden to run for eight episodes. There is some palpable compression in the seven ultimately produced. Another cost-cutting measure moved the production to New Zealand, which is a shame for a story so rooted in California geography. Cinematographer Stuart Dryburgh gets some stunning, sun-dappled vistas out of the islands’ rolling hills.
Lee’s Slow Burn
Lee is the other half of the beating heart. He is an educated and empathetic soul who observes society from its margins. Born in America to railroad workers, he speaks in a thickly accented pidgin around racist strangers who expect it of him. His role emerges more gradually than Cathy’s, and that’s where the show’s unevenness shows.
The series does not spend much time with Charles Trask, nor with the teenage versions of the couple’s sons Cal and Aaron. We don’t get to know Charles well enough for his theory that “kind recognizes kind” in Cathy to resonate. Nor do we get much time with Cal and Aaron to deepen them beyond vessels for their ancestors’ baggage.
But it’s clear what Kazan wanted to make space for. Cathy’s ingratiation with, and eventual usurpation of, brothel owner Faye gets an entire episode. So does an extended interlude with Lee, co-written by novelist Alexander Chee, the only installment on which Kazan does not have sole script credit.
The Cast Holds Up the Weight
The supporting cast is strong across the board. Christopher Abbott plays Adam Trask, and Mike Faist plays Charles Trask. Tracy Letts plays Cyrus Trask, the father obsessed with molding his sons into a soldier and a farmer. Martha Plimpton plays Faye, the brothel owner Cathy usurps. Joseph Zada plays Cal, and Joe Anders plays Aaron.
Abbott and Faist are both minimal presences once newlyweds Adam and Cathy set out for Northern California. Even before that, we don’t get to know Charles well enough for his theory that “kind recognizes kind” in Cathy to resonate. Nor do we get much time with the teenage versions of the couple’s sons Cal and Aaron to deepen them beyond vessels for their ancestors’ baggage.
What the Show Gets Right
The show is faithful to Steinbeck, arguably even more so than the 1955 film directed by Kazan’s grandfather Elia, which focused on the final phase of the multigenerational epic. This series takes on the whole thing. The production is lush, and the cast is stellar.
The show’s emphasis on Cathy and Lee is not always consistent. Cathy’s ferocity gets diluted by her origin story. Lee’s depth takes time to emerge. But together, they make a case for bringing Steinbeck’s tale of free will, original sin and cyclical tragedy into the 21st century.
The Trade-Offs
The show compresses the story and loses some characters along the way. Charles Trask remains a minor figure throughout, and the teenage Cal and Aaron never fully come into focus. That’s a fair price to pay for the attention Kazan gives Cathy and Lee, but it means the show’s central conflict — the Trask brothers’ rivalry — never reaches the weight it carries in the novel.
The series also trades authenticity for practicality. Shooting in New Zealand rather than California saves money, but it costs the story its geographical identity. The rolling hills of the islands stand in for the Salinas Valley, and cinematographer Stuart Dryburgh makes them look beautiful, but the substitution is noticeable to anyone familiar with the novel’s settings.
The Verdict on Cathy and Lee
Pugh is the standout of the series. Her Cathy is a force of nature, shifting from victim to predator with terrifying ease. She is calculating, cruel and magnetic all at once, and Pugh makes each stage of that transformation feel earned. The early episodes are the strongest, where Cathy’s animal intelligence shines through her bruises and her position changes rapidly. Later, when the origin story kicks in, the performance softens slightly, but Pugh still finds ways to keep Cathy unsettling even when the audience starts to understand her.
Lee is a quieter presence, but he anchors the show’s moral center. He is an educated observer of society from the outside, and his pidgin speech around racist strangers gives the series a rare moment of dignity. The episode co-written by novelist Alexander Chee, the only installment on which Kazan does not have sole script credit, is a highlight. Kazan clearly wanted to make room for Lee’s story, even if that meant cutting elsewhere.
The Faithfulness Question
Kazan’s adaptation is faithful to Steinbeck in broad strokes, but it rearranges the emphasis. The 1955 film directed by her grandfather Elia focused on the final phase of the Trask family’s story. Kazan’s series takes on the whole thing, from the Trasks’ youth through Cathy’s rise and fall. That is a larger ambition, and it comes with trade-offs.
The compression is visible in the pacing. Seven episodes are fewer than the eight Kazan originally planned, and the series feels rushed in places. The Trask brothers’ rivalry, which drives the novel, is underdeveloped. Charles Trask’s theory that “kind recognizes kind” in Cathy never lands, because the show never gives Charles enough screen time to make it matter.
The show’s strengths are clear. The production design is lush, and the cast is excellent. Pugh delivers some of her finest work here. The series makes a case for Steinbeck’s tale of free will, original sin and cyclical tragedy, updated for the 21st century.
The weaknesses are harder to ignore. The compression costs the story its depth, and the loss of Charles Trask and the Trask brothers’ rivalry is a significant blow. The show’s emphasis on Cathy and Lee is not always consistent, and Lee’s depth takes time to emerge.
East of Eden is a worthy adaptation of a great novel. It doesn’t always hit its mark, but when it does, it hits hard. Pugh is a revelation as Cathy, and Lee gives the show a quiet anchor. The show compresses the story and loses some characters along the way, but the trade-offs are worth it.
The series is a rewarding one.
| Character | Role | Performance |
|---|---|---|
| Cathy Ames | Prostitute turned madam | Florence Pugh, standout |
| Lee | Cook | Hoon Lee, gradual emergence |
| Adam Trask | Soldier son | Christopher Abbott, minimal presence |
| Charles Trask | Farmer son | Mike Faist, minimal presence |
| Cyrus Trask | Father | Tracy Letts, strong |
| Faye | Brothel owner | Martha Plimpton, strong |
| Cal | Son | Joseph Zada, underdeveloped |
| Aaron | Son | Joe Anders, underdeveloped |
The series is a worthy adaptation of a great novel. It doesn’t always hit its mark, but when it does, it hits hard. Pugh is a revelation as Cathy, and Lee gives the show a quiet anchor. The show compresses the story and loses some characters along the way, but the trade-offs are worth it.
Source material: “Florence Pugh and Hoon Lee Form the Beating Heart of Netflix’s Rich ‘East of Eden’ Adaptation: TV Review,” Variety.
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