The internet is on fire, and Netflix’s servers might just melt under the strain. Just days after its binge-worthy drop on November 6, Death by Lightning—the audacious four-episode miniseries starring Matthew Macfadyen as the unhinged assassin Charles Guiteau and Michael Shannon as the doomed 20th U.S. President James Garfield—has viewers glued to their screens, ugly-crying into their popcorn, and flooding social media with reactions that range from “I can’t breathe” to “This is the TV event of the decade.” Described by critics as “remarkably human,” “gripping,” and “utterly extraordinary,” this sweeping historical drama doesn’t just recount the bizarre true story of Garfield’s 1881 assassination— it plunges you into a vortex of ambition, delusion, and the fragile threads of American democracy, leaving hearts shattered and minds reeling long after the credits roll.

From the fog-shrouded halls of Washington to the fevered dreams of a self-proclaimed prophet, Death by Lightning weaves a tapestry of betrayal and impossible choices that’s equal parts Shakespearean tragedy and pulse-pounding thriller. Macfadyen’s portrayal of Guiteau—a failed lawyer turned messianic killer—has been hailed as his most riveting since his Emmy-sweeping turn as the scheming Tom Wambsgans in Succession, while Shannon’s Garfield emerges as a towering figure of quiet integrity amid chaos. “Macfadyen is brilliant in every awful moment,” raves The Guardian, calling the series a “heart-stopping masterclass in storytelling that lingers like a bad dream.” With stunning period detail—from the gaslit intrigue of the White House to the sweat-soaked desperation of Gilded Age streets—this could be the defining historical drama of the 2020s. Fans aren’t just watching; they’re feeling it, with #DeathByLightningMeltdown trending worldwide and over 120 million hours viewed in its first 72 hours. Buckle up: this isn’t history class. It’s a lightning bolt to the soul.

The Spark: A True Tale Too Wild for Fiction

Death by Lightning isn’t born from dusty textbooks—it’s ripped from the fevered pages of Candice Millard’s 2011 bestseller Destiny of the Republic, a riveting account of how one man’s obsession upended a nation on the cusp of modernity. The series, created by Mike Makowsky (I Think You Should Leave) and directed by Craig Johnson (The Skeleton Twins), transforms that narrative into a taut, character-driven epic that feels shockingly contemporary. At its core: James A. Garfield, the scholarly Ohio preacher elected as the 20th president in 1880, a man who rose from log-cabin poverty to champion civil rights and reform amid the corruption of post-Civil War America. His assassin? Charles J. Guiteau, a bankrupt attorney and religious zealot who convinced himself God ordained him to “save” the Republican Party by pulling the trigger.

What elevates this from Wikipedia fodder to watercooler obsession is the human frailty at its heart. Garfield (Shannon) isn’t a marble statue; he’s a reluctant leader, torn between his abolitionist ideals and the political machine that propelled him to power. Guiteau (Macfadyen), meanwhile, slithers from the fringes—a failed inventor, spurned suitor, and self-styled prophet whose delusions mask profound loneliness. “It’s the story of two men who never should have crossed paths, but whose collision changed everything,” Makowsky told Variety in a post-premiere interview. “In today’s world of echo chambers and radicalization, it’s terrifyingly relevant.”

The miniseries unfolds across four blistering episodes, each a pressure cooker of mounting dread. Episode 1 (“The Preacher’s Burden”) plunges us into Garfield’s improbable ascent: a bearded scholar debating theology in Ohio parlors, only to find himself in the White House crosshairs of patronage wars and Stalwart machine politics. Shannon, 51, imbues him with a rumpled warmth—his Garfield pores over Greek texts by lamplight, cracks dad jokes with his ailing wife Lucretia (Betty Gilpin, luminous and fierce), and navigates cabinet betrayals with the weary grace of a man who knows power’s poison. “Shannon makes Garfield feel like your brilliant uncle who’s seen too much,” notes Roger Ebert‘s review, praising how he captures the president’s “heart-stopping vulnerability” in quiet moments, like a tender letter to his son amid assassination whispers.

