Death by Lightning ★★★★
It’s no accident this 19th century historical drama, which maps the intersecting paths of America’s 20th president, James Garfield (Michael Shannon), and his assassin, Charles Guiteau (Matthew Macfadyen), is full of contemporary references. There is an 1880 misinformation campaign, rank corruption and a vice-presidential candidate who drunkenly demands, “Music! Fighting! Sausages!” on a night out. The current shortcomings of power in the United States are nothing new, this limited series suggests, but nor are they unstoppable.
Matthew Macfadyen as Charles Guiteau in Death by Lightning.
What makes the timeliness resonate is the sly humour and sharp depictions. At just four episodes, as if Netflix were scared audiences would drift off, Death by Lightning smashes together the great-man-in-history portrait with a dreadfully-dodgy-man-in-history depiction. Garfield, a Civil War hero, is a retired congressman who goes to the Republican convention to nominate a colleague and gives such a stirring speech that he becomes the party’s presidential candidate. Guiteau is a felon, lickspittle lackey and perennial incompetent.
The casting is chef’s kiss, with creator Mike Makowsky (Bad Education) and director Matt Ross (Captain Fantastic) leaning right into Macfadyen’s previous role as Succession striver Tom Wambsgans. When Guiteau tries to ingratiate himself with his sister’s wealthy husband, his unctuousness is comically cringeworthy. Shannon, by contrast, is august and dedicated, but the actor, so often a memorable villain, carries a horrified weight. His Garfield is haunted by the possibility of frittering away his unexpected opportunity to effectively wield power.
Michael Shannon as James Garfield, Nick Offerman as Chester A. Arthur, Bradley Whitford as James Blaine in Death by Lightning.
The tone moves between ornate public declarations and contemporary conversations in private. Many fine character actors, including Bradley Whitford, Nick Offerman, and Shea Whigham, overcome large beards with pithy commentary, while Betty Gilpin is given a measure of genuine influence as Garfield’s straight-talking wife, Lucretia.
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There’s just enough era-specific detail in the storytelling, adapted from Candice Millard’s 2011 book Destiny of the Republic, to ground the plot’s broad strokes. CNN’s election coverage has nothing on the breathless delivery of telegrams, while the jibe about raffling off cabinet posts to the 1 per cent helps too.
That the increasingly delusional Guiteau is inspired by Garfield’s hardscrabble beginnings and surprise nomination, only to become aggrieved when his enthusiasm isn’t rewarded with a government position, is a telling 21st century correlation.
