Mad Men: Season 7 (Part II)

Creator: Matthew Weiner
Starring: Jon Hamm, Elisabeth Moss, Vincent Kartheiser, January Jones, Christina Hendricks, John Slattery, Aaron Staton, Christopher Stanley, Rich Sommer, Kiernan Shipka, Jessica Paré, Kevin Rahm, Christopher Stanley, Jay R. Ferguson, Alison Brie, Bruce Greenwood
Original Airdate: 2015

★★★★ (out of ★★★★)

**Spoiler Warning: The Following Review Contains Plot Spoilers for Season 7 of Mad Men and its Series Finale, "Person to Person"**

It seems that whenever a beloved, long-running dramatic television series takes its final lap, a sense of urgency builds as we inch closer to the end. Our pulses quicken and our minds race with all the intriguing outcomes that could unfold, each seemingly crazier and more far-fetched than the last. And not being showrunners, most of our ideas are terrible, yet perfectly reasonable for fans caught up in the groundswell of finale hysteria. If a final season in TV is the equivalent of a freight train picking up speed and gaining momentum, Breaking Bad-style, as it speeds toward its ultimate destination, Mad Men would seem to represent the antithesis. With a structure more closely resembling a long-form novel, it was never dependent on its characters ever reaching an end point, as part of the fun was speculating the direction their lives would take after the last episode concludes.

Mad Men (2007-2015)

It's easy to envision creator Matthew Weiner stomping around the writers' room, resenting the very idea of a "series finale," arguing that no matter what he does, he can't win. To a certain extent, he'd be right. If Don Draper (Jon Hamm) only likes "the beginnings of things" as he was once told, you'd figure showrunners must love them. It's endings they hate. That's why the biggest surprise is just how much momentum this half-season builds in its last few episodes and how finale-ish its finale feels.

It was always assumed the ending would be more Sopranos than Breaking Bad. Not the culmination of a story with a concrete beginning, middle and end, but something more polarizing, sure to be open for varying interpretations and poured over for years. Knowing Weiner's history as a writer on The Sopranos, we suspected he had that kind of finale in him and my fingers were always crossed that he'd give it to us. And for a show that's mostly had its characters sidestep direct brushes with history like the Kennedy assassination, the Civil Rights Movement and the Moon landing, it managed to keep a big surprise up its sleeve for the final twist. Forget about whether Tony Soprano died, the new question is whether Don Draper really did change. Or rather, whether anyone ever really can.

The 60's are over and we've jumped in time to 1970, where there's no eleventh hour save for Sterling, Cooper and Partners. And no rabbit Don can pull out of this time to rescue the agency. Bert Cooper (Robert Morse) is dead and Roger (John Slattery) made a deal in last year's "Waterloo" that may have saved Don's job, but guaranteed the firm's eventual demise, albeit slower and more mercifully than expected.

The ax falls on Sterling, Cooper and Partners

Lulled into a false sense of security, they've been swallowed whole by McCann Erickson and even Don's idea to salvage the Sterling Cooper name with a smaller California branch seems like a desperate hail mary. His pitch to McCann honcho Jim Hobart (H. Richard Greene), while well executed, falls flat because he's so used to selling big. It's all over, and these remaining episodes explore how that carries a very different meaning for each character.

Despite Hobart talking a good game and repositioning the takeover as an exciting opportunity for all involved, the reality is far harsher. We know the expendable Joan Harris (Christina Hendricks), who even in her best moments was never taken seriously because of her looks, will last only a matter of days in a corporate culture of sexist pigs at McCann, with Hobart and his sleazy right-hand man Ferg Donnelly (Paul Johansson) leading the charge. It turns out one-eyed Ken Cosgrove (Aaron Staton) was right about these guys, even if he's no longer around to gloat about.

Roger will continue to coast along like he always has while Pete Campbell (Vincent Kartheiser), Ted Chaugh (Kevin Rahm) and Harry Crane (Rich Somer) should sadly fit in just fine. Peggy Olson (Elisabeth Moss) is the wildcard, with every experience she's had over the course of her decade-long career preparing her for this shift. And by procuring Don, Hobart has finally caught, in his own words, the "Moby Dick" he's been chasing since he placed his then-wife Betty (January Jones) in a COCA-COLA commercial as a bribe to switch agencies. But we know Don doesn't like to be owned by anyone.
                                                                                                                                                

Don with mysterious waitress, Diana

Talking about the final seven episodes is really talking only about the last four. The season is built on "Time and Life,""Lost Horizon," "The Milk and Honey Route" and "Person to Person." The rest, while still as solid as Mad Men's ever been, is the preamble. But for a while there, it was easy to worry the series was spinning its wheels rather than gathering steam. Don's obsession with mysterious waitress Diana (Elisabeth Reaser) is really just an obsession with himself, albeit a far more depressing and less charismatic version. Having abandoned her family and living a lie, he mistakenly thinks he can save her, not realizing he's hardly the first man to be swallowed into her self-destructive vortex.

Joan's somewhat controlling new lover, Richard (Bruce Greenwood) is the series' latest and last representation of her struggle in choosing between life and career during a time where it was thought impossible for a woman to have both. On this show, characters always frustratingly come and go as they would in real life, and while quibbles can be made about introducing them this late, it's not purposeless. And you have to wonder if their presence wouldn't be judged as harshly if this were any other season but the last. It's also a fair trade-off since for every Diana or Richard, there's a long-time supporting character getting an expanded role, like Don's ditzy but extremely competent secretary Meredith (Stephanie Drake) and the aforementioned Ken, who finds a new way to continuously torment Roger and Pete. What I can't defend is the the time wasted on Megan's (Jessica Paré) family, and that's coming from a huge Megan fan.                     

Arriving at what looked to be some kind of epiphany after his tap dancing vision of the late Bert Cooper, you'd figure the second half of Season 7 would find Don in a better place, back doing the job he does best. Instead, it seems as if little has changed at all. Still mostly absent from his kids' lives, the drinking and womanizing continues as the material facets of his life are systematically stripped away in the closing episodes. Empty apartment. Empty Sterling Cooper offices. His divorce with Megan is finalized in a rare, caring moment of self-reflection and regret. But Don at McCann is a stranger in a strange land. This isn't him and he doesn't want to do it anymore.

Don looks to the skies for something more in "Lost Horizon"

The episode "Lost Horizon" (named after the 1937 film Don was watching in last year's premiere, "Time Zones") is the turning point and where all the fan theories start coming home to roost. Will he jump out the window like the falling man in the opening credits? What's with that plane Don's fixated on during the beer meeting? Will he become D.B. Cooper? Of course, we should have known these theories were crazy since Mad Men's just not that kind of show. And Matthew Weiner knows that, but it doesn't mean he still can't have fun subverting those expectations. Don would rather be anywhere but at that meeting surrounded by COKE bottles, so he just walks out. Only this time there's reason to suspect it could be for good.

Weiner also toys with expectations by redeeming who was possibly the most irredeemable character in Betty Francis (January Jones). And he does it while delivering a hilariously shocking conclusion to one of the series' weirdest storylines. The return of a nearly unrecognizable, 18-year-old Vietnam bound Glen Bishop (Marten Weiner) to finally follow through on his creepy, 10-year plan to bed Betty may as well be Weiner's version of Richard Linklater's Boyhood, but on acid. It seems like  only yesterday when Sally's (Kiernan Shipka) weird little friend from down the street was stealing a lock of her mother's hair, causing his ban from the Draper's Ossining household.

The fact that the childish, immature Betty resists Glen's advances is actually kind of a breakthrough for her, sparing Sally the indignity of walking in on a horrifying sight that would put to shame anything she's ever seen her father do. I know many don't like Weiner's son as an actor, but this entire storyline wouldn't have been nearly as entertaining with a trained professional in the role. His awkwardness and stilted delivery make the whole thing painfully, almost embarrassingly real in the most cringe-worthy way possible.

Glen puts the moves on Betty

The look of disgust on Sally's face as she watches both her parents bask in the attention paid to them by her smitten friends is priceless, as is her statement that they just "ooze" at the adulation that comes with being at the center of every room they enter.  It's so spot-on, as is most of Shipka's performance throughout the series, in which she always found ways to subtly convey through Sally the best and worst of Don and Betty's mannerisms and behavior.

With all the smoking and drinking that's taken place since the show's inception, it was almost a given that at some point a major character would die, but few guessed it would be Betty, or that her terminal lung cancer diagnosis would prove to be both Betty and January Jones' finest hour. As it turns out, the icy, detached qualities that made the character so frustrating serve as a source of strength and grace under the worst of circumstances. Betty's quiet acceptance of her fate and determination to take complete control of her own passing is evident in entrusting Sally to carry out her final wishes.

