Charles J. Guiteau (Matthew Macfadyen) was a man who failed at everything he ever tried. Living off his sister and her husband because he couldn't manage a household or business, Guiteau was delusional yet oddly charming; a man convinced destiny owed him something. When he wrote a speech for James Garfield (Michael Shannon) in the 1880 presidential election, he believed it was his words that made Garfield president. And when recognition never came, he decided to force fate's hand.
Death by Lightning explores that slow spiral between delusion and destiny with a dark, uneasy beauty. The series opens like a political drama but unfolds like a tragic psychological study. Michael Shannon, as Garfield, plays yet another man shouldering quiet pain, the kind of role that has become his hallmark. He's weary, intelligent, and haunted. Matthew Macfadyen, though, steals the show. His Guiteau isn't a monster; he's dangerously human; talkative, deluded, and disturbingly likable.
The production is immaculate. You can almost smell the varnished wood and old tobacco. The dialogue captures the restrained civility of 1880 America, when letters were weapons and power was cloaked in manners. Betty Gilpin as Lucretia Garfield brings both dignity and heartbreak, grounding the story whenever the men drift into ego.
Historically, the show gets its tension right. Guiteau may have pulled the trigger, but it was Dr. Willard Bliss, the arrogant physician who refused to use antiseptics, who finished the job. The title Death by Lightning isn't literal; it's about the sudden jolt that shattered a nation, the moment when ambition, ego, and madness struck at once.
It's not perfect, the pacing dips in the middle and Garfield's presidency feels more like a shadow than a centerpiece, but the performances, writing, and atmosphere make it worth watching. By the time the final scene fades, you're left with the uneasy truth: history isn't written by heroes or villains, but by men who mistake their own reflection for destiny.
