[The third in the Unit for Criticism's multi-authored series of posts on Season 7 of AMC's Mad Men, posted in collaboration with the publication of MAD MEN, MAD WORLD: Sex, Politics, Style, and the 1960s (Duke University Press, March 2013) Eds. Lauren M. E. Goodlad, Lilya Kaganovsky and Robert A. Rushing]
"Mr. Draper Goes to Town"
Written by: Deanna K. Kreisel (U of British Columbia).
The third episode of Mad Men’s Season 7, in addition to being unusually orange, was also remarkably cinematic. While the show often trades in subtle cinematic in-jokes (see, for example, Robert A. Rushing, “‘It Will Shock You How Much this Never Happened’: Antonioni and Mad Men” in Mad Men, Mad World: Sex, Politics, Style, and the 1960s), “Field Trip” is fundamentally structured by two key movie references, one overt and one fleeting, which offer different points of entry into Don’s characterological arc. The first appears in the opening seconds of the episode and depicts Don’s own preferred point of identification: an aimless, handsome New Wave hero wandering 1960s LA while juggling a couple of feisty, beautiful women. The film is Model Shop (1969) by French director Jacques Demy (best known for The Umbrellas of Cherbourg), and the show’s opening sequence thus rather heavy-handedly signals Don’s growing investment in a new cool self-image. The first seconds of the episode feature a bright disorienting star of light in the blackness that eventually resolves into that most hoary of movie-within-movie clichés, a projector beam in a dark theater, as the camera tilts to reveal Don staring intently, bemusedly, and almost longingly at the images flickering before him.
The film sequence on screen features the hero, George, a temporarily unemployed architect with grandiose dreams who is waiting to be drafted, driving his antique convertible down a Los Angeles boulevard while the wind ruffles his hair (the show’s designers doubtless wish their own simulacra of mid-century style could match the aching perfection of the depicted avenue). But the real crux of the film, for Mad Men’s purposes, is its ending. George telephones Lola, a French model with whom he has had a brief fling, but learns from her roommate that she has just gone back to France. George delivers his speech instead into a black rotary wall phone: “I just wanted to tell her that I loved her. I just wanted her to know that I was going to try and begin again. You know what I mean? That I was— I just wanted her to know that I was gonna try. Yeah, sounds stupid, doesn’t it? But I can, you know. I’m gonna— a person can— always try, you know? Yeah, always try. Yeah, always try.” Fade to black. The intrusive sound of jets overhead establishes another connection to Don’s situation—one of the forms his “always trying” has been taking is flying back and forth to LA to keep his marriage patched together.
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[The second in the Unit for Criticism's multi-authored series of posts on Season 7 of AMC's Mad Men, posted in collaboration with the publication of MAD MEN, MAD WORLD: Sex, Politics, Style, and the 1960s (Duke University Press, March 2013) Eds. Lauren M. E. Goodlad, Lilya Kaganovsky and Robert A. Rushing]
"The Working Day"
Written by: Corey K. Creekmur (University of Iowa)
“ … in secret as it were, the contraband of modes of behavior proper to the domain of work, which will not let people out of its power, is being smuggled into the realm of free time.”
-- Theodor W. Adorno, “Free Time”
Everyone agrees: last week’s season-launching episode, “Time Zones,” was a bummer, to use a term current in early 1969, when this final (half) season of Mad Men begins. “This is the end,” Jim Morrison was already announcing in 1967, the actual musical touchstone for the episode’s two framing songs, by the Spencer Davis Group and the Vanilla Fudge. Or at least this is the beginning of the end for Mad Men, and the rather grim episode seemed to announce that the last season would trace a downward spiral. Grounded in its historical moment by Richard Nixon’s January 20th inauguration (another beginning of the end of an era, perhaps), we might, in the time travel we conduct in the consumption of historical fictions, remember what is coming, since our past is these characters’ immediate future: not just the cultural high points of the Apollo 11 moon landing or Woodstock, but the Manson Family murders and Altamont (both in California, of course, now one of the series’ regular locations).
Among the major characters, “Time Zones” left Don Draper looking terrible and alone on his freezing New York City balcony, while simultaneously across town Peggy Olson broke down in her lonely apartment. Back at the office, an overworked and one-eyed Ken Cosgrove complained that he doesn’t even have time to take a crap, and for all of her efforts for the firm, Joan Harris is again reminded that she isn’t the boss. Only Pete Campbell in Los Angeles (feeling good vibrations, unlike everyone else) and Roger Sterling in New York seemed to be having some fun at the tail end of the 1960s, Pete by comically assimilating to a California lifestyle (Don cluelessly calls him a hippie), and Roger by fully indulging in the last gasp of the free love movement. Don – previously suave and smartly dressed – now seems fully out of time and place, arriving in LA (in an homage to Benjamin Braddock’s return home from school at the start of The Graduate [1967]) in a suit and hat (a hat! in 1969!) that now render him entirely uncool, especially in contrast to Megan’s trendy mini-dress. Perhaps the most telling evidence of a drastic shift in the energies of Mad Men’s final season is marked later in the episode when Don chooses work over sex; moreover, across the entire episode, all the characters are eating more than they are drinking, like never before.
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[The first in the Unit for Criticism's multi-authored series of posts on Season 7 of AMC's Mad Men, posted in collaboration with the publication of MAD MEN, MAD WORLD: Sex, Politics, Style, and the 1960s (Duke University Press, March 2013) Eds. Lauren M. E. Goodlad, Lilya Kaganovsky and Robert A. Rushing]
"Terminally Uncool, Unfunny, Lame"
Written by: Bruce Robbins (Columbia)
The opening credits have been predicting Don Draper’s fall at the beginning of every episode since Mad Men began airing. Last year, at the end of season six, it looked like the moment of professional collapse had finally come. But it also looked like Don’s breakdown in front of the Hershey brass and the indefinite time-out decided for him by his partners might be balanced by some sort of moral redemption. The breakdown itself comes in the form of compulsive and disinterested truth-telling, and the final sequence of last year’s final episode involved more of the truth: Don showing his children the brothel where he was raised.
As the new season premiered last night, many viewers must have been asking themselves how this impulse would or wouldn’t take over and work itself out as the show draws to a close. To put this in a series of questions: what might moral redemption look like, if that’s what’s coming? Would it mean turning against advertising itself? When Don says (during the meeting where he self-reveals and self-destructs, but also earlier) that Hershey’s chocolate doesn’t need advertising, he is echoing a theme that the show has already raised and that may be its most fundamental link with the political vision of “the Sixties”: is the work these advertisers do worth doing at all? Is it good for us? If the answer is no, then what? We find ourselves lost in a dark forest of contradictions. Wouldn’t a rejection of all that professional success mean turning against the vice-ridden virtues by which viewers have been so charmed--turning against what got us so involved in the show to begin with? Are we ready for that?
In particular, what would a critique of the profession mean for the gradual emergence of women into the ranks of the professionally successful? After all, that emergence has become the show’s single most emotionally compelling line of development as, season by season, the men seemed to get more and more exhausted, empty, and self-repeating. Could Don redeem himself morally without undercutting the rising trajectory of Peggy and Joan? And if their success, too, is going to be undercut, will we get the familiar and distorted logic that associates women’s achievement at work with failure and desolation in private life? I’m not sure I can survive any more of that moral.
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