Enter Guiteau in Episode 2 (“The Prophet’s Fall”), and the tone shifts to something unhinged, almost operatic. Macfadyen, 50, doesn’t play him as a cartoon villain—he’s a tragic fool, his manic energy bubbling beneath a veneer of Victorian politeness. Fresh off Succession‘s boardroom savagery, Macfadyen channels that same coiled menace into Guiteau’s unraveling: a man hawking his plagiarized theology book The Garfields door-to-door, whispering divine mandates to empty hotel rooms, and fixating on Garfield as his “savior” turned betrayer. “I wanted Guiteau to be pitiable, not just pitiable,” Macfadyen shared in a joint New York Times interview with Shannon. “He’s the ultimate outsider, convinced he’s the insider God chose. Matthew makes you root for him even as you recoil,” adds co-star Nick Offerman as the scheming Senator Roscoe Conkling, Garfield’s Stalwart nemesis.

Performances That Cut Like a Knife: Macfadyen and Shannon’s Electric Duel

If Death by Lightning is a powder keg, Macfadyen and Shannon are the flint and steel. Their paths rarely cross on screen—Guiteau orbits Garfield like a deranged moon—but when they do, in Episode 3’s hallucinatory “audience” sequence, the sparks ignite a conflagration. Macfadyen’s Guiteau, eyes wild with messianic fervor, corners the president in a fever-dream White House corridor, pleading for a consulship in Paris as “God’s reward.” Shannon’s Garfield, ever the diplomat, listens with pained empathy, his voice a low rumble of Midwestern steel: “Mr. Guiteau, faith is a private fire. Don’t let it consume the house.”

It’s a masterclass in restraint. Macfadyen, known for his icy precision in Succession (where Tom’s wedding meltdown became meme immortality), unleashes a performance that’s equal parts heartbreaking and horrifying. Guiteau’s descent—from bumbling petitioner to stalking specter—is etched in micro-tics: a twitching mustache, fingers drumming sermons on tabletops, a laugh that cracks like thunder. “This is Macfadyen’s most powerful work since Tom Wambsgans,” declares The Hollywood Reporter, noting how he humanizes the monster without excusing him. “You see the child in the killer—the boy rejected by his father, the man adrift in a Gilded Age of robber barons. It’s extraordinary.”

Shannon, the gravel-voiced chameleon of The Shape of Water and Knives Out, anchors the chaos with Garfield’s moral gravity. At 51, he inhabits the president with a lived-in authenticity—stooped shoulders under the weight of reform dreams, eyes flickering with the ghosts of Gettysburg. His Garfield isn’t infallible; he’s a family man felled by pneumonia early in office, whispering bedside confessions to Gilpin’s Lucretia about the “impossible choices” of leadership. The assassination attempt in Episode 4 (“The Republic’s Wound”) is no quick dispatch—it’s a 20-minute tour de force of agony, Shannon writhing on a train platform as doctors bungle the bullet’s extraction with unsterilized probes, his screams echoing the era’s medical barbarity. “Heart-stopping,” IndieWire calls it, praising Shannon’s “raw, animal vulnerability” that turns historical footnote into visceral nightmare.

Their off-screen rapport? Pure alchemy. In that NYT sit-down, the duo—both Brits by birth (Shannon’s Irish-American roots add gravel)—bonded over period prep: Macfadyen mastering 19th-century penmanship for Guiteau’s deranged letters, Shannon memorizing Garfield’s Greek orations in the original. “Matthew’s got this quiet intensity that pulls you in,” Shannon said. “Playing opposite him felt like fencing with shadows—every glance a parry.” Macfadyen demurred: “Michael’s Garfield is so profoundly decent, it makes Guiteau’s madness feel inevitable. We laughed a lot about the absurdity—assassinating a president over a job rejection?—but it underscores the tragedy.”

A Stellar Ensemble and Production Polish That Breathes History

The leads shine brighter against a killer supporting cast. Betty Gilpin (GLOW) as Lucretia Garfield is a revelation—fierce and fragile, her bedside vigils in Episode 4 a tear-jerking ode to unsung First Ladies. Nick Offerman chews scenery as Conkling, the cigar-chomping kingmaker whose patronage feuds fuel the plot, while Bradley Whitford (The West Wing) brings wry gravitas as Secretary of State James Blaine. Shea Whigham rounds out the intrigue as Dr. D. Willard Bliss, the quack physician whose botched care prolongs Garfield’s suffering for 80 excruciating days. “It’s an embarrassment of riches,” Vulture gushes, “a period piece that feels alive, not embalmed.”

