Two quotes from the historian Jane Kamensky — one appearing in the first episode of “The American Revolution” and one in the last — exemplify so much of what’s driving Ken Burns’ new king-sized and king-skewering documentary. The first frames the final two hours of the 12-hour series, which encompass events from May 1780 through what the title simply refers to as “Onward.”
“I think to believe in America, rooted in the American Revolution, is to believe in possibility,” Kamensky says. “That to me is the extraordinary thing about the patriots’ side of the fight. I think everybody on every side — including people who were denied even the ownership of themselves — had the sense of possibility worth fighting for.”
Burns’ documentary venerates that possibility, not as an outdated idea but as a dream that took great effort to distinguish and that’s prematurely fading from our cultural consciousness. The series recognizes the many disparate parties involved in founding the United States, including the nascent colonies, the British kingdom, and the Native American tribes, as well as subsections of those broad groups, be it the revolutionaries vs. the loyalists or the enslaved vs. their oppressors. As much a civil war as a revolutionary war, the conflict wasn’t singular; it was varied and voluminous.
It felt, in other words, not unlike today. Despite the present state of the country — fractured, frightful, and frustrating (to say the least) — and the state of his longtime home at PBS, the Brooklyn-born documentarian isn’t ready to call it quits. He sees America through the long lens of history, where what feels unprecedented can also be viewed as familiar, given proper context. We began as a fractured people, and we remain fractured still.
Without explicitly mentioning Donald Trump, “The American Revolution” is designed to juxtapose then and now, early and often. Through Mercy Otis Wilson, the series — written by Geoffrey C. Ward and co-directed by Burns, Sarah Botstein, and David Schmidt — acknowledges how satiric portrayals of British royalty helped shift public opinion in favor of democracy. When describing the Boston Tea Party, experts emphasize it wasn’t the message of the protest that set off the powers that be, but “destroying private property” (including “thousands of pounds of sterling”). And even when the war was well underway, sharp divides persisted in the colonies.
Among these compelling comparisons — expressed in a deluge of details sure to excite history buffs (and drain the life from easily distracted viewers, like yours truly) — a major contrast stands out: The hope, the dream, the possibility that united so many to fight for an America yet to be realized has since been muddied as that America has taken shape. The rejection of despots in favor of a radical democracy isn’t a fresh idea anymore, even if it’s still a guiding principle worth following. And maybe, just maybe, if Burns can use history to remind us where we were then, some viewers will find their way back to a shared reality in the here and now.
Which brings us to quote No. 2:
“Those who have interests in keeping the political story alive and growing have to really work to keep it front and center; to define the problem as something present in the minds of ordinary people. ” Kamensky says in the premiere, while discussing the early days of the revolution and how hard it was to mobilize enough people to turn a good idea into an active uprising,. “Why would I care about this as a woman? Why would I care about this as a small farmer?”
There weren’t 24-hour news channels or endless TikTok streams in 1776, but there was an attention economy. Burns’ “American Revolution” exists in ours, which means it needs to put in the work to leave a mark on modern minds. There are too many other voices fighting to be heard to ensure the best informed or most pressing will win-out, and the onus is on the speaker to break through the noise. They can do so with their platform (and PBS is giving “The American Revolution” quite the rollout, including education initiatives for classrooms and widespread accessibility for the general public). They can do so with their work ethic (which is staggeringly clear from the thoroughly researched information onscreen, plus, given Burns’ omnipresence via tour stops, speaking engagements, and interviews, just as evident off of it).
And they can do so with their style. By now, people know whether to count themselves in for a Ken Burns’ documentary. The 72-year-old filmmaker is as close as any documentarian can get to a household name, and whether you sampled his encyclopedic examinations via “The Civil War,” “Baseball,” “Jazz,” “Mark Twain,” “The Vietnam War,” or something else, little should surprise you about how “The American Revolution” rolls out. Peter Coyote narrates. Paintings and historical documents are presented via slow zooms, in and out. Historians and writers provide their authoritative perspectives, while re-enactors march in formation and animated maps illustrate battle plans. For a unique bit of fun, you can play “guess the celebrity voiceover” assigned to each quoted historical figure. (It’s quite the cast — Ethan and Maya Hawke! Samuel L. and LaTanya Richardson Jackson! Josh Hutcherson, Lucas, and Charles!)
But Burns’ dry, monotonous style applied to a season of television at least two hours longer than most modern audiences are used to consuming makes for an arduous watch — and I do mean “watch.” As a podcast, “The American Revolution” might be easier to process, but as a visual experience, it’s stale. And for a series hellbent on reminding divided countrymen of their common ground, it’s frustrating to feel like so little mind was paid to connecting with anyone who didn’t worship at the altar of their high school history teacher.
I say all this with the utmost respect for the director and his work, especially because “The American Revolution” makes its consequence so obvious, starting with its opening lines, spoken by Matthew Rhys, quoting Thomas Payne: “From a small spark kindled in America, a flame has arisen, not to be extinguished. … The strength and powers of despotism consist wholly in the fear of resisting it. And in order to be free, it is sufficient that he wills it.”
While the series stops short of saying as much — insisting on its own apolitical perspective, even as its intrinsic morality roots it firmly against today’s anti-truth, pro-fascist Republican party — the source of its urgency is unmistakable. The work is never over. The Revolution is ongoing. “No kings” then means “no kings” now.
Here’s hoping it’s heard.
