TEAR IT DOWN

Oscar-Nominated Star Stuns in Breathtaking ‘East of Eden’ Finale

Florence Pugh is undeniable by the end of Zoe Kazan’s shattering adaptation. WARNING: Spoilers ahead.

We’ve all been there: You burst out laughing to stop the tears from flowing. But Cathy Ames (Florence Pugh) in the East of Eden finale opts for both when her twin 17-year-old sons confront her in the middle of the packed Salinas brothel she runs. Cathy’s quivering lip morphs into a wide-mouthed laugh before anguish takes over again, and she covers her ears to block out the cackling from the patrons who may think this humiliation is all part of the show.

Is it too early to call the 2027 Emmys? Maybe, but even though it’s been less than a month since the previous trophies were handed out, it is easy to imagine Pugh on that stage next September for her layered depiction of the “monster” at the heart of John Steinbeck’s seminal 1952 novel.

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Now, while the debate and discourse rage as to whether Zoe Kazan’s adaptation has sanded down Cathy’s edges, turning this famous literary villain into a girlboss antihero, or if the Netflix limited series is instead viewing Steinbeck’s creation through a 21st-century lens, there is no disagreement over the quality and depth of Pugh’s performance that hits a crescendo in the final episode.

Before it all comes crashing down, Cathy’s (who changes her name to Kate in the fourth episode after she starts a new life) business is booming, but so is her paranoia that the truth about what she did to the previous owner, Faye (Martha Plimpton), will come out. This latest murder isn’t the only thing on her mind, and the unexpected appearance of her children Cal (Joseph Zada) and Aron (Joe Anders) sets off a shame spiral regarding decades of harm enacted by and to Cathy, culminating in Cathy’s death by suicide.

Choice and free will are central to Steinbeck’s novel, drawing on the story of Cain and Abel to explore intergenerational trauma and the concept of good and evil, first through brothers Charles (Mike Faist) and Adam Trask (Christopher Abbott), then through Cal and Aron.

“Thou mayest” (or “Timshel” in Hebrew) is a core resolution in the finale, illustrating that destiny is not predetermined. Every character has their future shaped by a father who cannot see beyond a specific box for their child, leading to resentment, anger, and jealousy. Cathy also experiences this, and she uses extreme methods to break free from the bonds of men and the roles she never wanted (such as motherhood).

Pugh’s deft portrayal doesn’t use this motivation as an excuse for her crimes, nor does Kazan’s adaptation erase diabolical acts like Cathy killing her parents, shooting her husband, and slowly poisoning her boss so she can take over the business. By the end, Cathy cannot escape these memories no matter how hard she tries to quieten them.

It is why she drinks a deadly amount of morphine in her attempt to shrink to nothing. If Cain and Abel is a thread that runs throughout the Trask storyline, then Alice in Wonderland serves as the bookend to Cathy’s story as she turns the survival mechanism of an imaginary “Drink Me” potion into reality.

Before this untimely end, Cathy’s rage vibrates through her body as she attempts to survive a world that has sexualized her since childhood. The first episode opens with a five-year-old Cathy being lured by an older boy into a secluded spot. Later, in her final moments, she reveals more about the incident as she talks to the ghost of Charles.

“You do know that you’re talking to yourself, don’t you? Or had you forgotten?” the figment of Charles reminds Cathy after she has screamed at him (“You can’t tell me what to do! I don’t need to take orders from you, or any other man!”) earlier in the episode.

Cathy talks to the imaginary Charles about her fading beauty, how much her sons look like her, and whether she plans to retire.

“Tighten the screws,” this version of Charles says. The threat is coming from inside the house as Cathy’s enforcer Joe (Brad McMurray) is extorting cash out of his boss by pretending to look for the woman who knows Cathy murdered Faye.

When Cathy lashes out at Joe and accuses him of lying, she feels the added weight of having seen her sons the night before. Cal has already visited his mother in provocative attire at her sinful workplace in the previous episode, but has kept this secret hidden from his brother because he knows it will destroy Aron. But East of Eden is about cyclical behavior, so when Adam repeats his father’s mistake by rejecting one son in favor of the “good” one, Cal lets his mean streak take over and punishes Aron for being favored.

Lee (an exceptional Hoon Lee) has already warned Adam that maintaining the lie that Cathy is dead will come back to bite him (“There’s beauty in the truth, even if it is a dreadful beauty,” Lee says), which is an insightful and accurate reading of a situation that snowballs. Aron has imagined a pure version of his mother, an impossible expectation for anyone to live up to.

But this first glimpse of Cathy in the finale is Aron’s worst nightmare come to life. “Recognize anyone?” Cal asks, not so innocently, as they stand in the middle of the brothel. Aron is so pious that it’s hard not to side with Cal, even when he is being cruel.

What follows is Pugh earning gold in the reaction Olympics, struggling to hold in tears and failing. When she turns around to face the packed house after Cal sneers, “Goodbye, Mother,” tears fight laughter, oscillating between the two so her face is stuck in this cry-laugh battle. It is one of the most mesmerizing scenes of the series, with Zada going toe-to-toe with Pugh in this brief interaction. While Anders can’t quite match his on-screen brother’s layers, it is his strongest moment across the two episodes.

The following day, Cathy teeters on the edge of oblivion, unaware that Aron’s future is also short: He volunteers to join the army (despite being too young) and later dies in France. The last we see of Aron is him punching Cal outside the brothel.

At a Q&A after a BAFTA-hosted screening in London, Pugh was asked about the placement of rage in her performance. “The releases are when she’s either been abused, if she’s been offended, or if she feels trapped,” Pugh said.

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In the finale, she is a combination of all three as she remembers the trauma and indignities she has suffered. “Every time you see it,” Pugh said of Cathy’s rage, “it feels completely natural because you’re waiting for this woman who is so unbelievably well-poised; you’re waiting for her to lash out, and when she finally does you’re like, ‘OK, that’s awful. That’s totally terrible.’ But we have been waiting for it.”

There is an uneasiness that comes from watching Cathy’s outbursts, but in her final moments, after she dismisses Joe, she returns to a more measured tone (though with more tears). The person she sees as she dies is her younger self; this visual is a little corny (though not as cheesy as the “Paint it Black” needle drop at the end of Episode 4), but Cathy has no one but herself at the end.

Cathy’s anger sits close to the surface, and her response to the world reminds viewers of another TV high point of 2026: Furious.

“She’s a victim, but it doesn’t make her a good person. It turns her into a monster,” Nora (Quincy Tyler Bernstine) comments in the Hulu crime thriller about Catherine (Lola Petticrew), the serial killer they are pursuing. The settings and time period differ greatly, yet they share the idea that two things can be true at once. You can perpetuate horrifying acts and have experienced horrors.

East of Eden doesn’t hand-wave away Cathy’s crimes, but it also isn’t saying she is inherently evil.

Even Steinbeck’s feelings toward Cathy changed as he wrote the novel. In the posthumously released Journal of Novel: The East of Eden Letters, Steinbeck softened toward Cathy.

“I guess there will be a howl that I am being sympathetic to her,” Steinbeck said about writing Cathy’s final moments. Little did he know that this conversation about sympathy—for the devil, or not—would stretch into the next century. Now, that is a monster debate.

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Emma Fraser

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