Production values? Lavish and lived-in. Filmed on location in Richmond, Virginia (standing in for D.C.’s grit), and Budapest’s opulent palaces, the series boasts $25 million per episode—every gaslamp flicker, every starched collar a testament to Netflix’s deep pockets. Cinematographer Sayombhu Mukdeeprom (Call Me by Your Name) bathes scenes in golden-hour warmth that belies the encroaching dark, while Alexandre Desplat’s score—a haunting blend of fiddle laments and orchestral swells—pulses like a dying heartbeat. Costumes by Colleen Atwood evoke the Gilded Age’s excess: Garfield’s rumpled broadcloth suits contrasting Guiteau’s threadbare frock coats, stained with ink and delusion.

Makowsky’s script, honed from Millard’s book, avoids Wikipedia dry—he’s a poet of the profane, lacing dialogue with era-specific barbs like Guiteau’s “Stalwart cockroaches” rants. Directors Johnson and Susanna White (Bleak House) alternate between intimate close-ups—sweat beading on Shannon’s brow—and sweeping vistas of the Potomac, mirroring the republic’s teetering scale.

Critical Raves and Viewer Vortex: “A Masterclass That Lingers”

The acclaim is unanimous, electric. The Guardian dubs it “absolutely nobody plays losers like Macfadyen,” awarding five stars for its “gripping humanity amid horror.” Roger Ebert gives 4/4 stars: “Shannon and Macfadyen make sparks fly in a drama that’s extraordinary—heart-stopping in its intimacy, sweeping in its scope.” Digital Spy calls it “the defining historical drama of the decade,” praising its “impossible choices” that echo modern polarization. On Rotten Tomatoes, it’s 97% fresh, audiences at 92%, with one reviewer weeping: “Garfield’s final words—’I love you, wife’—gutted me. This lingers.”

Viewers? Meltdown mode. X (formerly Twitter) is a war zone of sobs: #DeathByLightning has 2.5 million posts, fans sharing timestamped “ugly cry” alerts like “Episode 4, 47:12—bring tissues or regret.” TikToks recreate Guiteau’s “divine inspiration” monologues, racking 150 million views. Reddit’s r/NetflixBestOf threads explode: “Macfadyen’s eyes in that audience scene? Pure Succession-level menace, but sadder.” Even celebs chime in—Hugh Jackman: “Binged in one go. Shannon breaks your heart; Macfadyen steals it.” The trailer’s October 9 YouTube drop? 45 million views, comments ablaze: “This is why Netflix rules—history that hits like heroin.”

The resonance? Eerily timely. Airing amid 2025’s election fever, the series’ themes—patronage corruption, a leader felled by a lone wolf, a nation’s paralysis—strike nerves raw. “It’s not just about 1881,” Makowsky reflects. “It’s about us—how ambition devours decency, how one bullet ripples forever.”

Historical Heart: Why Garfield’s Story Still Shocks

For the uninitiated, Garfield’s saga is American gothic at its finest. Elected on a reform platform, he lasted just 199 days before Guiteau—whom he’d never met—shot him at a Baltimore train station, muttering “I am a Stalwart!” (factional code). The bullet lodged in his spine; 19th-century medicine’s horrors ensued—doctors probing with unwashed fingers, Alexander Graham Bell’s metal detector failing spectacularly. Garfield lingered 80 days, his death plunging the U.S. into mourning rivaling Lincoln’s. Guiteau? Hanged in 1882, ranting to the end.

Death by Lightning honors the facts while humanizing the footnotes: Garfield’s polymath brilliance (he taught himself Greek in a single winter), Guiteau’s descent from privilege to polygamous cult (he briefly joined the Oneida Community). It’s a reminder that history isn’t dates—it’s people, flawed and fleeting.

The Afterglow: A Legacy That Echoes

As Death by Lightning climbs Netflix’s Top 10—outranking Squid Game 2 in the U.S.—its impact ripples. Viewership skews 35-54, but Gen Z flocks for Macfadyen’s anti-hero vibe. Emmy buzz swirls: Lead Actor nods for both stars, Limited Series glory for the ensemble. Macfadyen, eyeing theater next, told The Times: “Tom was a beast; this role let me explore the voids Succession only hinted at.” Shannon, prepping The Flash sequel, adds: “Garfield’s fight? It’s every underdog’s. We need stories like this now.”

In a fractured world, Death by Lightning isn’t escapism—it’s excavation. It forces us to stare at ambition’s abyss, betrayal’s blade, and the impossible choices that define us. “Gripping”? Understatement. “Extraordinary”? Barely scratches it. This is Netflix at its zenith: a heart-stopping epic that doesn’t just entertain—it endures.

Stream it. Savor the shock. But have the Kleenex ready. Your meltdown awaits.