What role should historical films play?
I'll start first by stating I've never seen a truly historical film, meaning one that accurately portrayed even a single day, perhaps not even a single moment of a real historical event. Hollywood doesn't care about history. It cares about selling movie tickets. And it will do anything necessary or even likely to accomplish that goal. Which is why no one ever seems to run completely out of ammunition in a movie.
In the film, The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, a wonderful John Ford film starring John Wayne and Jimmy Stewart, a famous line emerged: No, sir. This is the West, sir. When the legend becomes fact, print the legend.
I'm not fond of that quote, although I do understand its significance. Davy Crockett was a living example of a western frontiersman who talked his way into Congress with tall tales of his exploits. Some of my fellow Texans will spit in your eye if you dare suggest that ol' Davy didn't go down fighting at the Alamo. Yet there's good evidence that he and some others defenders were executed after they surrendered--just as happened with an even bigger party of Texans at Goliad. Fact is, if you go back and read the newspapers of the era, there were reports months after the fact that claimed Crockett had been captured and taken to Mexico. No one alive after the fact ever saw or even heard of Travis drawing the line in the sand. Jim Bowie was dying of sickness and too weak to swat a fly, much less use his famous knife on the Mexican soldiers who broke into his room, and all we know about the infamous Ross or Rose or Mose who supposedly refused to cross Travis's line in the dust and was the last man to escape from the Alamo comes down to us from one man who years after the fact said he heard the story as a boy from Ross (or whoever) himself who stopped for food at his father's house. But damn, it sure makes for a good tale of 136 stalwart Texans holding off thousands of Mexicans. Yet not only the numbers but the ethnic mix is a lie. Except for late-comers like Crockett, anglo Texas settlers nominally converted to Catholicism and swore allegience to Mexico as a requirement for being allowed to settle in the Texas territory. And a large number were native-born Texans of Hispanic heritage--the whole revolutionary movement grew out of an effort to make Texas a separate state of Mexico rather than being under the govenor of another Mexican state whose capital was hundreds of miles away. The first vice-president of the Texas Republic was Hispanic. But the legend is simple, neat, and satisfies both our modern prejudices and sense of honor.
There's also more fiction than truth in what most of us think we know about Billy the Kid and Jesse James. Only the extremely dangerous Wes Hardin ever came close to killing as many men as the stories say, but many--maybe most--were unarmed or bushwhacked.
That said, the throughly fictional
Man Who Shot Liberty Valance and the equally fictional
The Devil's Disciple (written by Noel Coward, for gawd's sakes!) at least capture the spirit and much of the truth of the times depicted. There were robbers and psychotic bullies and killers like Valance's gang. And there were honest people like the newspaper editor, the lawyer, the rancher and yes even Andy Devine's sheriff who stood up against them. There were conflicts over land and water with the small ranchers and farmers on one side and the big ranchers on the other. And those conflicts were fought out with fists, guns, and ballots. And most killings occurred by shooting someone from an alley.
In
Devil's Disciple, the good-for-nothing anti-authoritarian Kirk Douglas and the by-the-book preacher Burt Lancaster have no interest in the American Revolution until pushed into the rebel camp by the highhanded British troops. It's been said that at the height of the American Revolution about a third of all Americans were for freedom from England, a third were still loyal British subjects, and another third just didn't give a damn either way until a bad experience with the British or with the patriots put them on the opposite side.
Disciple portrays that truth better than any film I've ever seen. And if you want to see what war is really like, watch Audie Murphy in
The Red Badge of Courage, which depicts the confusion of the battlefield better than any film I've ever seen, certainly better than
Saving Private Ryan.
What happens when they compromise the entire experience because they are so inaccurate? . . . And what happens when you realize that the truth would have been even more dramatic?
