As long as we’re on the subject of Presidents, let’s turn to another that’s going to getting a whole lot more attention soon…
I don’t have HBO, so otherwise I’d be glued to the set tonight for the premiere of HBO’s John Adams mini-series starring Paul Giamatti and Laura Linney. Rest assured, though, that the second I have the chance to see it on DVD, I’ll certainly do so.
Kudos to producer Tom Hanks for putting his financial muscle and prestige behind this seven-part, 8 1/2 –hour miniseries at a time when the major networks have given up the struggle to peddle anything other than reality shows or Law and Order derivatives. He’ll probably take at least some heat from historical purists about dramatic liberties taken with the patriot’s life. (And truth be told, if the offenses are particularly egregious, I’ll be one of those complaining the loudest.)
But if even only a tenth of his audience is tempted to go out and read a book about our nation’s second President, more power to Hanks, I say.
Five years ago, when I visited the house Adams owned for nearly the last 40 years of his life, I had heard that this project was in the works. But for several years afterward, I heard nothing more, and presumed that it had gotten sucked into the development hell into which most things in Hollywood (especially most things historically related) disappear. I’m all the more delighted that Hanks persevered with his dream—or that, at least at first glance, the casting of the leads looks so inspired.
I doubt that, even with so much time, the miniseries will cover all the fascinating facts about this President who lived into his nineties. But one incident I heard about at his Quincy, Mass. estate, Peacefield (an unbelievably ironic name for the home of such a contentious man), says much about why for so long he took such an underserved backseat to the other Founding Fathers.
A portrait of Adams in his home depicts him in the short, pudgy, middle-aged form that led his critics as Vice-President to call him “His Rotundity.” His eyes, flashing quickly beneath a pair of thick dark eyebrows, are matched with a scowling mouth, as if he’s beside himself that you can’t see what’s so perfectly obvious to him.
Forget about the charisma quotient of Bill Clinton, Barack Obama, JFK, or other politicos of relatively recent vintage—Adams is not even in the same league as contemporaries from his own less mediagenic age, the calmly impressive Washington or the amiable Jefferson.
As you might expect, Adams loathed this picture so thoroughly that his descendants hung it in an unlit corner of the butler’s pantry.
No doubt, Adams and his descendants would have withered in the glare of 21st century cameras and the 24-hour news cycle. Sometimes, as in the case of the portrait, their own willfulness has pushed them into history’s shadows.
But these days, the family is getting its day in the sun. With his best-selling biography, David McCullough performed for Adams what he did for Harry Truman—inspired a serious reevaluation of a politician constantly underestimated even in his own lifetime.
For an age grown cynical about the constant spinning and occasional dalliances of politicians (Eliot Spitzer, come out of hiding, you steamrolling fool!), the blunt Adams, who lavished no endearments on opponents but many on his wife and soulmate Abigail, finally looks ready for prime time.
Peacefield—affectionately known as “The Old House” by later generations of the family—sustained not only John Adams but his John Quincy Adams, the sixth President of the United States; grandson Charles Francis Adams, the congressman and diplomat who persuaded the British government not to recognize the Confederacy during the Civil War; and great-grandsons Henry and Brooks Adams, who won fame not by participating in history but by writing about it.
The family needed whatever serenity they could find in this house. For all the high intelligence, integrity, and unswerving patriotism that enabled the Adamses to achieve greatness, they also suffered unrelenting, even puritanical pursuit of perfection, overwhelming depression, and tragedy when they couldn’t measure up to the near-impossible standards they set for themselves.
The Old House is just one part of the Adams National Historic Park, which is administered by the National Park Service. The “park” consists of six buildings, located within a five-minute drive of each other. The other buildings consist of a visitors center, an adjacent parking lot, the adjacent birthplaces of the two Presidents, and United First Parish Church, where father and son are laid to rest with their wives. It’s a bit hard to transport yourself mentally from the bustling inner-suburban feel of Quincy today to the more serene, pastoral setting of Adams’ time, but it’s worth the effort.
Adams had his moments when he acted insanely (standing up on a table and hurling his wig at Cabinet members who enraged him, as related by biographer Joseph Ellis in the “American Experience” episode “John & Abigail Adams,” would probably count as one of these).
But he deserves to be taken out of the dark corner where he’s been hidden for so long and placed in the American pantheon where his devotion to principle, honesty and courage entitle him. With any justice, the HBO series will help in the effort to do so.
