John Steinbeck, �Zapata�
Well, I�m sure most of you have heard the news — Oprah Winfrey has restarted her book club, though instead of focusing on authors you may not have read before, as her previous incarnation did, she is focusing on dead white authors. And her first pick is East of Eden by John Steinbeck.
Fuck.
Hordes of blue-haired ladies swarmed the store with calls and we were deluged with requests. I had to bite my tongue every time somebody mispronounced Steinbeck�s name, which you think would be hard to do. I haven�t seen an Oprah copy of the book come into the store yet, but I�m sure when it does I�ll have to excuse myself to some remote corner and weep.
Some have chastised me for my revulsion at the entire affair. After all, I love East of Eden, and even claim that it saved my life, so I should be happy that the unwashed masses are finally switching off their television to read a book, and a great book at that.
I should be, but I�m not. I loathe the fact that people are now reading the book as if it were a requirement, like when they were assigned Of Mice and Men in middle school. The only solace I can take in this entire debacle is that I can�t imagine the average Oprah viewer liking East of Eden. East of Eden has the most vicious (though totally accurate) depictions of women of any novel I can remember. Maybe, just maybe, this will serve as a wake up call to all the women in the world that we�re on to you
The other good thing is that the Oprah Army, now whipped into a frenzy, buy other Steinbeck works in a fit of consumer consumption. And, when the narcotic wears off and the masses realize their bookshelves are holding books that could be holding perfectly good overpriced knickknacks, they will sell the books to us. And this increases my chances of finding something I either didn�t have, or hadn�t known about.
Like this book. I�ve only seen this book come into the store once, and I have it. So there. What could have been a lousy screenplay reproduction actually turned into an extensive piece of work. Part one deals with the script as Steinbeck first wrote it, which actually reads more like a history lesson. For every five lines of dialogue, Steinbeck writes explanations of why the Zapatista�s spoke a certain way, or how certain ceremonies should be carried out, or explanation on whom each character was supposed to represent. Like JFK, the movie Zapata is a fictional bio-pic, merging fact and fancy, but trying to stay as close to fact as possible.
One thing is for sure: if Steinbeck hadn�t already made a name for himself, he would have been thrown out of the studio after turning in the first draft. There is almost an overkill of background information, with many sections of the book running two to four pages of information, only to be followed by three lines of dialogue.
And then, at page 199, the screenplay ends. I turned the page and saw the words: �Viva Zapata! — The Screenplay� The screenplay? What the hell was I just reading then? Then I realize that this is the presentation of the screenplay as it appeared in the film, sans Steinbeck�s copious notes.
But really, do we need to read the screenplay again? Actually, and surprisingly, yes. For in this round, you can see how Kazan, in directing the film, cut certain scenes or pumped up the inevitable love interest. The result is not unlike those deleted scenes that are all the rage in DVD�s these days, with one exception — I�m wasn�t totally bored while reading the deleted scenes.
The final result makes the film a little mawkish, but hell, it was the early 50s, and a guy who eventually named names to McCarthy to save his own skin directed it. I haven�t seen the film myself, but for some reason, I don�t think I�d mind. In the meantime, this was pretty damn good.
Though I will disavow this review if it makes the Oprah book club.
