Catch-22

During World War II, American bombardier John Yossarian (Christopher Abbott) resorts to unconventional and desperate measures to avoid flying increasingly dangerous missions while his sadistic superior, Colonel Cathcart (Kyle Chandler) repeatedly raises the mission cap. Yossarian learns that he can be grounded if found insane, but his desire to be grounded proves his sanity: the inane “catch” of the title. Meanwhile, his well-bred friend Nately (Austin Stowell) falls for an indifferent Italian prostitute, his much-loathed training officer Scheisskopf (George Clooney) keeps climbing the ranks, and mess officer Milo Minderbinder (Daniel David Stewart) enmeshes the entire base in a shameless profiteering syndicate.

Directed and produced by Clooney and scripted by David Michod (Animal Kingdom), this Hulu miniseries adaptation of Joseph Heller’s brilliantly satirical novel is to its source material what a Farberware knife is to a Henckel’s blade: occasionally sharp but not nearly as reliably cutting.

Admittedly, with its wealth of characters and nonlinear treatment of time, Catch-22 makes for a difficult adaptation, and Mike Nichols’ 1970 film version is little-loved as a result. But even with a more expansive format (a six-episode miniseries), this more recent offering simply leaves too much out. Some key characters – the hapless chaplain Tappman and the gruff Gen. Dreedle – are greatly diminished in importance while others (such as ex-PFC Wintergreen, the irreverent, frequently demoted, improbably powerful mailroom clerk) are cut entirely.

While these omissions could perhaps be pardoned in the name of streamlining, more than just a few character roles are missing here. Quite simply, the miniseries lacks a lot of the novel’s bite. The book was a treasure trove of contradictions and bureaucratic inanities played for tragicomic effect, a quality that is downplayed here. Abbott’s Yossarian is more a rationally self-interested shirker and less a repeated thumb to the eye of a broken system.

This isn’t to say the miniseries doesn’t have its strengths. It retains the humor of some of the novel’s funnier scenes, such as the promotion of the unfortunately named Major Major (Lewis Pullman) to major while lending gravitas to its darker moments (for those who read the book, Snowden and Aarfy are exactly as tragic and as loathsome, respectively, as they need to be). The aerial combat scenes are well-shot if somewhat repetitive, and the juxtaposition of lots of daylight and pleasantly nostalgic music with so much senseless suffering fits the story’s tone.

At the same time, given the talents involved, Catch-22 often feels like it is punching below its weight. While Clooney’s penchant for bafoonish bluster is utilized to good effect here, the parade-obsessed Scheisskopf of the book was sillier, more obtuse, and more memorable for that reason. Hugh Laurie can command a scene, but his take on Major ___ de Coverley (sans eyepatch), lacks the requisite visual menace. And while the source material didn’t offer many prominent roles for women, one of the exceptions – Nately’s lover becomes a relentless avatar of misplaced vengeance – is diminished here.

Were there no predecessor in print to (fail to) live up to, Catch-22 would be an amusing if uneven look at the insidious and cruel stupidity of war. As an adaptation, however, it, like Yossarian’s first pass over the bridge, simply does not hit the mark.