“Wwe are here seek Washington, the greatest of men,” asked Parson Weems in 1800, “but in America—that great Continent, which, rising from beneath the frozen pillar, extends to the south?” Weems, Washington’s first biographer, was a brilliant publicist—but he may not even have known what an American he was when he wrote that line. A small country, it is implied—small geographically, and small soul—could not carry the greatness of this man’s truck. It would have cracked or cracked. For such greatness, only America would be big enough.
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Weems’s Washington is so popular throughout, it’s brilliant from the get-go: an angelic child, fanned by the warm wings of “ministering spirits,” who irrevocably matures into a mighty hero and then a world-shaking leader. But what if greatness is something you grow into, easily and painfully, under pressure? Washington boynew profileit gives us a pre-Revolutionary George, a George in his early 20s, pale, defiant, virginal, ramrod-straight, and full of anxiety and ambition. He is calm, unchanged. Incomplete, in a word. And when he starts a soldier, he makes a very big mistake.
As played by the very handsome (and surprisingly English) William Franklin-Miller, this Washington is poor. He is an interloper, a tenant farmer seeking to make a name for himself in the service of the Crown. He goes on a reconnaissance mission and nearly freezes to death. Not embraced by Virginia’s high society, he crashes a party at Lord Fairfax’s mansion, entering through the cellar. (This is where he meets Sally Cary, soon to marry into the Fairfax family, and begins a bitter flirtation with her.) In the Appalachians, in the Ohio desert, there is a fault line running between two warring empires: the British and the French. Who will claim this endless, uncertain landscape? After circling the area with his trusty surveyor’s compass, and in the absence of anyone else rash enough to do so, Washington offers to give the ultimatum to the invading French forces. Leading a group of Virginia militia, in the name of the King of England, he will tell the French to leave.
The Ohio Valley, “an immeasurable forest, from time immemorial the sad abode of wild beasts” (Weems again), becomes the young man’s proving ground. And his flaws—arrogance, inexperience—are the result. Did the newly promoted Major Washington, by fooling himself with his men into a breakfast party of French soldiers, who massacred them uncontrollably, accidentally start the French and Indian War, which became the Seven Years’ War, called by some historians “the first world war”? It sure looks like he does. And does he then build a fort—Fort Necessity—in the wrong place, exposing it to floods and ambushes, and eventually getting some of his men killed in his unsuccessful defense? Again, it would seem that way. Returning home, the fire of shame, Washington tries to resign his commission: the lieutenant governor of Virginia, Robert Dinwiddie, played as fiercely as a bird with Ben Kingsley, will not hear it. Several months later he presents himself to General Edward Braddock, humbly but determinedly offering his experience in this new style of warfare. “You lost!” the general (Andy Serkis) reminds him. “Failure is a good teacher,” Washington says. (If I tell you that this is one of those movies where everyone talks about a few leading proverbs—”Obedience can be commanded. Respect must be earned,” “Even a pound can take a king,” and so on—you’ll immediately recognize the atmosphere of Washington boy.)
And this, of course, is the lesson of the movie: These poor decisions, these tragedies, are a necessary prelude to greatness. Without flaws and gangling young George blowing in the Ohio woods, no George grew upan emphatic figure who appears in Philadelphia at the Second Continental Congress and is quickly and unanimously declared commander-in-chief of the Revolutionary forces. Everyone and everything—society, reality, good things and bad things—toughly trains our hero, fiercely concerned with his development.
Peter Stark, in his (excellent) 2018 biography, is also named Washington boyit features elements of the past in this story, a structure suitable for the screenplay of “this transition from youth to adulthood.” “Washington’s path,” he writes, “resembles what in legend Joseph Campbell calls the ‘hero’s journey.’ ” We can even call it journey of the shaman. Young George goes out into the bad country: His weakness is clear; he is torn by the demons of fear, failure, and failure; his body is tested and his self is severed. He returns laden with wondrous knowledge and wondrous achievements. In difficult circumstances men will now follow him. In battle he is inviolate: Musket balls and flying shards of death seem swerved around him. And when the fight comes – against the Brits, against the authorities, against the chaos of the emerging nation – like Eminem in 8 mileshe is ready.
So there’s a wild and somewhat malleable Jungian movie here. I can think of a version of Washington boy directed by one of the Safdie brothers, with a score by Hildur Guðnadóttir. It’s a great movie, here’s what I’m thinking: It has a completely made-up scene where Washington, in the middle of a conversation with the Iroquois, imagines that he’s being attacked by crows—big, big, inking pigs with flapping wings and claws that draw blood. Guðnadóttir’s dark cells cut and grind, and Washington—screaming, slipping, and oblivious to the wind—runs into the woods, the uniform disappearing. He sees the Iroquois shepherd: “That one has no time to go.”
But Washington boy comes to us through Angel Studios“a home,” as CEO Neal Harmon puts it in the studio’s mission statement, or north star letter, “for stories that grow light.” So far these stories have included of the drama of Christ’s life The chosen ones and—more controversially—Voice of Freedomled by the activities of anti-sex trade activist Tim Ballard and celebrated by Trump supporters, religious conservatives, and QAnon believers. Washington boy not as bad and bad as Voice of Freedom. It’s got some big-name actors—Kingsley, Serkis, Mary-Louise Parker—thrilling battles, some history lessons, and the most ideological thing about it is its soundtrack, which is a kind of moral soup based on the ropes. But the lighting development process has limited the storytelling. Clichés and gray tropes abound. “Many of the shows being produced these days,” the letter from Angel Studios’ north star continues, “add to the anxieties, divisions, and darkness prevalent in society. I don’t agree. And so did William Blake: “Joy & Woe are well woven / Garments by the divine spirit.” Hope and despair are twins, inseparable. And Washington, darker, would make a better movie.
On the one hand, though, Washington boy his nails. As he makes his erratic progress into early adulthood, Washington is variously held back by the sophisticated Brits, scorned by the Gallic French, and scorned by the Virginia elite. Class wise, money wise, the system is rigged against it. Can he not break on his own merits? “That’s not how the world works!” Lawrence’s angry brother tells him. “Then someone should redo it!” Storm boy George, cosmically mutinous.
America, America, I can see you born here, when this kind of high rebellion mixes with the beginning of your biggest personality flaw: the Great American Inferiority Complex. You think you’re better than me?! Almost everyone inside Washington boy he thinks they are better than George Washington. And he will show them all, the bastards. Sown alongside the seed of freedom, in other words, is the seed of political grievance-hatred from which we still suffer. Now that’s an origin story.
This article appears in July 2026 print with the headline “Boy George.”
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