Despite the implication of its title, Franklin is not a comprehensive biopic of Benjamin Franklin; rather it’s a narrower drama about his 1776-1785 time in France attempting to secure an alliance to help America triumph in the Revolutionary War. That was, to be certain, a key period in the tale of both the nation and the Founding Father. Nonetheless, Apple TV+’s eight-part series, which premieres Apr. 12, is the dreariest sort of history lesson, as bloated and clunky as it is shallow and suspense-free. Starring and executive-produced by Michael Douglas, it transforms this unique chapter in America’s origin story into the lamest of prestige-TV slogs.
An adaptation of Stacy Schiff’s book A Great Improvisation, Franklin, France, and the Birth of America—written by Kirk Ellis and Howard Korder, and directed in its entirety by Tim Van Patten—commences on Dec. 3, 1776, with Franklin (Douglas) arriving on the Brittany Coast, desperate to find a way to bolster the Revolution’s flagging prospects. With the Continental Army in disarray, Franklin seeks to negotiate a union with France that will turn the tide against the formidable British empire. For this mission, he’s brought along his wide-eyed grandson Temple (Noah Jupe), a teenage pup whose father is presently in jail for traitorously siding with America’s enemy, thus creating some tension between Franklin and the boy. Even so, such friction isn’t enough to unduly strain their bond, especially since Temple, like everyone else in France, is in awe of Franklin, whose reputation (including as the “creator” of electricity) means that everywhere he goes, he’s greeted like a celebrity.
Franklin views its subject with similar awe, albeit less for his pioneering past accomplishments than for his acute intellect, deft wit, and colorfully canny personality—which, early on, includes his fondness for passing gas (“What is electricity compared to a good fart?”). Douglas embodies the icon with vibrant confidence and slyly understated seriousness, his Franklin the sort of easygoing titan who knows that winning people over—and getting what he wants—requires more finesse than ferocity, especially in a country where decorum and ceremony are so highly prized.
Be it his refusal to quit drinking in the face of a serious bout of gout, or his rapport with the men and women of the court in both Versailles (where he soon becomes unwelcome) and Passy (where he takes up indefinite residence), his Franklin is a nuanced and three-dimensional creation. All in all, it’s a fine performance that never devolves into over-the-top caricature, maintaining the character’s humanity even during the myriad corny instances in which he triumphs courtesy of his cleverness.
Unfortunately, those moments are plentiful in Franklin, as are ho-hum dilemmas that play out in veritable slow motion and tedious diversions that pad the action’s hefty eight-hour runtime. Once on French soil, Franklin partners with British pal Edward Bancroft (Daniel Mays) and theater superstar Beaumarchais (Assaad Bouab), and he’s promptly rejected by government minister Comte de Vergennes (Thibault de Montalembert), with whom he had hoped to broker a deal.
Since they’re not welcome in and around King Louis XVI (Tom Pezier), Franklin and Temple shack up with aristocrat Chaumont (Olivier Claverie) and his wife (Florence Darel), who are convinced that aiding the American cause will be a profitable enterprise. With Chaumont in his pocket, Franklin begins smuggling weapons and supplies back home, and he also initiates a chaste quasi-romance with Madame Anne-Louise Britton (Ludivine Sagnier), who has a talent for the harpsichord and whose daughter Cunégonde (Lily Dupont) catches the eye of Temple, much to the pleasure of Cunégonde’s adulterous dad (Marc F. Duret), who dreams of his own alliance with the Franklins.
These are some of the numerous threads strewn throughout Franklin, which additionally focuses on Franklin teaching Temple how to master chess (because chess is just like diplomacy!); Temple befriending the Marquis de Lafayette (Theodore Pellerin), who yearns to fight alongside America in its war against Great Britain; Franklin raising support via pamphlets published via his personal printing press; and Bancroft conspiring behind his buddy’s back with the English, who are eager to thwart the American’s undertaking.
Some of these storylines are more vital than others, but none resound with urgency, and many are simply dispatched by the proceedings at the midway point in order to make room for even less important concerns, such as Temple’s rebellious friendship with Chaumont’s son Jacques (Aïtor de Calvairac) and his tacked-on romance with Black stage performer Odette (Sonia Bonny). For a series with this much going on, it’s almost startling to discover how little of it is engaging, or of serious consequence.
While Van Patten’s direction is sturdy and the production design is suitably opulent and authentic, Franklin crawls toward its every narrative destination. It generates minimal electricity from its protagonist’s personal or professional endeavors, the latter of which revolve around his wooing of Vergennes, who believes that siding with America poses strategic and financial benefits for his country, but who finds himself waging an uphill-battle campaign to persuade his colleagues to see things his way.
Statecraft is often the center of the material’s attention. Still, the energy of each scene, each exchange, and each turn of events is drearily low, and that continues to be the case even once John Adams (Eddie Marsan) shows up to endlessly complain about, badmouth, and spar with Franklin. Adams is rendered in a simplistic and grating register, and regardless of the accomplished Marsan’s best efforts, the character proves merely another of the show’s stock types.
Franklin abounds in political machinations, as American, British and French forces scheme to come out on top of this geopolitical conflict, yet the show’s lethargy only grows more crushing as it proceeds toward a finale that boasts almost as many endings as The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King. Taking an ostensibly fascinating and critical phase of Franklin’s life and distending it to monotonous lengths, it squanders Douglas’ charming lead performance and says nothing about its subject that couldn’t have been gleaned from countless superior sources. In the process, it feels like the one thing a big-budget historical TV series should not: homework.
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