Watch the stoic squirm: a "Little Fires Everywhere" review
Little Fires Everywhere is something special. Celeste Ng's commercial literary novel is an excellent read, subtle character exploration building from a climactic moment that explodes when it's revisited at the end. The novel has sold hundreds of thousands of copies, captivating audiences. It didn't come as a surprise when it was optioned for the small screen. What excited me the most about it was Reese Witherspoon as an executive producer. Her performance in Big Little Lies was incredible, and I was really curious to see how that would translate to a new show, in the shoes of a similar character.
Unfortunately, the miniseries adaptation of Little Fires Everywhere is a swing and a miss. Although full of great performances and retaining the heart of Ng's book, some adaptation choices stray away from Ng's methodical subtleties in order to push explosive melodrama. While definitely an engaging and dramatic experience, the show can feel on the nose and chaotic at points, hammering its theses in pointed conversations and familial arguments with lots of yelling and slamming doors. However, the show kept me entertained while I watched it with my mom for five weeks, and there were some wonderful conversations that may seem Emmy-clamoring for some but held nuance for me. Despite being heavy-handed, Little Fires Everywhere is a critical look at racism in 90's suburbia and perfection that might just be a lie.
Shaker Heights, Ohio, December 1997: the Richardson home is up in flames. Elena Richardson watches in horror as the flames reach higher into the sky, everything she's ever valued in life going up in smoke. The next morning, her youngest daughter, Isabelle, is nowhere to be found, and the police want to know if she set the fire, little ones that grew into a colossal force. Elena's other kids believe Izzy will take the blame, but before we find out if she will, we go back four months prior, the day Elena notices Mia and Pearl Warren's car in a parking lot, thinks they're homeless, and calls the police on them. The Richardsons are one of the wealthiest white families in the town, Elena a newspaper journalist and Bill a prosecutor. Mia and Pearl are vagabonds, Black and not as financially secure due to Mia's infrequent artwork. When mother and daughter cross paths with Elena, finding a rental property to land in, Elena's white guilt kicks in, and she offers them to stay without the initial deposit. What follows is a tangling of the lives of these families: Mia entering the Richardson's house as a housekeeper, Elena realizing that Mia is hiding some secrets, Pearl's desire to know her past and Izzy's desire to escape it, Moody, the younger Richardson boy, crushing over Pearl despite her feelings over Trip, the oldest son, and, most importantly, the divide on the rightful mother of a Chinese baby, the birth mother who couldn't afford to support her or the white parents that have adopted her. Tension will heighten, claws will come out, and true characters will be revealed as the citizens of Shaker Heights play with being morally gray.
One of the greatest things this miniseries has going for it is its star power. The performances of the cast are engaging and never flat. It's phenomenal how Witherspoon and Kerry Washington command the screen here, but this is also true for the younger talent. Lexie Underwood's Pearl is emotional and sympathetic, even in her worst moments, as she perfectly articulates a teenage girl wanting to fit in and a daughter who's frustrated at her mom's lack of transparency. Jade Pettyjohn and Megan Stott are also great as Elena's daughters, crushed under the weight of their mother's expectations and slowly understanding their white privilege. Gavin Lewis and Jordan Elsass also hold their own and look like they could actually be brothers. My favorite performers, however, are Huang Lu's Bebe Chow, a mom desperate for the baby she couldn't take care of after birth, and the actresses of young Elena and Mia, AnnaSophia Robb and Tiffany Boone, for capturing the mannerisms of the lead actresses so well to create uncanny reflections of the leading women. Overall, the show is well-acted, and attention never wavers as a result.
I also admire the show's discussion on racism and white privilege, even if it can feel pretty hammy at points. In the book, Mia and Pearl's race weren't specified, and much of the racial tension was with the custody battle, Elena and Mia's conflict having more to do with social class. However, Washington and Underwood are Black actresses, and this specific pivot allows the series to call out the colorblindness of the 90's and the assumptions white people make of Black people. Police treatment and careless comments that have derogatory connotations are all discussed, especially how they benefit white people and damage people of color. A particular aspect of this I liked was Lexie's relationship with Brian. Compared to the book, we get a lot more interaction between the two; we see Lexie's ignorance regarding her treatment of Brian as he struggles with being a Black man in suburban America. Lexie has a lot to learn when it comes to privilege, and I like that she needs several tries in order to make things stick. It makes her more realistic and supports one of the best climactic moments of the series, one where Lexie finally realizes what Brian has to face. Although she tries to equate her experience as a Richardson to what Brian goes through, the conversation between them is poignant, especially after Lexie's arc midway through the series and what the show confronted previously.
However, Little Fires Everywhere stumbled when adapting Celeste Ng's novel. An adaptation isn't expected to be the mirror image of what it adapts; changes are made to make the content suitable for a show timeline or to make it more dramatic, for example. But the sacrifices made to create this TV show result in melodrama, relationships, and situations that I don't feel belong to the characters Ng created. Elena's past relationship, a moment where she could have deviated from the plan of her life but didn't, was changed into something straight out of HBO's Big Little Lies, something that expanded Witherspoon's character there but felt ridiculous here. The relationship between Elena and Izzy is also strained to the max, Elena's fear from Izzy's early birth changed to resentment at locking her in the role of housewife, something that makes Elena unsympathetic, cold, and really unlikable when nosing around Mia's past could have been enough. Some choices were interesting, like Mia's relationship with Pauline, Izzy's sexuality, and who set the fire, but by sacrificing the subtlety of Ng's character-building, the characters can feel like caricatures, operating within their shtick or morphing into darker versions of themselves when at their breaking points.
Additionally, the writers really want you to know what this show is about. The trials and tribulations of motherhood? Why racism is bad? The dangers of being wealthy? All of that is on full display, underlined and italicized for those who may have missed it. Although parts of it work, parts are another chip at the subtlety of Ng's novel. The broad strokes of the motifs kill the tension built in the first three episodes, so by the time the middle of the series hits, the momentum fizzles out. The show's strenuous effort to make you remember its themes results in an exhausted middle, and although the last three episodes almost get somewhere, it's not the height of the show's beginning.
Little Fires Everywhere is a mixed bag. While starring engaging stars and presenting thought-provoking messages (I also neglected to mention how beautiful this show is in terms of cinematography; outside of not being consistent with green screen in car scenes and some choppy audio editing, the series is gorgeous), it loses steam when those messages are pushed excessively and makes choices that go against how I interpreted the intent of Celeste Ng's novel. Despite this, it's a worthwhile watch, one that leads to conflicting emotions but hopefully great conversation and thought.