Prime example of this is in a made-for-TV movie based on a well-written historically accurate novel, both titled
The Court Martial of Gen. Custer, the premise being that Custer survives the Little Bighorn and is brought up on charges for getting his unit killed. The book describes the real, documented, historical incident where Major Reno's initial attack on the Indian village grinds to a halt before the more numerous and better armed Indians and he orders his command to fall back to a wooded area across the river. As this is going on, Reno is sitting on his horse in the river when one of the Crow scouts rides up and leans over to tell him something above the noise of battle. As he does, the Crow is hit in the head by a bullet, and his head litterally explodes splattering Reno with brains and blood. The effect is that Reno goes into shock and for some hours was ineffective in deploying and instructing his troops, resulting in some bad decisions and several deaths. But in that scene in the movie, the Crow scout is magically changed into a young cavalry officer. Why make that change when the truth is more interesting and--dare I say?--colorful. There's a similar incident in
Dances With Wolves when the old chief drags out the helmet of a Spanish conquistador, captured by the Sioux in one of the earliest battles with the white eyes. Trouble is, the Spanish never got so far north and the Sioux never got so far south for such a meeting in that period. The Comanche, on the other hand, did encounter the Spanish explorers and became the best horsemen on the plains by first stealing horses from the Spanish. In
The Comancheros, John Wayne encounters Chief Iron Shirt, a character based on a real Comanche who wore the metal breastplate of a Spanish soldier. Thing is the book
Dances With Wolves is set in Texas with the Comanches, but the film takes it hundreds of miles north among the Sioux.
. . . this part of the series has some real problems as it seems to indicate John wasn't in favor of independence and had to be convinced otherwise. It seems that John always was in favor. This scene was simply fiction.
On the other hand, John Adams defended the British soldiers accused of firing on demonstrating citizens in the so-called Boston Massacre--and won their acquital. Doesn't mean he was a loyalist--just a fair-minded man and a damn good lawyer.
Stephen Dillane, as Jefferson, steals the movie for me (I'm about to seek out other roles he played, I liked him that much). He captured Jefferson's grace; his quiet manner during the arguments in the Continental Congress make him a compelling and thoughtful figure, and his relationship with Adams the second most interesting relationship in the film (as it should be, I would surmise.)
Jefferson and Adams were good friends whose political stances in the years after the revoluton turned them into bitter enemies. You should read some of the things they wrote about each other in that period! I haven't seen the series, but everyone--including me--loves Jefferson for his great mind and spirit and scientific curiosity and the gumption to buy the Louisiana Territory. But a contemporary who knew him well and was friends with Jefferson once described him as an inordinately ambitious person who never wrote or spoke a single word without first considering whether or not it put him in a good light and advanced his political ambitions.
Now, back to the central issue: in a final scene, the famous portrait of the signing of the Declaration of Independence is shown to an elderly Adams (with his son, John Quincy, now President). Adams is grumpy about the whole thing, going on and on about how the picture is inaccurate, since the signers were coming and going that summer and not every one of them could have been in the room at the same time for such an event.
You're quite right, the signing of the Declaration of Independence went on for more than a year as I recall. Some of the people who voted for independence never did sign it, being no longer delegates to the Continental Congress by the time of the decision to get all members to sign. Some new delegates signed that never voted for the declaration. But I read somewhere once that the story of the delegates lining up to sign the document right after it passed became so popular that some of the delegates in their later years remembered it just that way--as I recall, among those who later endorsed this myth despite all evidence to the contrary were Washington, Jefferson--and Adams. So it would seem that the series tampered with the real history at that point, which makes moot your argument that Adams missed the whole point.
What about the fact that the character Gibson played in The Patriot wasn't exactly a hero much of the time: he was reported to have raped his slaves and slaughtered Cherokee Indians. Hmmm, not exactly a patriotic hero, eh?
I would argue that one could rape slaves, kill Indians and still be a strong patriot and even a hero, since none of those elements have any relation to the other. One can love his country and be a bigot or a coward in battle. One can be a vile human being and still perform heroic deeds and support worthwhile causes. And some heroes are just nasty, greedy, vain, and selfish most of the time. On that issue, I refer you to the film
They Came to Cordura in which Gary Cooper as a cowardly officer bravely stands on his principles while bringing in a bunch of criminal, greedy, vain, and selfish men each of whom he has recommended for the Medal of Honor.