In the New York Times yesterday, Mad Men creator Matthew Weiner said his drama's third season would be about anxiety. It was an anxious time for the country, he argues: just getting over the Cuban Missile Crisis, the country would end 1963 with an even worse shock.
"People were unsettled by this crisis," Weiner told the Times.
People are unsettled as Mad Men began its newest season Sunday night. No one feels safe at Sterling Cooper , where the new British parent company PPL is cutting jobs. And it's Don Draper's birthday, which means he's ancious over turning 40. No, just kidding. Because it's not really Don Draper's birthday, but Dick Whitman's.
And that means another trip into Don/Dick's hellish Appalacian gothic childhood. Or in this case, babyhood, as he imagines the night he was born. His prostitute mother -- on the verge of death after giving birth -- puts what amounts to a curse on the father: she wishes she could have "cut his dick off, and melted in hog fat."
And so little baby Whitman had a name, one that served as a constant reminder of how unwanted he was. (A nice touch during this scene: Don is so distracted by his daydream -- where the melted hog fat image kept coming up -- that the milk he's heating up for pregnant Betty boils over.)
Don's trying to make nice at home with Betty (he even pulls out some of that Kodak pitch meeting magic to help her sleep), but the second he's out of town, he hooks up with a flight attendant (although I feel I should say "stewardess," since using the more modern term "flight attendant" feels anachronistic when talking about this show.")
After Bert (or is it Burt?) Peterson is fired, Don and Sal go to Baltimore on a sort of diplomatic mission, to reassure the makers of London Fog raincoats that everything's OK. But here's that anxiety again, on the part of the father/son team that runs London Fog. They're concerned that the business can't grow anymore; Don assures them that people will always need raincoats.
Yet throughout the episode I found myself wondering what kind of future Sterling Cooper has. Peterson gives a sort of warning to PPL executive Lane Pryce (played by Jared Harris, an actor I'm starting to think should appear on every TV show), something about how they're the dying empire. And listening to the list of Sterling Cooper clients, it's interesting how many of the companies they represent are no longer around (Bethlehem Steel, for one). I'm not saying the business is doomed, or that they can't sign new brands. It's just that the signs are there.
But getting back to Don and Sal in Baltimore. Outside of their London Fog meeting, they're not Don and Sal, but Bill and Sam. The flight attendant mistakes Don for his brother-in-law William Halstadt, who borrowed one of Don's suitcases but apparently still wrote his own name on it. So when he's called William, Don goes with it. Sal plays along and introduces himself as "Sam."
Soon, they're dining with two stewardesses and a pilot, and claiming to be accountants somehow connected to the Jimmy Hoffa investigation. Sal and Don play off each other quite well.
My favorite line of the episode: Sal remarking in the elevator that he and Don are the the only ones not "wearing uniforms" as they ride with the stewardess a bellhop. Sal and Don, of course, live their lives in a sort of costume, Sal as a married heterosexual, Don as, well, Don. And in a matter of minutes, the two characters wearing actual uniforms will be undressing in front of these two men: Don and the flight attendant was a given, but Sal and the bellhop was something of a surprise.
But what will come of it? It's great to see Sal finally let himself go, and Don seems unphased by what he accidentally witnessed during the fire alarm, but it's not like he can just go back to the office and announce he's gay. Don is almost expected to fool around while he's out of town (note the reaction from Harry and co. when Sal gets back). If Sal's going to step out, it had better be with a stewardess if he wants to keep designing raincoat ads.
It's interesting too that the flight attendant was a virtual Betty clone (Don even asks if she'd been a model), like the woman Don met in California last year. In season one, he favored sharp-witted brunettes. I doubt this means he's working his way back to Betty. He hardly seems comfortable at home; the episode ends with Sally asking to hear the story of how she was born, and Don gets so flustered that Betty needs to take over. We hear Betty telling the story -- including the detail that she had a stuffed Eeyore all ready for Sally; it's like the kid was destined to be mopey -- while Don seems lost, perhaps thinking again about hog's fat.
Other thoughts:
- Every episode should have a Pete Campbell temper tantrum. He did everything but hold his breath when he found out he and Ken would be sharing the head of accounts job.
- Not much for the Mad women to do this week, but I did like Joan's soft manipulation of John Hooker, and Peggy's all-business sarcasm with her secretary.
- Roger Sterling just kills every time he's on screen. "I told them it was a stupid idea, but they don't always get our inflection," he tells Don, talking about the new British bosses.
- And that's it for this week, but I am thrilled to have Mad Men back, and to be writing about a weekly show again. (Trying to write about an entire series, or even just one season, in a single blog post hasn't produced my best work.)
Tom Coombe
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