Matt Ross Made Two Miniseries About the American Psyche. He Won’t Do It Again.

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Please be aware that the following contains spoilers for American history, as interpreted in the Netflix documentary Death by Lightning, which premiered on November 6th.

I just finished watching Death by Lightning, and wow, it really paints a picture of how messed up America was even before the assassination of President Garfield. It’s 1880, and the Republican party is run by these… well, let’s just say they weren’t the brightest bulbs, and they got their power by controlling the ports of New York. It’s heartbreaking to see that Black soldiers who fought for the Union still weren’t getting the rights they deserved, and there was so much unrest with labor disputes and a real sense that nobody knew what America was supposed to be. The movie introduces us to James Garfield, this Ohio congressman and war hero who unexpectedly becomes president after giving one great speech. And then there’s Charles Guiteau, a total failure as a lawyer and publisher, who’s somehow inspired by Garfield’s success to chase after his own version of greatness – it’s a really unsettling setup.

The film Death by Lightning presents James Garfield and Charles Guiteau as representing two different futures for America. Garfield embodies hard work and integrity, while Guiteau is driven by a desperate need for attention and will attach himself to anyone with power to achieve it. Director Matt Ross was drawn to the script because it explores who truly represents American values, recognizing that the average American falls somewhere between these two extremes. As Ross explains, “An American could be anyone,” and he sees the film as a way to discuss what it means to be American, especially given the country’s size and complexity. This theme is similar to his previous work, including the miniseries Gaslit about Watergate. Ross has also explored the American character in his acting roles in projects like Silicon Valley, Good Night, and Good Luck, and American Psycho.

Directed by Ross, the miniseries Death by Lightning is filled with dark humor. We see scenes of con artist Charles Guiteau repeatedly being kicked out of places after swindling his way in, while powerful Republicans like Roscoe Conkling and Chester Arthur enjoy lavish meals and oppose efforts to reform the civil service. After President Garfield politely turns down Guiteau’s requests, Guiteau becomes convinced that killing Garfield is the only way to save the country. The series concludes with Garfield’s widow, Crete, telling Guiteau he will never achieve the fame he craves, and highlights the loss of Garfield’s vision for a corruption-free civil service, reminding us what’s lost when we forget important historical figures. According to Ross, Death by Lightning will likely be his last directing project for another studio. He wasn’t dissatisfied with the story itself, but frustrated with the fast-paced production and editing process typical of television. From now on, he plans to only direct projects he’s been involved with from the very beginning. Ross reflects that it’s strange how much time we spend watching actors pretend to be other people, but admits that, aside from his family, it’s something he deeply cares about.

I was drawn to the miniseries because, unlike many historical projects, the script immediately felt like a compelling story. Often, historical accounts are just interesting facts, better suited for a documentary than a drama. But Mike Makowsky’s writing created a fascinating portrayal of two men and their perspectives during a period of American history that still resonates today. The series really emphasizes the importance of human connection – how we treat each other with love and respect – over the pursuit of legacy. It touches on how, historically, men in positions of power have been obsessed with leaving behind something to be admired, but ultimately, that’s a fruitless endeavor. The beauty created by this family, and the legacy of the husband, really highlight that point. I collaborated closely with Mike on the project, and his script was the foundation for bringing this story to life.

I came onto the project as the director, a role I’ve taken on twice and won’t repeat due to other commitments. Working with Mike was a fantastic experience. While TV is usually seen as a writer’s world, when directing a limited series, I treat it like a long film – we plan it visually like a movie, shoot it like a movie, and I oversee all the creative departments. This allows for a close working relationship with the actors. Mike, as the writer, was only able to be involved during parts of pre-production and production because of his wedding, but I truly enjoy working with him. He has a rare understanding of and genuine care for actors, which I greatly appreciate. Whenever he was on set, we’d have in-depth conversations to ensure clarity, and I always valued his insights into the story. I often asked him about the accuracy of certain details or whether he’d invented them, and I trusted his vision. Overall, it was a wonderful collaboration.

Wait, did you say you wouldn’t direct a miniseries again? 
No, I don’t think so.