For once, Betty acts selflessly, refusing treatment to spare her children the prolonged trauma of watching her suffer. While Betty was never strong enough to handle her parents' death, she's now strong enough to manage her own, and realizes, as we have, that Sally's capable of handling anything. That she must comfort her usually stoic and stable stepfather Henry (Christopher Stanley) when he delivers the devastating news speaks to this. As is her putting Don in his place when he unreasonably expects custody in the first of many phone calls that take place during the finale. If there was ever a Mad Men spin-off, a coming-of-age drama centered around Sally in the 70's would be the only one worth watching.

A dying Betty's final instructions for Sally

Betty smiling as she hauls her books up the stairs, physically struggling, but determined as ever to make it to class is how we'lll now remember her. But the true mark of the character's transformation might just be her amusement at the other students' referring to her as "Mrs. Robinson." It's a sign that the vain former model no longer takes herself quite as seriously, and that Weiner and Jones' have taken our least favorite character and made her somewhat heroic, without betraying any of the qualities we disliked in her to begin with. Jones has rightly been regarded as the cast's most limited actress, but even her harshest critics would be forced to admit she really brings it in these final two episodes.

If his ex-wife's unexpected death sentence wasn't enough to pull Don back home to be with her and the kids, you have to wonder if anything would. Maybe the problem is that Don's still trying to figure out where "home" is and what it means. A stop in Alva, Oklahoma during which he fixes a COKE machine and attends a veterans' fundraiser, sees him again uncomfortably confronting Dick Whitman's actions during the Korean War that caused the death of his C.O., the real Don Draper. With him gifting his car to a young con artist, he's now completely rid himself of everything.

As Don sits at a bus stop on the side of the road in the closing seconds of the penultimate episode, "The Milk and Honey Route," it's hard not to be reminded of Walter White sitting on the side of the road at the end of "Ozymandias," waiting for his ride from the disappearer. But Walt's final destination was always crystal clear. Where exactly Don would end up at the end of this series was always murkier, with his eventual transformation destined to be more ambiguous.

Don at a crossroads in "The Milk and Honey Route"

Would it be New York or California? That was always the big question in regards to Don's destination. Ironically, it's Don's (last?) phone conversation with Betty in the highly emotional series finale, "Person to Person" that moves the needle west, as the shattering truth that he's never been there for his kids cuts him to the core. Conceding defeat and acknowledging the only constant has been his absence, Betty's demand for his his limited parental involvement for consistency's sake makes sense even to him.

Weiner made the right move having Don's journey take him To California given that some of the show's most creative moments have spurned from the jarring juxtaposition of transplanting the straight-laced Don into the laid-back, free-wheeling 60's counterculture. I nearly jumped out of my seat realizing he'd spend the final episode trapped at a hippie spiritual retreat in Big Sur since Weiner's handling of this kind of material has continually captivated me over the series' run. And it's only natural he'd use the trip to visit his "niece" Stephanie (Caity Lotz), the last thread connecting him to the real Don and the only person who truly knows him as Dick. Their relationship has always been an odd, uncomfortable one since she isn't his family, even as his own deep seeded guilt continuously convinces him otherwise.

Seeing what rock bottom looks like for Don Draper is scary, but what's more revealing is who he calls once he's hit it. Sloppily dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans, he calls Peggy in an utter state of hopelessness and despair, immediately needing a metaphorical lifeline to bring him back to shore. In the episode's first fan service moment, and harkening back to the famous Season 4 episode, "The Suitcase," she must attempt to get through to him with the same stern, no-nonsense approach he's taught her. And in the midst of a full-fledged panic attack, she has good reason to be concerned, as Don's arrived at such a dark place that the possibilities of him dropping of a heart attack or jumping off the side of that cliff no longer seem like fan fiction.

The kiss the world was waiting for

Peggy's most important phone conversation in "Person to Person" may not be with Don, but Stan Rizzo (Jay R. Ferguson), whose increased appearances over the past few seasons have consistently emerged as a highlight, as this frequently stoned and impressively bearded comic character has slowly gained considerable depth through their friendship.

Sure, their declaration of love for one another over the phone reeks of fan service and is easily the most bizarre scene in the finale, but the fans are right, and damn if Moss and Ferguson don't absolutely crush it. Having to guess, I'd say it's unlikely Weiner had this pairing in the cards from the beginning, with Moss and Ferguson's chemistry together necessitating the decision. And I'm convinced Stan's the only character who could be dropped in present day with absolutely no adjustment, wardrobe and all, and work just as well.

For all of Peggy's talk, she could never leave advertising and the very idea of her going into business with Joan feels like the spin-off I wouldn't watch and thankfully won't have to since Weiner probably realized the pair would be clawing each others eyes out within minutes, mutual respect or not. But it was generous of him to throw it out there. Advertising runs through Peggy's veins whereas Joan has faced too much sexism and discrimination to not take advantage of an opportunity to start over, minus a man.

Peggy knows how to make an entrance

There were worries our last glimpse of Peggy would be when her rollerskating through the vacant Time Life offices or arriving at McCann with a cigarette dangling from her mouth and Bert's octopus porn painting under her arm. The latter might be my favorite single shot in the shows' history, perfectly encapsulating just how far Peggy's come since the pilot when she started as Don's mousy secretary. We're left with the impression that McCann will be eating all the Sterling Cooper alumnus for dinner. Except one. It's not possible to love Peggy or Moss any more than when we see her walking down that hallway like a bad ass, magnificently paying off what's been a ten-year journey for the character.

Even the smarmy Pete finds some level of redemption when the even smarmier Duck Phillips (Mark Moses) reenters his life with a potential job offer he can't refuse, try as he might. And he does he ever try since it's always hard to take the drunken, desperate dog abuser Duck at face value. Pete's building realization that he needs to reconcile with Trudy (Alison Brie) and actually be a real father to his daughter gives the viewers some degree of hope that he's finally taken the right path. His kind words of praise and encouragement for Peggy also signal what must be viewed as some kind of personal growth. But this is Pete Campbell we're talking about so it's impossible to underestimate the number of ways he could still screw everything up.

As Pete, Trudy and Tammy board their Learjet to start over in Wichita looking like the Kennedys boarding Air Force One, it's yet another reminder of how much time the hilarious Pete, played brilliantly by Kartheiser, spent trying to be someone else. Namely Don. There was a better man in there somewhere and maybe a total change of scenery with the only person who could ever tolerate him will help bring that guy out. But no more falling down the stairs, "Not great, Bob!" "California Campbell," or "The King ordered it!" Of all the characters, the endlessly gif-worthy Pete might be the most missed, if for entertainment value alone.

Roger watches Peggy skate through the Time Life offices

Having already suffered two heart attacks during the course of the series, Roger Sterling may have been high on everyone's "death watch," but the actual send-off Weiner gives him actually had me wishing for that scenario instead. Just about the only aspect of the finale I couldn't get on board with was that Megan's monstrous mother, Marie Calvet (Julia Ormond) was given any screen time in it.

Roger's had his issues with arrested development and serial womanizing so there's little doubt the need to pair him a strong woman is reasonable. But having him ride into the sunset with the show's most annoying recurring character doesn't seem like the answer, even if I'll just continue believing the relationship ended right after the final credits rolled. And one would hope fans who have unjustifiably complained about Megan's continued presence would be ten times more appalled by her mother returning to eat up any of the series' remaining minutes.

The need for Roger to mature enough to be with someone who accepts him for who he is was important, but not as important as his scenes with Joan and taking responsibility for his illegitimate child. Unfortunately, the latter was somewhat overshadowed by the Marie nonsense and it's arguable that him repairing the relationship with his estranged daughter should trump both. Then again, with only an hour and twenty minutes to fill, that reconciliation may be too much. But if it's okay, I'd like to pretend our last glimpse of Roger is him bonding and drinking with Peggy amidst the ruins of the Sterling Cooper offices two episodes earlier.       

A broken Don embraces "Refrigerator Man" Leonard

A character who does earn his few minutes of screen time, and proves to be anything but minor, appears in the controversial closing minutes of the finale. It's not Peggy reprimanding Don to "come home" to work on the COKE account that finally gets through to him, but a stranger at the retreat named Leonard, briefly and powerfully played by character actor Evan Arnold in a role Weiner has called the "most important in the series." And that statement feels fair.  Breaking down as he shares his emotionally devastating story of feeling as if he's on a shelf on a refrigerator, ignored and unloved by everyone in his life, Don is shattered as he gets to see and experience his story through the lenses of an unknown.

