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If there ever was a man made for the movies it was George Washington. He was the action figure at the center of every major political event of his day: the move for independence, the Revolutionary War, the formation of the Constitution, the establishment of the new nation. In each case, he was crucial to the success of the event -- and thus to the American Founding as a whole.
Washington was tall and broad-shouldered, and looked the part of a great hero. "I thought then as now that I had never beheld so superb a man," Lafayette wrote upon seeing Washington on the battlefield. Thomas Jefferson said his stature was "exactly what one would wish, his deportment easy, erect, and noble." "You had prepared me to entertain a favorable opinion of him," Abigail Adams wrote her husband after meeting Washington, "but I thought the one half was not told me . . ."
Hollywood could not have written a better story, and Central Casting could not have created a better leading man. In 1984, CBS produced a TV miniseries, based on James Thomas Flexner's great biography, starring Barry Bostwick as Washington; dull in places, it had enough battle scenes to keep it generally interesting. The Crossing, starring Jeff Daniels as General Washington, is a more recent (and more serious) film about the cross-river attack on Trenton.
Both films had merit, but neither quite captured the man or the moment. The problem is that, over the years, Washington has become typecast as the lifeless figure that adorns coins and stamps, and the overfamiliar name on innumerable counties, towns, schools, and streets. In his 1958 biography, George Washington: Man and Monument, historian Marcus Cunliffe wrote that "to humanize Washington is to run the risk of falsifying -- of losing the essential truth of his personality," which was that Washington had been replaced by a legendary figure larger and more unwieldy than any mortal. "Entombed in his own myth," Washington had become a monument.
Consider the two standard images of Washington. One is a figure of folklore and legend, the subject of childhood stories and nursery rhymes. What is it that we remember about George Washington? As a boy he chopped down a cherry tree with his hatchet and could not tell a lie. As a man he prayed at Valley Forge, had wooden teeth, and naively thought honesty to be the best policy.
The other image is that of a granite statesman who is distant and obscure, an unapproachable patriarch. Think of Gilbert Stuart's famous Athenaeum portrait, the solemn, impersonal, and humorless visage that used to be found in public buildings and schoolhouses: Mark Twain once quipped that if Washington were to return and not look just like the well-known painting he would be rejected as an impostor. "Did anybody ever see Washington nude?" Nathaniel Hawthorne once asked. "It is inconceivable. He had no nakedness, but I imagine he was born with his clothes on, and his hair powdered, and made a stately bow on his first appearance in the world."
Familiarity with the myth and the monument -- not to mention the long shadows cast over the era by the likes of Jefferson, Madison, and Hamilton -- leaves Washington as likely to be the subject of parody as of esteem.
Source: HighBeam Research, The Greatest.('Rediscovering George Washington')