I really liked working on both “Death by Lightning” and “Gaslit,” and I’d happily do similar projects again – especially if I was involved from the start or even wrote it myself. However, with both of those shows, I didn’t have final control over the editing. That’s just how television works, even with limited series, which are essentially long movies. Each episode is often directed by different people, and the showrunners or creators always have the final say. As a director, you’re either on board with their vision or you’re out – and in my case with both shows, I was ultimately removed from the process. What you see on screen isn’t my original edit; it’s a version that was recut by others. That kind of thing just wouldn’t happen with a film.

I don’t want to focus on that particular issue right now, but it’s important to get the facts straight. Making a film is a collaborative process, and I don’t take sole credit for the amazing work of people like our cinematographer, production designer, or costume designer. Hundreds of talented individuals contribute – the VFX artists, actors, casting directors, and so many others. I bring them on board, we work together, and they bring their incredible skills to the project. I’m there to facilitate that collaboration. In fact, I could easily give this footage to someone like you, Roxana, and you could create a perfectly good version of the film. It just wouldn’t be my version. Ultimately, you hire filmmakers for their unique vision, and that’s what matters most. I learned from my experience on Gaslit to start editing as soon as possible, because with a series like this, you have days to deliver a cut, not the ten weeks you might get with a film. But this version is a reworking of my initial cut, built on the daily work of the two editors I hired during production.

Look, I don’t enjoy calling anyone out, but I can’t pretend problems don’t exist in this industry. Honestly, the only real protection I see is either being a massive name – nobody’s going to mess with Martin Scorsese, let’s be real – or being involved in a project from the very beginning, not just coming in as a hired gun director. That gives you some real control and leverage.

Is there anything you included in your edit that you’re sad didn’t make the final cut? I’d rather not say.

I’d like to discuss a few scenes and how you approached them as the director. Your background as an actor gives you a unique perspective, and I’m interested in how that influences your work. Specifically, I’m curious about the scene where Garfield meets Guiteau. I’ve been thinking about Charles as a take on the ‘underground man’ character from Paul Schrader’s films. I know you drew inspiration from Travis Bickle and Rupert Pupkin when creating Mike, and while I didn’t immediately see that connection myself, I understand why you did.

I was asked about working with Matthew Macfadyen and Michael Shannon on that particular scene. The scene itself was exceptionally well-written, which was a great starting point. I always believe the best approach is to let actors explore a scene first and then offer feedback – telling them what you want beforehand can limit their creativity. Matthew already had a sense of the direction I was hoping for. I asked him to think about how he would have behaved at age 14 if he’d met his acting idol, Anthony Hopkins, and believed that person could change his life. We focused on the character’s emotional vulnerability, desperation, and need for help, and he really connected with that. It brought out a raw and emotional performance from him. It was incredibly moving, and you could see Michael responding genuinely to Matthew’s honesty, adjusting his own performance as a result. Michael was clearly affected by the pain and suffering he was witnessing. I also loved Garfield’s scripted line, “I’m afraid you misinterpret me, Mr. Guiteau,” because it shows his character’s misguided attempt to connect with Guiteau on a human level.

This experience perfectly illustrated the collaborative dynamic between an actor and director. I noticed something in Matthew’s performance and began a conversation to help him delve deeper into the character’s motivations. He was incredibly open to exploring those ideas, take after take, and really embraced the character’s desperation and vulnerability – he was essentially falling apart emotionally. It took time to reach that level of authenticity, but that’s because we were building layers of complexity together. Honestly, ‘director’ isn’t always the right term. I see my role more as a ‘conductor’ or ‘reflector’ – my job is to assemble talented people and create a space where they can thrive. Then, I engage with them, offering observations, suggesting possibilities, and pushing them to explore new avenues, even if it means discarding previous ideas.