While Don's gotten love from many in his life (Peggy, Sally, Betty, Megan, Roger, the list goes on and on) he's never recognized it or felt deserving, pushing all those people away and leaving him as lonely as Leonard in the refrigerator. When he lets go and hugs this crying man, he's finally embracing and forgiving Dick Whitman, emotionally purging in a public display that would be considered shameful for men during this era.  Born in a brothel, raped by a prostitute, abused by his father and having stolen a dead man's identity, Don realizes, seemingly for the first time, he isn't alone. It goes without saying Hamm and Arnold are incredible in the scene and you have to wonder whether this is the episode that finally nets Hamm the Emmy. If this doesn't, nothing will.

It's while chanting and meditating on the hilltop that a bell goes off and a giant smile comes across his face, signaling his ultimate creation: The groundbreaking 1971 "Buy The World a Coke" ad. Of course, this leads to the big question of whether Don has even changed at all. Did he just take this life-altering experience and commodify it? Was this the moment hippie culture went mainstream and became commercialized? That's a very cynical reading, but when you consider details like the girl with the red ribbon braids at the front desk eerily resembling a girl in the commercial (more ingenious work from costume designer Janie Bryant) and the ubiquitous presence of Coca-Cola throughout the series and especially this season, it's one that can't be outright dismissed. But all it really proves is that Don came up with the ad, hardly explaining his thought process or intentions in doing so.

"People just come and go and they don't say goodbye?"

After being the architect of this moment in history, we're to assume Don returns to McCann. And it's quite possible he returns more or less exactly as he left. Slipping right back into his old patterns of neglecting his kids, drinking and sleeping around. That this supposed enlightenment only served as the catalyst to create the greatest campaign in advertising history and little more. That's what the show's about. No one ever changes. It sounds good and the facts support this reading, but the big problem is that our instincts don't.

As much as I want to get behind the cynical interpretation of this series' closing moments, it operates under one huge fundamental flaw: That advertising is evil and Don returning to do what he loves is somehow manipulative, or a return to the dark side. Don wasn't a bad person because he was in advertising. That had much more to do with the choices he made and the people he hurt, most of which stemmed from his crippling insecurity and guilt.

If anything, advertising was Don's salvation and most of the time the only thing that kept him from falling off the deep end. That bell noise we hear could easily be the light bulb going off in his head as he comes up with the Coke commercial, but I prefer to imagine it as the sound right before the elevator doors open and Don returns to McCann to give the pitch of his life, with Peggy by his side.

Don's moment of enlightenment

Unlike Don's infamous Kodak Carousel pitch in the first season built on a lie or the Hersheys presentation in the sixth season that exposed his past and torpedoed his career, this one won't be coming from a place of despair. That's the difference. He's been through too much to just simply walk away from that retreat unchanged. The change may be minimal, but it's hard not believing something clicked that went beyond the idea for that commercial, as monumental as it was.

During the Coke commercial I half-expected the camera to pull back, taking us into the McCann offices during the presentation until realizing Weiner's way too smart for that. He had to leave doubt and intrigue. If The Sopranos' finale was offensively ambiguous to the point of clobbering audiences over the head with a jarring stunt, this open ending is more thoughtful and measured. Like all great conclusions, it allows us to project what we want onto it, telling us as much about ourselves as the characters whose fates we've been so invested in.

The legendary 1971 Coca-Cola Commercial

Don's reluctant acceptance of Betty and Sally's wishes and his moment with the "refrigerator man" suggest a man who may be starting to come to terms with himself. It's a process, but undoubtedly the series finale is the closest he's come to the true convergence of Dick Whitman and Don Draper. The question is now whether it can be maintained, echoing the position all the main characters find themselves in when the show closes. Their lives continue as our viewing ends, perhaps slightly changing us all for the better.                                      

Mad Men: Season 7 (Part I)

Creator: Matthew Weiner
Starring: Jon Hamm, Elisabeth Moss, Vincent Kartheiser, January Jones, Christina Hendricks, John Slattery, Jessica Paré, Kiernan Shipka, Robert Morse, Kevin Rahm, Ben Feldman, Rich Sommer, Aaron Staton, Jay R. Ferguson, Christopher Stanley, Harry Hamlin, James Wolk Allan Havey 
Original Airdate: 2014

★★★★ (out of ★★★★)


             **Spoiler Warning: The Following Review Contains Plot Spoilers For This Season And Previous Seasons of Mad Men** 

With so many questions going into the seventh and final season of Mad Men it almost seems cruel of AMC to make the controversial call to give the series a Breaking Bad send-off, splitting it in two halves and forcing viewers to wait a year for the resolution. While it was obvious how milking the season monetarily benefits a network looking to fill a void left by two of television's all-time greatest dramas, less clear was how it would creatively affect the series, hamper pacing or compromise showrunner Matthew Weiner's vision for its end. At the risk of stating the obvious, Mad Men isn't Breaking Bad. It's a much slower burn, with a character-heavy focus that rewards viewers who watched from the pilot. And that number, as Nielson figures indicate, has dwindled considerably. Despite all the seasons streaming on Netflix, it's unlikely to enjoy the eleventh hour popularity surge BrBa did. But the faithful who are still hooked know that the show's gotten better as it headed into the more compelling historical backdrop of the late 60's, only strengthening our ties with characters we already feel a long-term connection to. This may only be a half-season, but a lot happens to set the stage for the end.

Megan's memorable entrance in Ep.7.1, "Time Zones"

When we last left selfish, womanizing, alcoholic ad man Don Draper (Jon Hamm) he appeared to have lost everything. After picking exactly the wrong time and place to come clean about his impoverished childhood as Dick Whitman, he gives a disastrous Hershey's pitch that cause the other Sterling Cooper partners to send him packing. While Don's not officially fired, it's clear his services are no longer needed and the majority of the season will focus on him trying to crawl and scratch his way back into the company. He's also attempting to repair his marriage to Megan (Jessica Paré), who fled to California for acting opportunities when it became clear he wouldn't be joining her. Straddling both coasts without a job and barely a marriage we see the character as we've never seen him before. Not as a slick ladies' man or anti-hero, but defeated and desperate. But more importantly, humbled.

We saw signs of this newly humbled Don at the end of last season when he felt comfortable enough to give both his kids and co-workers a brief glimpse into his real past. It was also evident when he sacrificed a California relocation to Ted Chaough (Kevin Rahm), potentially destroying his marriage so a friend could have shot at saving his own. Even the terms he must agree on to return to the agency is something the Don Draper of the first six seasons would never go for. Without work, he's completely lost, still attempting to repair not only his fractured marriage, but his relationship with daughter Sally (Kiernan Shipka), who's still emotionally traumatized after walking in on his extra-marital affair.

Don's still married as we start the season, but barely, as he and Megan are not just on opposite coasts, but orbiting different planets entirely, as she throws herself into a bohemian hippie lifestyle that's definitely not in his wheelhouse at this point. The penthouse apartment they once shared doesn't even look the same, taking on a cold, deserted quality that's far removed from Megan's "Zou Bisou Bisou" days.  He can't even bring himself to drink as much, or even cheat on her (with guest star Neve Campbell nonetheless). Desperate enough to get back in the game, he's hired a now clean and sober Freddy Rumsen (Joel Murray) to secretly pitch his ideas and most of them prove he's still got it.    

Don visits with Pete "California" Campbell

For all the focus on the agency having a bi-coastal presence it's kind of surprising just how little that aspect plays into the season. Sterling Cooper and Partners is an East Coast outfit and always will be since this has quintessentially been a New York series from day one. Excursions to L.A. have proven to be just that: Excursions. If the idea of all the action (or even half of it) moving out there was a red herring, don't try telling that to Pete "California" Campbell (Vincent Kartheiser), who enjoys a fake reinvention of sorts with a new preppy wardrobe and a hot blonde realtor girlfriend, both of which fail to conceal his collapsed marriage with Trudy (Alison Brie) and the fact his daughter literally has no idea who he is.

Joining Pete out there is Ted, who's not only become a non-entity this season, but is apparently depressed and suicidal enough to draw comparisons to the late Lane Pryce, who's referenced quite a bit, especially in relation to Don, who ends up occupying his office. While that development  provides mileage for those already convinced the opening credits hint at a Don suicide jump, after this somewhat hopeful half-season, that already far-fetched theory seems unlikelier than ever. The obvious lack of screen time for Pete and Ted might be the only true disappointment of these seven episodes, even if certain agency developments promises a return to form for both soon. Especially Pete. 

