The Self-Made Man with an Angle
Every great prestige drama needs a protagonist who claws their way to the top, and Franklin’s story is the 18th-century equivalent of a startup saga. He wasn't born into the landed gentry like Washington or Jefferson. He was the son of a candlemaker who ran away
from an apprenticeship, reinvented himself in Philadelphia, and built a media and printing empire from scratch. This self-made narrative is compelling, but it’s the Franklin-esque pragmatism that makes it feel so modern. He was a master of self-promotion and networking, meticulously crafting his public image as a homespun philosopher while being a shrewd, ambitious operator. This duality—the folksy persona and the sharp ambition—is the very stuff of characters like Don Draper, men who understand that the story you tell about yourself is your most valuable asset.
The Master of Deception and Diplomacy
Franklin's tenure as America’s man in Paris was less a diplomatic mission and more a season of a high-stakes spy thriller. At 70 years old, he navigated the decadent and treacherous court of King Louis XVI, surrounded by British spies, skeptical French ministers, and rival American envoys. He deployed his celebrity, charm, and wit as strategic weapons to secure the French alliance that was critical to winning the Revolution. He played the part of the rustic American genius, famously wearing a fur cap instead of a powdered wig, all while engaging in backroom deals, intelligence gathering, and public relations campaigns. This performance of identity, using deception for a greater good, places him in the same league as the cunning protagonists of shows where political maneuvering is a blood sport.
A House Divided by War
At the heart of many prestige dramas lies a broken family, and the schism between Benjamin Franklin and his son, William, is as tragic as any fictional storyline. The two were once incredibly close, partners in science and politics. But the American Revolution shattered their bond. William, the Royal Governor of New Jersey, remained a steadfast Loyalist, refusing to join his father's rebellion. This political disagreement became a deep, personal betrayal from which their relationship never recovered. Benjamin saw his son's loyalty to the Crown as a direct attack on his own life and legacy, eventually disinheriting him. This heart-wrenching conflict between a father and son on opposite sides of history provides the kind of intimate, emotional stakes that ground epic historical narratives and make them profoundly human.
The Moral Pragmatist
Modern audiences don’t want flawless heroes; they want characters who wrestle with their own contradictions. Franklin is the perfect embodiment of this. For much of his life, he was a slaveholder and his newspaper profited from ads for the sale of enslaved people. Yet, in his final years, he underwent a profound transformation, becoming a vocal abolitionist and serving as president of a Pennsylvania abolitionist society. This evolution wasn't clean or simple; it was a slow, complex process influenced by his time in Europe and the very ideals of liberty he was championing. This capacity for change, the journey from complicity to opposition, makes him a far more interesting and relevant figure than a founder with an unblemished record. It's the kind of morally complicated character arc that showrunners dream of—a man who was not born ahead of his time, but who struggled, imperfectly, to catch up with his own best ideas.