I don’t have HBO, so otherwise I’d be glued to the set tonight for the premiere of HBO’s John Adams mini-series starring Paul Giamatti and Laura Linney. Rest assured, though, that the second I have the chance to see it on DVD, I’ll certainly do so.
Kudos to producer Tom Hanks for putting his financial muscle and prestige behind this seven-part, 8 1/2 –hour miniseries at a time when the major networks have given up the struggle to peddle anything other than reality shows or Law and Order derivatives. He’ll probably take at least some heat from historical purists about dramatic liberties taken with the patriot’s life. (And truth be told, if the offenses are particularly egregious, I’ll be one of those complaining the loudest.)
But if even only a tenth of his audience is tempted to go out and read a book about our nation’s second President, more power to Hanks, I say.
Five years ago, when I visited the house Adams owned for nearly the last 40 years of his life, I had heard that this project was in the works. But for several years afterward, I heard nothing more, and presumed that it had gotten sucked into the development hell into which most things in Hollywood (especially most things historically related) disappear. I’m all the more delighted that Hanks persevered with his dream—or that, at least at first glance, the casting of the leads looks so inspired.
I doubt that, even with so much time, the miniseries will cover all the fascinating facts about this President who lived into his nineties. But one incident I heard about at his Quincy, Mass. estate, Peacefield (an unbelievably ironic name for the home of such a contentious man), says much about why for so long he took such an underserved backseat to the other Founding Fathers.
A portrait of Adams in his home depicts him in the short, pudgy, middle-aged form that led his critics as Vice-President to call him “His Rotundity.” His eyes, flashing quickly beneath a pair of thick dark eyebrows, are matched with a scowling mouth, as if he’s beside himself that you can’t see what’s so perfectly obvious to him.
Forget about the charisma quotient of Bill Clinton, Barack Obama, JFK, or other politicos of relatively recent vintage—Adams is not even in the same league as contemporaries from his own less mediagenic age, the calmly impressive Washington or the amiable Jefferson.
As you might expect, Adams loathed this picture so thoroughly that his descendants hung it in an unlit corner of the butler’s pantry.
No doubt, Adams and his descendants would have withered in the glare of 21st century cameras and the 24-hour news cycle. Sometimes, as in the case of the portrait, their own willfulness has pushed them into history’s shadows.
But these days, the family is getting its day in the sun. With his best-selling biography, David McCullough performed for Adams what he did for Harry Truman—inspired a serious reevaluation of a politician constantly underestimated even in his own lifetime.
For an age grown cynical about the constant spinning and occasional dalliances of politicians (Eliot Spitzer, come out of hiding, you steamrolling fool!), the blunt Adams, who lavished no endearments on opponents but many on his wife and soulmate Abigail, finally looks ready for prime time.
Peacefield—affectionately known as “The Old House” by later generations of the family—sustained not only John Adams but his John Quincy Adams, the sixth President of the United States; grandson Charles Francis Adams, the congressman and diplomat who persuaded the British government not to recognize the Confederacy during the Civil War; and great-grandsons Henry and Brooks Adams, who won fame not by participating in history but by writing about it.
The family needed whatever serenity they could find in this house. For all the high intelligence, integrity, and unswerving patriotism that enabled the Adamses to achieve greatness, they also suffered unrelenting, even puritanical pursuit of perfection, overwhelming depression, and tragedy when they couldn’t measure up to the near-impossible standards they set for themselves.
The Old House is just one part of the Adams National Historic Park, which is administered by the National Park Service. The “park” consists of six buildings, located within a five-minute drive of each other. The other buildings consist of a visitors center, an adjacent parking lot, the adjacent birthplaces of the two Presidents, and United First Parish Church, where father and son are laid to rest with their wives. It’s a bit hard to transport yourself mentally from the bustling inner-suburban feel of Quincy today to the more serene, pastoral setting of Adams’ time, but it’s worth the effort.
Adams had his moments when he acted insanely (standing up on a table and hurling his wig at Cabinet members who enraged him, as related by biographer Joseph Ellis in the “American Experience” episode “John & Abigail Adams,” would probably count as one of these).
But he deserves to be taken out of the dark corner where he’s been hidden for so long and placed in the American pantheon where his devotion to principle, honesty and courage entitle him. With any justice, the HBO series will help in the effort to do so.
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