If last season's finale promised Peggy Olson (Elisabeth Moss) rising to prominence and even poised to take Don's seat at creative director, this one sees her crashing back to Earth, reminded at every turn that even as good as she is, she's still very much viewed as a woman in a man's world. Still distraught over Ted, her personal life's a mess, it's sole highlight a 10-year-old neighbor who comes to watch TV in her lonely apartment. To add on to the insult of being the most qualified passed over for Don's suddenly vacant position, it's filled by an incompetent moron who never met a pitch or client he wasn't apathetic toward. A terrible boss and an even worse creative mind, cardigan wearing Lou Avery (Allan Havey) is really just holding Don's office until he returns, but it's still fun watching his ridiculously pathetic behavior in the meantime.

Lou Avery's "Scout's Honor" sketch

Havey's performance as Lou is one of the best things of the season, with the veteran comedian expertly skirting the line between an out-of-touch, uncool relative you avoid at parties and that annoying superior who can't help but be insultingly offensive to everyone in sight. His treatment of Don's star secretary Dawn (Teyonah Parris) is reprehensible while his aspirations of becoming a cartoonist (with his "Beetle Baley"-inspired "Scout's Honor"comic strip) would probably seem noble if anyone else but him had them. Peggy loses more than a few steps working for someone who couldn't care less.

With an office not only been split into two coasts, but two warring factions, Roger Sterling (John Slattery) is losing control of his own company to nemesis Jim Culter (Harry Hamlin, in full smarmy villain mode). Roger's been phoning it in for a while now and this season is no different, opening with him in a similar state of arrested development and serial womanizing. But now he's finally forced to step up. Between scheming to get Don back into the fold, attempting to rescue daughter Margaret (Elizabeth Rice) from a hippie commune and forge meaningful relationships with both his grandson and illegitimate son with Joan (Christina Hendricks), he might finally be beginning to outgrow his mid-life crisis and come to terms with his absenteeism as a parent. The coup he stages at the end of this half-season only proves that when Roger's on and motivated, few are smarter.

Joan's having issues of her own, aside from a mean streak and nastiness that's developed from getting the least respect (and money) of all the partners, she's in her late thirties slumming it with her overbearing mother in a small apartment trying to raise an infant son. To an extent, things begin to change at the office as she's given her own accounts and a voice in important company decisions. One of the most interesting developments of last season was her friendship with the mysterious corporate suck-up Bob Benson, brilliantly played by James Wolk. He unfortunately only appears in one episode this go-around, but it's important in conveying the pressures facing a closeted gay man in the 60's and what Joan is willing to sacrifice for her own happiness. But her coldness and greediness really shine through this season, especially in her interactions with Don.

A 2001-inspired shot from Ep. 7.4, "The Monolith"

One of the nagging questions from the 1968-set Season 6 was why Weiner and his writers made no mention of that year's release of 2001: A Space Odyssey. Even amidst incorporating The Planet of the Apes and Rosemary's Baby, it seemed odd they'd miss an opportunity to reference one the greatest films ever made or put it into some kind of historical context with these characters. Now we have our answer: He was saving it.

The idea of computers taking humans' place in the workforce is just the latest example of these characters being left behind in an era that's rapidly changing and outpacing them. Those who can adapt and roll with this change buy themselves some more time. Like Harry Crane (Rich Sommer), the office goof who's now suddenly invaluable. Those who can't will be left behind. Of course, we now know that computers didn't replace people in the workforce (at least not yet), but there was a huge shift, and back then no one had any idea what would happen with those giant, noisy IBM machines.

Cutler and Avery's dismantling of "creative" was bound to adversely affect everyone, but it's Michael Ginsberg (Ben Feldman) who's sent off the deep end. Stifling the creative energy of someone wrestling with mental issues is like playing with fire and it's Peggy who ends up getting burned when he finally loses it. And by losing it, I'm not just talking about his mind, but also his nipple. Ironically, the precipitous for this bizarre event is a clever nod to 2001, in which Ginsberg reads the lips of his conspiring superiors, just as HAL 9000 did before he snapped. He theorizes that the new computer is turning everyone gay but unless by "everyone"  he means Bob Benson, then yes, he's going crazy.

Ginsberg is stretchered away in Ep. 7.5, "The Runaways"

The events leading up to Ginsberg being stretchered to a mental hospital features some of Elisabeth Moss' finest acting work on the series, which is really saying something. The same goes for Ben Feldman, who often popped in and out of the show with little regularity. Now it's easier to fully appreciate what he brought within the confines of that, much of it uncomfortably piercing the surface during this sequence. Even the usually stoned and jovial Stan (Jay R. Ferguson) turns deadly serious, deeply concerned for the health of his good friend.

If the changing culture is passing anyone fastest, it's Don, who returns to an agency not at all the same as he left it. It's the rare chance to see him, not only powerless, but nervous and zapped of confidence. The idea that he'll have to work for his former protege Peggy is just an added slap in the face. Having to eat crow and like it, it's of little surprise that it takes him about a week in show time to violate the ridiculous terms of his agreement, which the partners knew he had no chance of upholding.

If not for Roger, Don really would have been completely out of a job. He's certainly short a wife, as his on again, off again marriage with Megan appears to finally be off for good, though you could argue it was really off the second she left advertising and decided to (unsuccessfully?) pursue acting full-time. No longer under his control, the distance and generational gap between the two only grew, to the point that neither was worth the others time anymore, with Megan now shooting an attitude back at him just as good as he gives it. When not even a three-way with her friend can entice him back into this marriage you know there's trouble. Has he ever looked more bored?

A jealous Megan buys off Don's pregnant "niece" Stephanie

The last connecting thread between Don and his past as Dick Whitman rears its head when Anna Draper's niece Stephanie (Caity Lotz) returns as a pregnant, homeless hippie. Her abrreviated reentry into Don's world ends up being the death knell to his marriage with Megan, as she'll never know the "Dick Whitman" side of Don as intimately as Stephanie does, even if nothing ever happened between the two. Realizing that he lives to be the protector, she takes revenge the only way she can. By writing a check and condescendingly sending her on her way before he tries to again assume that responsibility.

It's interesting to observe how Mad Men portrays hippies. Stephanie's a real one while Megan's clearly an actress attempting to live a hippie lifestyle despite being extremely well off. Almost out of necessity, the usually likable Megan is the most unlikable she's been, as the fights with Don give Pare probably the heaviest acting to do of any season in which she's appeared. It remains to be seen whether she'll be on the show at all for the final episodes, or shuffled off to the sidelines in favor of more pressing developments once she's officially divorced from Don. If nothing else, Megan at least has to stay around long enough for the Manson murders, which are almost literally right around the corner. The extent of her involvement is still a question mark but her dancing with a Charles Manson lookalike certainly hasn't done much to dispel speculation.

The idea of family, or the evolving definition of it, could easily be considered the theme of the first half of this final season. With the entire country gathered together and transfixed by the moon landing, Don has to consider who his family is. The good news is that he's slowly repairing his relationship with Sally by simply telling the truth and her realizing that while her father isn't the man she thought he was, at least he'll never come close to inflicting on her the long-term psychological  abuse Betty (January Jones) has. And now it's being repeated with her brother Bobby, further solidifying her incompetence as a parent. It continues to astonish just how much of Betty and Don's mannerisms Kiernan Shipka works into her performance as Sally, especially when putting her obnoxious mom in her place.

Even Betty seems sick of herself at this point, gradually realizing that she went from being a trophy wife to a political trophy wife, as she's required to dutifully and silently stand by her husband Henry (Christopher Stanley) as he attempts to further his career. It turns out he's just as controlling as Don, only in a more passive-aggressive way. A basketcase not the slightest bit cut out for marriage or motherhood, Betty discarded her own life and identity for a white picket fence so how she handles coming to that painful self-realization could make for an interesting closing arc for a character who  still has some gas in the tank story-wise.
 

Don and Peggy slow dance to Sinatra in Ep. 7.6, "The Strategy"

The family Don is left with may be a dysfunctional one, but it's still a version of the real thing. One of the most touching moments of the half-season (and possibly the series) sees Don circling back around to Peggy and guiding her, finally comfortable enough to take on the role of mentor and encourage her success. After a rocky professional reunion, the two realize there's no sense fighting the fact they're cut from the same cloth. That their relationship isn't romantic and most likely never will be somehow makes it the purest connection on the series, stretching all the way back to their Season 4 classic, "The Suitcase." Peggy's pitch to fast food chain Burger Chef rivals Don's infamous Kodak Carousel presentation from the first season in terms of how the show uses advertising to not only reflect cultural shifts in society during that time, but make us think about how those shifts have carried into the present day.

