If HBO’s John Adams miniseries, starring Paul Giamatti, doesn’t dominate the Emmy Awards, it would be a genuine surprise. It’s not necessarily because this seven-part historical drama is a masterpiece of television – in truth, it often hovers around the level of decent and occasionally dips into dull. However, it possesses all the telltale signs of a “prestige project,” and the TV industry is notoriously susceptible to the allure of high culture, or at least, the appearance of it.
Consider the markers of prestige that John Adams proudly displays. It boasts a distinguished literary origin, adapted from David McCullough’s acclaimed biography. It features respected actors, most notably Paul Giamatti in the titular role and Laura Linney as his wife, Abigail Adams. The series is visually opulent, with meticulous art direction and lavish costumes – think exquisite period details and enough tricorn hats to fill a museum. Furthermore, for Hollywood’s elite to deny accolades to a project steeped in such weighty themes – the very foundation of the nation, the sacrifices of a patriot, the enduring strength of marriage – would be almost as controversial as a politician appearing weak on national security. So, preemptive congratulations to HBO for what seems like an inevitable triumph. Just perhaps don’t take this as encouragement to greenlight a sprawling saga about the Molasses Act.
The narrative hits all the expected historical checkpoints: the Boston Massacre, the Boston Tea Party, the Declaration of Independence, diplomatic missions to European courts. Presumably, you’re already familiar with these events, as John Adams largely forgoes extensive exposition. While there are moments of textbook-style dialogue – “A Franco-Spanish alliance is absolutely crucial!” – the historical progression unfolds through glimpses of courtroom tension, political maneuvering, dramatic naval engagements, and the elaborate social circles of Parisian society. At times, watching the series feels akin to a high school field trip to a historical landmark or perhaps studying for a citizenship exam. Intriguingly, there are also moments that resonate with contemporary political dialogues. In one scene, notably devoid of Founding Fathers, the camera briefly visits the Adams children in their Massachusetts home while John is away on business. The children are depicted sleeping peacefully, one clutching a teddy bear, before being awakened by distant explosions: It’s 3 AM, and the British have commenced firing at Bunker Hill. Who do you trust to deliver urgent dispatches to the Continental Congress?
Alt text: A somber Paul Giamatti as John Adams in the HBO miniseries, portraying the weight of historical responsibility.
Indeed, the children of John Adams are so central to the miniseries that it occasionally resembles a parable about the pressures faced by an overly dedicated, work-absorbed father. “I hate Congress,” one of his sons grumbles as his father rides off into a blizzard, embarking on his nation-building endeavors. Yet, Adams is also shown as a loving father, dispensing homespun wisdom about courage, undoubtedly enhancing the eventual DVD box set’s destiny as a Father’s Day gift staple. Meanwhile, Abigail Adams is portrayed as the quintessential supportive spouse, bolstering her husband while also challenging him and fretting over whether his formal wear is sufficiently impressive for Philadelphia’s high society.
But what about the central figure himself? How did John Adams’s narrative reach our screens before, for instance, a dynamic adaptation of Gore Vidal’s Burr? The fact that John Adams is a historically significant individual does not automatically translate to him being a compelling dramatic character. However, Paul Giamatti invests considerable effort in the role, bringing his signature hound-dog gaze and terrier-like tenacity to the portrayal. His vocal delivery often consists of hushed growls and intense murmurs. Initially, one might assume this is a deliberate technique to demand close viewer attention. It comes as a genuine relief when, about an hour into the first episode, another character audibly instructs him to speak up.
Alt text: Paul Giamatti embodying John Adams, showcasing intense focus and historical gravitas in a promotional image for the HBO series.
We are fortunate to have Tom Wilkinson enter the scene as Benjamin Franklin, injecting much-needed energy into the production. Wilkinson’s Franklin is the highlight of the series. He exudes a vibrant spark, a commanding presence, and a playful wit, even amidst the numerous Poor Richard’s Almanack aphorisms awkwardly inserted into his dialogue. (“Take it easy,” he advises a seething Adams. “You are a guest in Philadelphia. Fish and visitors smell in three days.”) He makes his entrance with quips about testicles and, even in his most philosophical moments, possesses the air of a grandfather who might, at any moment, playfully request you to pull his finger. This portrayal of Franklin infuses the picturesque aesthetic and self-important solemnity of John Adams with a welcome dose of earthy humor, reminiscent of the authentic, vernacular voice of America itself.
