Layla Zulfa
In the modern era, the narrative of American history has become a primary battlefield for political identity. Lonnie G. Bunch III, Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution, frequently finds himself at the center of this storm. He faces consistent criticism—often emanating from the highest levels of the federal government—that modern institutions focus too heavily on the "painful or ugly" aspects of the American past at the expense of national pride. However, Bunch argues that historical honesty and national hope are not mutually exclusive.
"How do you understand a nation if you don’t look at all the challenges a nation has faced?" Bunch posits in the new Netflix docuseries The American Experiment. "A great nation doesn’t run from its past, doesn’t hide from its past, but looks at it, learns from it and has been made better by that past."
This five-part, six-hour exploration of the nation’s founding attempts to provide that comprehensive lens. Directed by Brian Knappenberger, known for his incisive documentary work on The Internet’s Own Boy: The Story of Aaron Schwarz, the series serves as a high-production-value audit of the American democratic project. While it succeeds as a thorough, polished portrait of the late 18th century, it occasionally falters when attempting to bridge the chasm between the 1790s and the turbulent political climate of the 2020s.
The Chronology of an Experiment
The American Experiment operates on a strictly defined timeline, beginning with the ideological shifts preceding the 1776 Declaration of Independence and concluding with the departure of George Washington from the presidency in 1797.
By centering the narrative on these two decades, the series avoids the trap of a "greatest hits" historical survey. Instead, it offers a granular view of the fragility inherent in the founding. The documentary meticulously tracks the evolution of the Constitutional Convention, the drafting of the Preamble, and the precarious survival of the Union during its infancy.
The series utilizes a visual language that echoes a curated museum exhibition: crisp serif fonts, tidily framed archival imagery, and re-enactments that eschew the low-budget "AI slop" currently plaguing streaming platforms. These scenes are produced with the gravitas of a prestige period drama, elevated significantly by the participation of Martin Sheen. Sheen provides the voice of George Washington, reading from the first president’s personal correspondence with a weary, deliberate tone that brings a human dimension to the marble-statue version of history most Americans are taught in primary school.
Supporting Data and The Human Element
One of the series’ greatest strengths is its commitment to "humanizing the players." While Washington remains the primary thread—portrayed through his development from a headstrong, ambitious youth into a cautious, burden-bearing elder statesman—the series finds vitality in the periphery.
For example, the docuseries explores the life of Gouverneur Morris, the Pennsylvanian delegate who authored the Preamble to the Constitution. The filmmakers highlight his reputation as a "womanizer" and the apocryphal, yet illustrative, rumor that he lost his leg while jumping out of a lover’s bedroom window. While such biographical trivia might seem tangential to the mechanics of the Three-Fifths Compromise or the Federalist Papers, it serves a vital purpose: it strips away the myth of the "Founding Fathers" as infallible, god-like figures. It reminds the audience that the Constitution was drafted by fallible, sweaty men in a room, struggling with egos, physical ailments, and competing visions of what a nation could be.
The project also leans heavily on a vast roster of talking-head experts. By incorporating Black and Native American scholars, the series attempts to pivot away from the traditional, Eurocentric narrative. While this does not constitute a full-scale deconstruction of the American founding, it does serve to deepen the context, illustrating that no step in the founding was a foregone conclusion. Whether it is the economic analysis of the tea tax that triggered the Boston Harbor protest or the tactical errors of the Continental Army regarding Black enlistment, the series succeeds in showing that the "American Experiment" was a series of narrow escapes and contingent victories.
Official Responses and Political Polarization
The docuseries takes a bold, if controversial, step by attempting to address contemporary hyper-partisanship by featuring a "bipartisan" cast of modern political figures. The goal is clearly to show that the tensions of today are, in many ways, echoes of the arguments held in the 1780s.
However, the efficacy of this strategy is subject to the viewer’s own political leanings. Seeing Hillary Clinton discuss the Electoral College or Mike Pence weigh in on the importance of the peaceful transfer of power is intended to lend the series institutional weight. Yet, for many viewers, the presence of figures like Ted Cruz—praising Washington for not being "power-hungry"—can prove distracting. When a contemporary politician whose own career has been defined by polarizing tactics lectures on the restraint of the Founders, the effect can be "irritating, even infuriating," potentially undermining the series’ desire to present a unified historical lesson.
Furthermore, while the series does not shy away from the "1,000-pound elephant in the room"—slavery—it occasionally struggles with the bridge to the present. The docuseries offers a precise and damning breakdown of the Three-Fifths Compromise, featuring an insightful analysis from Jelani Cobb of the Columbia Journalism School, who notes how the system allowed enslavers to "subsidize their political authority" with the bodies of the people they oppressed. Yet, when the series cuts to montages of modern Black Lives Matter protests, the connection is left largely implicit. It frames the historical injustice clearly but leaves the viewer to do the heavy lifting of connecting that specific past to the specific anxieties of the modern day.
Implications: A Perpetual State of Becoming
The central thesis of The American Experiment is that the United States is not a finished product, but a work in progress. By emphasizing that every generation has feared it might be the last to see the nation intact, the documentary offers a strange, cold comfort: our current political anxiety is not an anomaly, but a feature of the system.
This theme is perfectly encapsulated in the final moments of the series. Delaware Senator Lisa Blunt Rochester speaks eloquently about the necessity of the democratic process, declaring, "Democracy is worth it." But as she finishes her statement, the cameras continue to roll. She draws a breath, looks into the middle distance, and pauses—uncertain, reflective, and seemingly overwhelmed by the weight of the work ahead.
It is a moment of profound, unintended honesty. The series ends not with a swell of triumphant orchestral music or a flag-waving montage, but with a sigh. It is a reminder that the experiment is not a preordained success; it is a precarious, exhausting endeavor that requires active, constant, and often imperfect labor.
The American Experiment succeeds in its primary mission: it proves that looking back with "eyes wide open" is the only way to envision a future. Whether that future is hopeful remains, as the series suggests, entirely up to the living. The documentary is a necessary, if sometimes frustrating, reminder that a nation that runs from its past is destined to be haunted by it, while a nation that stares into the abyss of its own history might just find the strength to continue.
Ultimately, the docuseries stands as a testament to the fact that the "American Experiment" is not a static document locked in a glass case, but a living, breathing, and often messy process that remains as fragile today as it was in 1776. For the U.S. history student, the casual viewer, or the political junkie, it provides a comprehensive, albeit demanding, look at the architecture of our current national identity. Whether one agrees with the modern political commentary or not, the core lesson—that democracy is a choice made anew by every generation—is delivered with an urgency that is hard to ignore.
Sagoh
Azzam Bilal Chamdy