Seeing Don, Peggy and Pete reunited as a family of their own at a Burger Chef table is a reminder of just how far removed each of those characters have been from ever being apart of what the outdated Lou Avery describes as the "nuclear family" of the 40's, 50's, or 60's. By the late '60's all of that was coming to an end, and the Apollo 11 mission represents possibly the last time Americans gathered together in a way reflecting it. The notion of the American family was certainly changing with women now working and meals being enjoyed at a Burger Chef table instead of a dining room. It's carried on to this day, making the pitch Peggy delivers as timely now as it was then. And that's why the image of the three (Father, Mother, Son?) eating at the table as the camera pulls back is one of the most enduring images the series' has given us. Here are people who couldn't be more different, yet know more about each other than maybe anyone else ever will. It's the new definition of family.

These rapidly changing times are solidified in the mid-season finale "Waterloo," with the death we've been prepared for, but didn't exactly envision playing out as it did. For many, the character of Bert Cooper outlasted his usefulness at Sterling Cooper a while back, popping in occasionally to make ignorant, old fashioned, and sometimes even flat-out racist observations. If anyone, aside from Don, had become a walking symbol of a bygone era it was Bert. And yet there was always a certain warmth and humor actor Robert Morse brought to the character in even the smallest doses that made him likable. Only beloved Bert would have the timing to die minutes after watching the moon landing. And it's special seeing Morse given a fitting series send-off with a crazy, afterlife musical number that proves the 83-year-old star of How To Succeed in Business Without Really Trying hasn't lost a step.

Bert Cooper says goodbye in Ep. 7.7, "Waterloo"

We've seen Don hallucinate and even "see dead people" before but him hunched over and teary-eyed as he imagines Bert (clad in his trademark argyle socks) singing "The Best Things in Life Are Free" definitely takes the cake. Yes, it's ridiculous, but also really moving and joyous, emblematic of the biggest moments this show always nails. In terms of what it means for Don, maybe he can finally breathe a sigh of relief knowing that his personal and professional stresses have subsided and it's time to appreciate that the best things in life, like his children and friendships, are free. Bert's death hits him. All at once. And Hamm is ingenious in silently conveying that.

Breaking Bad changed the rules for final seasons by proving that a series finale doesn't necessarily have to be the greatest or most important episode. It just has to close the deal. And most of the work should be done before that. But that series was telling one story with a finite number of ways it could have ended given Walter White's situation. With Mad Men, that number is practically unlimited and it's easy envisioning more than a few of them being letdowns. This show doesn't have a definitive end point since it could reasonably keep going, following these richly drawn characters into the 70's, 80's and beyond if Weiner wanted to go that route and AMC let him. But that's not how things work, and as comforting as the show's been, it's the right decision to bow out while it's still creatively strong.

How this split season would impact the parsing out of plot was a question mark, but by the finale, it becomes clear Weiner had a game plan: Tear Don down before redeeming him, while also tying up all the loose business ends at Sterling Cooper and Partners. But sticking the landing will be tricky. With Don suddenly facing a more hopeful future and SCP business taken care of, what's left? Will he fall back into a downward spiral or successfully reconcile his two identities? Will he continue mentoring Peggy? Will Stephanie return or have we really seen the last of Dick Whitman's past?

The gang sits transfixed by the Moon landing

With Woodstock, the Manson murders and the '69 Mets right around the corner, there's also the big question of what era the show will end in, with many assuming 1970 was always set to be the cut-off. While that still may be true, if any finale situation ever lent itself to a massive flash-forward giving us a glimpse into the characters' futures, it's this one. As we get closer to the end, it's hard not to think back to Matthew Weiner's comments about tying the show and its events to the present day. It's a worthy goal, but also one you can argue the series may have already reached.                                            

Mad Men (Season 6)

Creator: Matthew Weiner
Starring: Jon Hamm, Elisabeth Moss, Vincent Kartheiser, John Slattery, Christina Hendricks, January Jones, Jessica Paré, Aaron Staton, Rich Sommer, Kiernan Shipka, Kevin Rahm, Christopher Stanley, Jay R. Ferguson, Ben Feldman, Robert Morse, James Wolk, Linda Cardellini, Harry Hamlin
Original Airdate: 2013

★★★★ (out of ★★★★)

A while back there was this wild rumor circulating that Mad Men would conclude in the present day. It came from an interview conducted with showrunner Matt Weiner, who eventually clarified himself, even as the notion was dismissed by many as simply too far-fetched and preposterous to be true. The initial reasoning was that if this is a series about where we've come from and where we're going,  it's only fair we eventually find out where we've ended up. That's an interesting way to look at it, offset only by the improbability of an alcoholic, chain smoking Don Draper living to see the iphone and the fact that the series hasn't had a time jump much greater than even a year. But it's only in this sixth season that you could actually start to envision such a scenario. If not that, then perhaps something as equally mystifying or insane. Weiner wrote for The Sopranos and we all know how that ended so maybe it's time to prepare ourselves. All signposts point to the show hurling toward one of those polarizing conclusions and that's kind of exciting. And given how the series specializes in long term, novelistic storytelling, the groundwork for something like that would have been mapped out since the pilot.

A vacationing Don reads Dante's "Inferno" (Ep. 6.1, "The Doorway, Part I")

When I first started watching Mad Men I struggled to make it past the first season, finding it too slow and complaining nothing ever "happens." But a lot was happening. I just couldn't see it yet. The show's a slow burn. Slow enough that it's only now that we're fully reaping the rewards, knowing what the characters are thinking and feeling and being able to relate it to previous events. That's why it's so perplexing some have expressed displeasure with quite possibly its greatest season. And how could it not be? It's 1968. Putting these characters in that tumultuous year with the culture at a turning point is like capturing lightning in a bottle and Weiner wasn't likely to drop the ball. Many of our favorites are rapidly approaching (if not already at) middle age and time's speeding them by, leaving them as holdovers of an earlier era.

Slick ad man Don Draper's inner battle with his true identity of Dick Whitman (symbolically illustrated on the season's promotional poster) reaches a fever pitch, potentially claiming its most helpless victim yet: His own daughter. This might mark the first season we feel genuine sympathy for Dick, realizing that the true extent of his upbringing insured he'd never have a chance at becoming "Don Draper" for real. He had to adopt that persona, playing it to perfection up to this point. But now the cracks are showing. It's caught up with him, with the only glimmer of hope being that he now may finally be realizing it.

1968 finds not only Don (Jon Hamm), but the now two-floor ad agency of SCDP, at a crossroads. With Vietnam raging and the counterculture movement in full swing, all the characters are having difficulty adjusting to the times, both at the office and in the their personal lives, with the line between the two as invisible as ever. Everyone seems engaged in behavior that's cyclical, calling back to the first few seasons enough to make you wonder if any of them are truly capable of any kind of change or growth. Much how Don's affairs eroded and eventually destroyed his marriage with Betty (January Jones), the two-hour premiere ("The Doorway Parts I and II") reveals he's similarly grown tired of second wife Megan (Jessica Paré), just as her career as a soap actress is taking off.

Guest star Linda Cardellini as Sylvia Rosen

The timing of these marital issues isn't a coincidence since Don immediately loses interest in any woman he can't control, with the emotional abuse even extending to new mistress Sylvia Rosen ( Emmy-nominated guest star Linda Cardellini), the terms and conditions of their affair firmly in his grasp. Flashbacks to a young Dick Whitman growing up in a whorehouse set the stage for his toxic adult relationships with the opposite sex, viewing them as property, fit to discard whenever he's through. Not exactly the strongest foundation on which to build a life as a devoted husband and father, yet it's a lie he's still obsessively clinging to.

The scariest thing about Don's actions this season is how he can so casually compartmentalize the facets of his life to absolve himself the guilt of sleeping with his friend's wife. It's a new low, even for him. Don's cheated before, but never this brazenly, and certainly not without considering the ramifications that could eventually come from it. It's almost like he's testing fate and daring anyone to catch him. The days of Don walking into a room and winning over every man and woman in it with his confident swagger are slowly drawing to a close. And while he still shows flashes of brilliance, some of his pitches to clients now border on embarrassing, emblematic of a man who's given up lying to himself and others.

