Quick Read
- Netflix’s ‘Death by Lightning’ recounts the brief presidency and assassination of James Garfield.
- Charles Guiteau, Garfield’s assassin, is portrayed as a delusional, fame-hungry outsider.
- The series explores corruption in 19th-century American politics and the limits of the American Dream.
- Lucretia Garfield’s role highlights the constraints faced by women in her era.
- The miniseries uses dark comedy to humanize historical figures and reflect on modern parallels.
Who Was President Garfield? The Renaissance Politician America Barely Knew
In the swirl of post-Civil War American politics, few figures seem as simultaneously vital and overlooked as James Garfield. Netflix’s new miniseries, “Death by Lightning,” throws open the doors to a chapter of history most Americans have either forgotten or never learned: Garfield’s meteoric, unlikely rise to the presidency and his abrupt, violent death at the hands of Charles Guiteau. With only four months in office before his assassination, Garfield is often little more than a trivia answer — yet the series insists there’s much more to his story.
Michael Shannon embodies Garfield as a “poster boy for the American dream,” a man who rose from poverty, became a war hero, and dazzled with intellect and integrity. Garfield’s campaign was unconventional; he wasn’t seeking the nomination, but a stirring speech at the 1880 Republican convention so moved the delegates that, after more than thirty failed ballots, they drafted him. His presidency promised progressive reforms: civil rights, universal education, and the overhaul of a corrupt spoils system that had entrenched power among self-serving elites. Garfield was the kind of leader who invited citizens to his front porch for honest conversation — a detail that feels almost quaint in today’s era of slick media politics.
Yet, as The Guardian observes, this quietly extraordinary statesman was surrounded by dirty power grabbing and political backstabbing. Chester A. Arthur, played by Nick Offerman, was Garfield’s vice president — a hard-partying, hard-drinking figure whose only previous political role was as chief crony in the notorious spoils system. The series doesn’t shy away from the audacity and insanity of the era’s corruption, showing how Garfield’s progressive stance horrified the Republican elite, who were willing to burn the party down to protect their interests.
Charles Guiteau: The Proto-Incel, Delusional Dreamer, and Reluctant Villain
But if Garfield represents lost potential, Charles Guiteau — the man who killed him — is the twisted reflection of America’s darker dreams. Matthew Macfadyen’s Guiteau is wild-eyed, desperate, and forever scrambling to insert himself into history. The series leans into Guiteau’s oddness: a failed lawyer, a parasite brother-in-law, a rejected member of the free-love Oneida commune (where, as legend has it, the women nicknamed him “Charles Gitout”). Guiteau’s relentless self-promotion and delusions of grandeur are played with comic, almost tragic brilliance. He’s the “proto-incel with a gun,” a fantasist who, in his own words, is sure his name will one day be famous across the country.
Guiteau’s journey is less a descent into villainy and more a parade of humiliations. He’s rebuffed by everyone — family, women, political figures — until his obsession with Garfield becomes his last, desperate bid for relevance. The showrunner, Mike Makowsky, draws parallels between Guiteau and Rupert Pupkin, the deranged fan in Scorsese’s “King of Comedy.” Guiteau is a historical antecedent to the kind of aimless, fame-hungry figures that populate today’s culture. As The Wrap notes, Guiteau’s story is a “portrait of spineless grifters, corrupt politics and the parasocial nature of celebrity,” culminating in a public act of violence that feels eerily modern.
Yet, there’s a peculiar empathy in the series’ treatment of Guiteau. In the only substantial meeting between Garfield and his would-be assassin, Macfadyen’s Guiteau is overwhelmed, bursting into tears — an unscripted moment that hints at a man so broken by his own isolation that he’s almost pitiable. The show asks: What societal factors alienate someone like Guiteau? Is he simply “chaotic evil,” or a product of systems that fail the vulnerable?
Corruption, Celebrity, and the American Dream Gone Awry
“Death by Lightning” doesn’t just recount a presidential assassination; it interrogates the forces at play in late 19th-century America, many of which feel alarmingly familiar. Garfield’s promise of a representational democracy — where the powerful and wealthy aren’t the only ones who shape the laws — clashes with the entrenched interests of political machines. Chester Arthur, as depicted, is less a villain than a tragic figure: a man shaped and shamed by the system, who can’t drink enough to blot out his moral compromises.
The series is not a somber historical lesson. Instead, as The Guardian puts it, it “plays like a black comedy,” with moments of cathartic invective and sharp dialogue that remind us these were real people, not cardboard cutouts. The ensemble cast — Shannon, Macfadyen, Offerman, and Betty Gilpin as Lucretia Garfield — brings energy and humanity to each character. Gilpin’s Lucretia is portrayed as her husband’s intellectual equal, yet constrained by the gender norms of her era. Her blistering confrontation with Guiteau in the final episode is one of the show’s emotional high points.
As for Guiteau, his quest for fame is ultimately a commentary on the American Dream itself. He believed — as the show points out — that anyone, even a liar or cheat, could make it to the top. His failure is a sobering counterpoint to the countless others who succeed by similar means. In the end, Guiteau’s name is remembered not for his achievements, but for his crime and the vacuum it left in American leadership.
The Forgotten President and Lessons for Today
“Death by Lightning” is handsomely produced, swift in its storytelling, and unapologetically modern in its approach to history. The show doesn’t demand more than its four episodes; it knows that Garfield and Guiteau are, in the grand scheme, minor characters in the vast tapestry of U.S. history. Yet, by focusing on their parallel arcs — one of lost greatness, the other of futile self-promotion — the series draws viewers into questions that still haunt American politics: Who gets to lead? Who gets left behind? And what happens when the machinery of ambition and celebrity collides with the fragile dreams of ordinary people?
For all its humor and sharpness, the series is suffused with melancholy. Garfield’s legacy as a progressive, intelligent leader is overshadowed by his untimely death. Lucretia Garfield laments, in the final moments, that her husband’s story is just a blip, a footnote. Meanwhile, Guiteau’s craving for recognition ends not in triumph, but in ignominy and the gallows. Macfadyen’s performance — comic, tragic, and unforgettable — ensures that viewers will remember Guiteau’s name, but perhaps not for the reasons he wished.
“Death by Lightning” is more than a period piece; it’s a mirror held up to America’s enduring struggles with power, fame, and the fate of those who fall between the cracks. By resurrecting Garfield and Guiteau, the series asks us to reckon with the dreams we celebrate, the failures we forget, and the systems that shape both. In a time of political spectacle and public violence, its relevance is both chilling and clarifying.