This show is a fascinating tightrope walk of tone, and Matthew’s performance is the key. I genuinely laughed out loud at one line – “Eat shit, I’m a taxpayer!” – but then immediately felt conflicted. Do you root for this guy? Do you despise him? I found myself constantly switching between those feelings, and that’s a testament to the writing and Matthew’s skill. The script really digs into Guiteau, a pretty awful person, but manages to find humor and, surprisingly, depth. Matthew has this incredible ability to bring warmth and vulnerability to even the most morally questionable characters – think of his work in Succession – and that’s crucial here. The director didn’t want to excuse Guiteau’s actions, but rather to understand the humanity beneath them. If you don’t connect emotionally, you simply won’t care. With Matthew, you at least see things from his warped perspective. And the writing does this brilliantly, making you laugh with him, and then immediately laugh at him. The scene with the sex colony, as bizarre as it sounds, was essential. It’s deeply sad – this man is utterly alone – and both the director and I felt it needed to stay in, because it’s just too real to cut.

We talked about how the finale centers on Crete and her family. Before that, she has a confrontation with Guiteau, telling him she’s ensuring his name is forgotten by preventing him from publishing anything. I’ve been a huge fan of Betty Gilpin for a long time, and working with her on Gaslit really showed me how incredibly talented she is. She took what could have been a simple supporting role and elevated it. She did the same thing here. I asked her to take the part, acknowledging it was essentially ‘the wife’ role, and even joked she should be playing James Garfield! She loved the script but insisted one scene absolutely had to stay in. Every single take she did was incredibly nuanced and emotionally complex – it was a masterclass in acting. My role was mostly just to explore possibilities and see how far we could push the performance, but honestly, even the first take was perfect.

Let’s talk about Guiteau’s final walk to his execution. He famously recited a poem he’d written, called “I Am Going to the Lordy,” which later inspired the song “The Ballad of Guiteau” in Stephen Sondheim’s musical, Assassins. Matthew is performing it here with a very childlike delivery. We were curious about how you decided to approach it that way.

Apparently, witnesses described Guiteau singing in a high-pitched, childlike voice. Matthew and I explored what Guiteau might have been thinking at that moment, and we tried out different ideas. We listened to some hymns, and he chose one he liked. There isn’t much documented about the actual tune he sang. I wanted to use that high-pitched voice because that’s what historical accounts said—and it’s a really bizarre detail. It’s even stranger when you consider that he seemed to think he was being amusing.

The line, “Oh,” was written by Mike Makowsky, and Matthew and I really wanted to keep it in the film. It’s not necessarily historically accurate, but we found it incredibly powerful. Guiteau, while in prison, wrote a lengthy document explaining his actions, believing he was destined for salvation and that his act would transform the government and inspire the public. He was deeply mistaken about the public’s reaction, imagining support when there was only outrage. He lived in a fantasy world. We wondered, though, if in his final moments, when he looks out at the crowd gathered to witness his execution, he suddenly realizes just how delusional he’s been. We weren’t suggesting he felt remorse, but what if, for a single second, the fog cleared and he understood the truth of his situation before being killed? That would align with the prediction that he would be forgotten. It’s a dramatic choice, and we don’t know if Guiteau actually experienced that moment, but we loved the scene as it was written.

This miniseries explores a fundamental question about American identity: is it defined by service and community, or by individual gain? This conflict, embodied by the opposing views of characters Garfield and Roscoe Conkling, isn’t just a historical issue—it’s been present since the country’s founding and continues to resonate today. When creating the series, we aimed to present this as a problem rooted in the past while acknowledging its ongoing relevance. Similar to our approach with Gaslit, we focused on universal themes. While current relevance isn’t the primary reason for making a story, enduring drama, much like Shakespeare, taps into core human experiences – ambition, corruption, integrity, and our relationships with one another. These are the elements that give a story lasting power, regardless of the specific historical context.

We all understood how important this was – it was impossible to ignore. Garfield’s speech at a convention, even though he wasn’t a candidate, led to his nomination because of its powerful and honest message. It reminded me a lot of what Obama did – people were captivated, wondering who this man was speaking with such conviction about America. Many people, myself included, were inspired by him. The issues of political violence, corruption, and the influence of money in politics have been around for a long time, but they feel especially strong now, like our democracy is being twisted to favor the wealthy. Being president now requires massive financial support, and donors naturally expect something in return for their investment – it’s like our democracy has become a product to be bought and sold. I don’t think it’s ever been this blatant and shocking in recent history.

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2025-11-13 22:00