Don's legendary first season Kodak Carousel pitch (itself a beautiful pile of lies) has never seemed further away, as he's now centering a campaign for Sheraton Hawaii Resorts around death, discussing the politics of Vietnam over dinner with Chevy executives and sabotaging a Hershey account. This season truly is his "jumping-off point" and in season full of latent symbolism and conspiracy theories it's hard not to think that this Sheraton pitch about a man shedding his suit and disappearing gives only more credence to the wildest and most ambitious prediction yet regarding Don's final destination in the series. His reading of Dante's Inferno on the beach in the premiere suggests he's stuck in his own nine circles of hell, repeating previous sins like infidelity, while senselessly hoping for different results.

Roger mourns the death of...his shoe shine guy

Also trying to claw out of his own personal hell is Roger Sterling (John Slattery), who's been going through the motions for a while at work and discovering last season's mind opening LSD trip has done little to clean up the mess that's his life. As if coming to terms with his mother's death (and his shoe shiner) wasn't enough, he's essentially being blackmailed by his own daughter and son-in-law so he can see his grandson. Worse yet, Joan (Christina Hendricks) cuts him off from their love child, justifiably worried about his track record of sticking around. Slattery (who also directs standout episodes, "Man With a Plan" and a Tale of Two Cities") is, as usual, gold as Sterling, providing great comic relief while conveying the underlying tragedy of a character still refusing to grow up as he enters the Burt Cooper stage of his career, while wrestling with his own mortality. Roger's been phoning it in for a while now at work but there are points during the season where he actually seems rejuvenated and motivated to get new business, at least compared to Don, who's the laziest he's ever been.

Despite her promotion to partner last season, Joan is still viewed by her colleagues as somewhat of a joke, a partner in title only and treated as little more than a glorified secretary. Some of this is her fault for sleeping her way to the top, but more of it lies at the feet of the firm and the times. What choice did she have other than to offer herself up to the fat, sweaty Jaguar executive?  It's sad, but true, and Hendricks has always been skilled at depicting the fire inside Joan. The desire to be wanted yet respected, though this season her desires heavily tilt toward the latter. Trying to make major strides in being taken seriously for her intellect rather than her body, she finds an unexpected ally in former nemesis Peggy (Elisabeth Moss).

Having jumped ship to rival firm Cutler, Gleason and Chaough last season, a major merger ("For Immediate Release") drags Peggy back into the fold, while also introducing a dynamic new character who completely changes the game. Just when Peggy thinks she's done with Don, she's pulled back in and shoved right in the middle of a power struggle between her old boss and a new one, Ted Chaough (Kevin Rahm) of Cutler, Gleason and Chaough. Ted joins an increasingly short list of characters who can actually be considered a good guy, though less of one as the season progresses. Whereas Don never appreciated Peggy (or refused to show it), Ted appreciates her a little too much, to the point that it's clouding his judgment in both business and personal matters. Joining him is partner Jim Cutler, magnificently underplayed by guest star Harry Hamlin as a bizarro version of Roger, only far sleazier.

Ted Chaough (Kevin Rahm) reading copy

Peggy's emergence as the new Don has been in the works for a while, but this is the season where it starts to come to fruition, as she earns both the fear and respect of her employees. And now she's doing it under a boss who's actually promoting and fostering her creativity. It's common knowledge how good Elisabeth Moss is in the role, but this season Weiner gives her better material to work with than maybe any other previous season barring the first two. James Spader lookalike Rahm makes an Emmy-worthy debut as Ted, perhaps the only formidable adversary Don's had in the office precisely because of his polar opposite personality and management style. They rarely seem like partners at all, each trying to one up the other at every turn, their competition for accounts causing a war within the newly christened Sterling Cooper and Partners, just as a real one is ripping the country apart.  

If Peggy is evolving into the female version of Don Draper, Pete Campbell (Vincent Kartheiser) has always been the poor man's version of Dick Whitman. Unlike Don, when trying tries to wear a smooth, confident mask to hide his insecurities he comes off as a bumbling fool. In some ways his actions seem slimier and more pitiful because he's just so bad at it, using everything and everyone to get his way and rarely succeeding. Throughout the series he's raped a maid, serial cheated on his wife, tried to pick up an underage girl at driver's ed and taken a mistress who forgets who he is after electroshock therapy treatments. That all this pales in comparison to the hijinx he finds himself in this season speaks volumes. It also speaks for Karthesiser's pitifully comical performance that we still somehow feel sorry for him, emerging in these 13 episodes as something other than a Don wannabe.

Having finally attained what he thought would be the perfect life with a wife, baby, and home in Westchester, he's slowly come to the realization that none of that is him at all. The now balding Pete just wants to look and feel important and those are all just a means to an end. But unlike Don, he can't even successfully fake it as his savvy wife Trudy (Alison Brie) sees right through him  Having already torpedoed his marriage and rapidly losing traction at work, Weiner throws Pete into what's easily his funniest storyline since the show's inception involving his mother and a bizarre feud with the show's best new character. Pete finally meets his manipulative match, but the opponent carries an advantage he never will: Charm and likability.

"How are you?"

No one knows quite what to make of brown-nosing accounts man Bob Benson (James Wolk), but trying to find out exactly who he is and his motivations turn into one of the season's biggest mysteries and fodder for even more conspiracy theories. Since it seems impossible anyone could be so nice on this series without some kind of ulterior motive, red flags go up the second he arrives. As the clingy office climber, Wolk's performance is pitch perfect in how it's just disingenuous enough to generate intrigue that something's seriously off with this guy. FBI agent investigating Don? Time traveler? Murderer? The speculation is endless, despite this not even being that kind of a show. When we do eventually find out some major information on him, it still doesn't explain all of his bizarre behavior or begin to scratch the surface of what he's about. That Weiner has yet to do that is very good news heading into the final stretch, as the directions the character can go seem endless. Or it could all mean nothing. This series is famous for making us guess which.

More than perhaps any other previous season, historical events play an indispensable role in shaping the characters who are active participants in the social upheaval of the times rather than spectators on the sidelines. Vietnam, the assassinations of Martin Luther King, Jr. and Robert Kennedy, civil rights and the counterculture movement are all front and center in 1968 and it never feels as though the series is checking boxes, instead integrating them into the character's lives and showing how the changing landscape is affecting everyone. New York City is changing as well, entering an era of crime it won't fully recover from until the 90's. And as usual, it's also the impressively accurate retro production and costume design, and the music choices that seem as important to the series as its characters. With the 60's ranking as arguably the strongest decade for music in American history, there's much to draw from as we get Janis Joplin, The Monkees, and Joni Mitchell among others, along with some key integration of pop culture with that year's popular film, the Planet of the Apes playing a small, but crucial role.

Target practice with Stan Rizzo (Ep. 6.8, "The Crash")

In what should rank as one the finest episodes, "The Crash," takes full advantage of the craziness of the time, as a "Dr. Feelgood" like physician injects the entire creative staff with a powerful stimulant on the eve of a major Chevy pitch. The result is an episode that unconventionally toys with time, contains much dark humor and results in new personal revelations for a sick and exhausted Don.  There's also a downright scary event involving daughter Sally (Kiernan Shipka) and her little brother that works on a number of different levels.  It also maximizes colorful supporting characters like bearded stoner Stan Rizzo (Jay R. Ferguson), nerdy head of TV Harry Crane (Rich Sommer) and neurotic free-thinker Michael Ginsberg (Ben Feldman).

Ironically, it's the extremely likable, sometimes author Ken Cosgrove (Aaron Staton) who not only makes the biggest impression in the episode, but takes the most amount of abuse (physical and otherwise) throughout the season for his role in the Chevy account. He joins Ted, Megan and Betty's politician husband Henry Francis (Christopher Stanley) as the only somewhat moral and responsible characters, with the latter stepping up to assume the responsibilities of husband and father that Don skirted. That Betty now emerges as the preferable parent--physically and emotionally returning to early season one form not long after an eye-opening visit to Greenwich Village in the premiere-- is a testament to just how far Don is falling and failing as a dad.

Betty, even at worst, has at least tried to give their kids a stable home, but this season Don may have permanently traumatized one of them in much the same way he was in that whorehouse growing up. It's nearly impossible to discuss the season without referencing the major event that occurs toward the end of it ("Favors"). It's here where everything Sally thought she knew about her dad is torn to shreds in one moment and Don's cyclical behavior throughout this season is given the ultimate payoff. In this moment is possibly the best acting the somehow still Emmy-less Jon Hamm has ever done on the show, staggering aimlessly through Don's penthouse lobby in a wordless panic, the character legitimately shaken for the first time. Mr. Cool finally has no idea what to do.

Sally makes a shocking discovery (Ep. 6.11, "Favors")

Since it hasn't been front and center on the series until now, it's been easy to overlook just how messed up Sally's life could potentially turn out having parents like this. If Weiner's end game is to bridge the gap between our past and present, she's the only character capable of doing it, observing these people's actions through the same shocked, impressionable eyes we've had since the show's pilot. She's also sharper than so many of the dysfunctional adults she's surrounded by, offering up one-liners and words of wisdom that make them look immature by comparison.

Sally's stay at a boarding school where she uses her friendship with the infamous Glen (Marten Weiner) to manipulate a pair of mean girls ("The Quality of Mercy") shows just how far she's come. Finally seeing her father for what he really is, it'll be fascinating to see what happens as Sally enters her rebellious teen phase, of which we've already gotten a preview. And how fortunate they've been to have an actress as good as Shipka playing her and not just reaching, but far exceeding, the lofty expectations of a constantly changing part. A good case can be made that Sally's the series' true protagonist, and when we do reach that highly anticipated final scene, it's a safe bet she'll be in it. Let's just hope she's not shaking a snow globe.

If there's a rockbottom, Don hits it at the end of this season, having seemingly lost everything. Or has he? The season finale ("In Care Of") shows a man who may have finally shed the skin of Don Draper, possibly ready to accept his past as Dick Whitman, if not fully integrate him into his current life. But we've teases of that before, only to have him slip back into his selfish, emotionally destructive ways. The idea of Don starting a new life with Megan in California is exactly what it first came to him as: A dream. While the agency briefly returns to California for business this season, Don's desire to escape to the west coast reaches as far back as the Season 2 classic, "The Jet Set," when he crashed at the pad of some wild bohemians. What he really wants to do is run away, not with Megan, but from her, since he can never return her feelings with the baggage he's carrying. There's also concern just how long she'll be around, as many have speculated that the Sharon Tate t-shirt she wore in Ep. 6.9 "The Better Half" marks her for death. I wouldn't be quite so sure, but as we know, even wardrobe details on this show are rarely unintentional.

Megan Draper wearing Sharon Tate's iconic t-shirt

A public breakdown and a sacrifice he makes for a co-worker suggests that while Don may be too late to salvage his own mess, he can help someone else from repeating his mistakes. This is the season everything comes full circle and Weiner throws all his cards on the table. Proof comes in the last image, which is strong and enduring enough to double as the series closer. But somehow there's more, and it feels like there should be. Contrary to popular belief, Mad Men is a much better now than when it started because we've gone through so much with the characters that we've reached kind of a shorthand with them, knowing their motivations before even they realize it, yet shocked by their actions just the same. The show isn't only about Don Draper anymore. It's grown bigger than that, with the complete picture coming into sharper focus with each passing episode.                       

Mad Men (Seasons 1-5)

Creator: Matthew Weiner
Starring: Jon Hamm, Elisabeth Moss, Vincent Kartheiser, January Jones, Christina Hendricks, John Slattery, Robert Morse, Jessica Paré, Bryan Batt, Michael Gladis, Aaron Staton, Rich Sommer, Kiernan Shipka, Christopher Stanley, Ben Feldman, Jay R. Ferguson
Original Airdate: 2007-2012

★★★★ (out of ★★★★) 
 
I was watching this interview with Mad Men creator Matthew Weiner about a moment in the series' pilot episode in which 60's ad man Don Draper is lying on the couch in his office looking up at a bug in the light fixture. He said everyone kept asking him what it symbolized. Is he trapped in his own existence? Is it some kind of metaphor for how society is imprisoning us? But Weiner's explanation for the scene was spectacularly simple and equally thought provoking. He just wanted to show what a light fixture looked like in 1960. And that's the show in a nutshell.

Mad Men opening title sequence

When contemplating how to catch up on, let alone review a series that's been showered with over a dozen Emmys in six years, ranked amongst the greatest achievements in modern television, and has justifiably been credited for helping to usher in a new golden television age, I kept coming back to that light fixture. He's stated on many occasions that he feels as if he's making a time travel show and now after watching five seasons, it's much easier to understand exactly he meant.  Those living through history are never aware that their actions and behavior become a part of it. What they say, what they wear, where they work, how they talk literally gets logged for eternity. That's why at points it's difficult not to scream "What are you doing?!" at the screen while witnessing the frustrating actions of characters whose behavior hits so uncomfortably close to home.

Unlike it's AMC stablemate Breaking Bad, discussing the plot details of Mad Men serve little to no function. I could list what happens to every character and when and it still wouldn't do anything to harm one's enjoyment of the series. This is a giant, sprawling visual novel and a snapshot of an era in American culture we've mistakenly envisioned as something similar to a Norman Rockwell painting. The writers take that image and shatter it within its first few episodes and then spend the next couple of seasons trampling all over it.

As much as nostalgia can plays tricks, things weren't necessarily "better"  back in the day. In many ways it was worse and in showing those battle scars in all their ugliness we get an appreciation for the time and its people that couldn't come with a more reverential, nostalgiac depiction. Historically authentic to a fault, the most revelatory moments come not in all the period details the series so frighteningly nails or even in how much we thought we knew but didn't. It's in those scary moments where we completely forget we're watching a show set in the 1960's because of its pertinence to how we live now. The clothes and technology may be different, but the problems in some ways remain almost exactly the same.

Betty takes aim in Season 1

The series opens in March, 1960 at the prestigious Sterling Cooper advertising agency on Madison Avenue in New York City, run by the founder's son Roger Sterling (John Slattery) and wise, but grumpy elder statesman Bert Booper (Robert Morse). Its golden boy and eventual partner is creative director Don Draper (Jon Hamm), who's a genius at his job even as his marriage to cold, repressed housewife Betty (January Jones) is slowly unraveling due to his infidelity and her immaturity. But while still going through the motions of what appears from the outside to be a perfect life with a beautiful wife and two kids in Ossining, he's actually living a lie.

Don's real name isn't "Don Draper," but actually Dick Whitman, the son of a prostitute who died during childbirth and grew up in a poor, abusive household with his father. Through flashbacks we learn that Draper was really the name of his lieutenant in the Korean War whose identity he assumed after an accidental explosion injured him and killed Draper. It's a secret that defines Don but wisely not the series as eventually a handful of people discover the truth. But it does seem to inform or influence every decision he makes either at work or home, as there's a constant inner struggle between his desire to to leave that old life behind, and his reluctance to truly embrace that of "Don Draper's" because he knows himself to be a fraud unworthy of it.

Don's guilt and identity crisis lead him to drowning his sorrows in booze, tobacco and women. But he's hardly alone in that. The workplace is full of it and initially the most jarring aspect of the show is all the smoking, womanizing and rampant sexism that takes place. But merely calling the behavior "sexual harassment" doesn't even begin to do justice to the verbal (and in one key instance even physical) rape that takes place, most of which is deemed completely acceptable during this period. The real miracle might be how many characters drink and smoke their way through five seasons with only two heart attacks to show for it. So far. Don's frequent partner in womanizing and late night debauchery is the charismatic Roger, who (kind of) hired him and with whom he shares a friendship. At the series' start, his marriage is also on the rocks as he carries on an illicit on-again, off-again affair and friendship with vuluptuous, red-headed office manager Joan Holloway (Christina Hendricks), who struggles to be taken seriously as a professional power player when every week there's a new secretary for the men to sleep with or marry. Her bond with Roger is a permanent fixture on the show, popping in and out at the most necessary times and without missing a beat from where they previously left off.

Pete, Don and Roger try to land a new account

The other key relationship is much more complicated. Starting as Don's secretary, Peggy Olson (Elisabeth Moss) aspires to become a copy writer and blaze a trail for women despite the odds being stacked against her in every way. Her overeaching ambition and perfectionism eventually lead to success, but when she demands recognition and gratitude, it all too frequently clashes with Don's obsessive need for control. And then there's the weasely Pete Campbell (Vincent Kartheiser), who wants nothing more than to command the respect that Don does despite never coming close. More accurately, he wants to be Don Draper and is willing to try every slimy scheme in his playbook to achieve it. Some succeed. Most fail. And after a while, just when we think he's finally found success and happiness and is acting like a normal human being, until his  pettiest instincts begin to rear their ugly head again.

A slow-burn, novelistic show with this much depth and complexity isn't easy to instantly fall in love with, but it's easy for me to name the two-episode arc where I eventually did and couldn't wait to see where things would go next. It comes toward the end of season 2 ("The Jet Set," The Mountain King") when Don takes a business trip to California with Peter only to abandon him in favor of running off with a beautifully mysterious hippie girl (guest star Laura Ramsey) and her wealthy, eccentric friends, before eventually leaving them to tie up loose ends as Dick Whitman, dropping in on someone important from his past. A past that turns out to be considerably more complicated than we thought. It's the first time the series truly leaves its comfort zone for another setting and the stakes feel higher than they ever have for Don, as we fully realize just how much he wants to run from his current life, yet feels almost obsessively drawn to it in order to prove his worth. It's really in these two episodes that the two dueling personae start to present themselves and inform the narrative and thematic drive for the rest of the series, proving that Mad Men is as much about Don Draper as Breaking Bad is about Walter White.

It's almost a full-time job for viewers to keep track of Don's numerous extra-martial affairs and mistresses. They range from a beatnik artist (Rosemarie Dewitt) to personality challenged Jewish department store owner (Maggie Siff) to a "cougar" wife (Melinda McGraw) of an annoying comedian, and even his daughter's elementary school teacher (Abigail Spencer). And when the latter seems to be the least impeachable moral offense he's committed, it's probably as good a sign as any that his marriage is in crisis mode. And then the series undergoes a seismic shift that completely changes the game, as Don reaches a crossroads. His marriage to Betty implodes. A buyout forces him and a select few at Sterling Cooper to abandon ship and go into business for themselves. Sterling Cooper is now the new and modern looking, but comparatively smaller and fledgling Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce located in the Time Life building as we head further into the 60's. Everything changes, as it seems almost to have become an entirely different (albeit funnier and more entertaining) show with the core characters being forced to rebuild their personal and professional lives, as well as their relationships with each other. It's a fascinating transition, but also one that somehow makes the show even better producing many of the series' strongest episodes.

Don and Peggy crash at the office in Season 4's "The Suitcase"

The much heralded "The Suitcase" from Season 4, provides even more insight into Don's complicated feelings toward the opposite sex while also serving as another acting showcase, this time for Elisabeth Moss. The episode, focusing exclusively Don's relationship with Peggy, takes place over a single night as he detains her from a birthday dinner to work on a Samsonite campaign. Her desire for recognition and thanks collides head-on with what he perceives is her arrogant opportunism and ungratefulness. While both have a point, it's still hard not to see the mutual, begrudged respect that grows between them or view Don as a father figure she so desperately wants to please. But for an hour at least, they're complete equals.

If Don he must adjust to his new role as mentor and ad legend at the firm, Roger must deal with his own diminishing power, as a man who once commanded such respect is now relegated to paying off employees to just do their jobs and suffering through a mid-life crisis with his trophy wife. Slattery's so good here, going from playing a powerful character who seems to be on top of the world to suffering an almost comical loss of status. And once considered the Marilyn Monroe of the office, Joan too is getting older and adjusting to the responsibilities and pitfalls that come with being the eyes and ears of the workplace when all eyes used to be on her. Joan's probably the smartest character on the show and the one most underestimated by men because of her looks. They'll learn.

Pete Campbell hits rock bottom in Season 5's "Signal 30"

One of the series' finest hours comes in Season 5 with the Pete Campbell- focused episode "Signal 30," directed by Slattery, written by Academy Award winning screenwriter Frank Pierson and  featuring a powerhouse performance from the oft underrated Kartheiser. Having previously spilled Don's big secret, cheated on his obsessively loyal wife Trudy (Alison Brie), unwittingly impregnated a co-worker, shrugged off his father's death, and even engaged in office fistacuffs, this is the episode where we finally come close to understanding what makes Pete tick and why he's so deeply miserable. It's not until he reaches his apex of creepiness and sadness that the viewer finally realizes what he can't and ultimately sympathizes with him. He's just not cut out for this kind of life and no matter how many promotions he gets, women he beds, babies he fathers, homes he buys, sinks he tries to fix, or careers he sabatoges, he'll still never be Don Draper. And even worse, he can't seem to grasp that being Don may not necessarily be an admirable goal to shoot for.

If there's a common thread amongst the great TV's dramas, it's a cast comprised of actors who each fill their  niche so perfectly that you cringe imagining anyone else in the roles. Leading the charge is Jon Hamm, whose staggering work as the enigmatic Draper has still shockingly gone Emmy-less. The easy answer as to why is that he's been up against Bryan Cranston, but the better explanation is that he's just so subtle and convincing as a regular guy internally wrestling with all these emotional demons that it isn't the kind of performance that necessarily jumps out in your face. He makes it impossible to categorize Don with easily identifiable labels and refuses to make him either "likable" or "unlikable." He isn't a woman hater or a racist, which for this era should qualify him for sainthood. He's generous, but incredibly disloyal and selfish. He's an egomaniac, but incredibly insecure and secretive. Yet he also operates within this strict moral code that's mostly fair, never hesitating calling out those abuse their position despite having done so numerous times himself. Don's full of complicated, sometimes inexplicable contradictions and in Hamm's hands it all makes perfect sense. And even when it doesn't, we don't care, and are fascinated to see where he'll take the character.

It's been the general consensus that Hamm carries a weaker January Jones through the first few seasons, which isn't completely fair. While Jones is clearly the beneficiary of having the perfect look for a frustrated 60's housewife to the point that her image could have literally been ripped from Life magazine, it's hard to look at the totality of her work throughout the series, as well as the times she's had to go toe-to-toe with Hamm, and argue that it hasn't been impressive. Is she a gifted actress? Possibly not overall, but within this very specific zone and character she's asked to play, she sure is. Weiner takes traits (like her stilted line delivery and apathetic demeanor) that on any other show would be exposed as weaknesses, and converts them to strengths, all while convincing us there may be better actresses, but capable of playing Betty exactly how Jones does.

Megan Draper performs "Zou Bisou, Bisou"

One of Mad Men's most impressive attributes is how its writers can seem to effortlessly shuffle characters on and off the show at the drop of a hat and manage to do it in a way that's organic to how it would actually occur in life. A huge character might just completely disappear for a few seasons only to return sometime down the line at an unexpected, but completely logical capacity. Meanwhile, barely noticeable periphery characters suddenly move to the foreground to become major players under unexpected but entirely realistic circumstances. The best case of the latter comes in the arrival of the future Mrs. Draper, French-Canadian aspiring actress Megan (Jessica Paré). She starts with just a cameo, then graduates to getting some lines until she becomes Don's secretary, then eventually his wife. All of this happens in only a matter of episodes, and yet it all completely works. When Don announces his engagement to her, Roger seems to take the words out of viewers mouths when he legitimately asks who the hell she is. And then we find out.

Megan's true introduction comes in one of the series' most famous moments, when she serenades an embarrassed and visibly uncomfortable Don at his surprise 40th birthday party with a seductive version of Gillian Hills' French pop hit “Zou Bisou, Bisou.” The show's most valuable asset in its best season, Pare gives a star-making turn, imbuing Megan with a coolness and kindness that Betty never possessed and Don seems incapable of appreciating. Her marriage to him far different (if not necessarily better) than his with Betty, who seethes with jealousy at the idea that she's been traded in for a younger model who won't have to work hard at all to be a better mother than her. While she also appears to have moved on with politician Henry Francis (Christopher Stanley), there's no hiding that Betty is still as deeply miserable as ever. There's a good case to be made that Don and Betty's new spouses are their better halves and their daughter Sally (Kiernan Shipka) would be lucky to count either as a parent over the neglectful ones she's been saddled with.

It's Betty's chronic misery that leads to the infamous and controversial "Fat Betty" storyline,which was creatively concocted by Weiner as a solution to Jones' real-life pregnancy. The character begins eating herself into oblivion, with the actress even donning full body padding and facial prosthetics that recall an Eddie Murphy movie. Previously a young, beautiful trophy wife for Don, she's now a depressed, overweight politician's wife living in a big, dark, empty home in Rye. She goes from Grace Kelly to Eleanor Roosevelt. Was Jones being punished for her pregnancy? Does Weiner hate her? Neither I'm sure. More likely, he seized the golden opportunity to take away the one thing that's defined Betty (and by extension January) since the series' inception.

January Jones is Betty Francis in the controversial "Fat Betty" storyline

The weight gain can also be viewed as a kind of karmic justice for Betty telling her own daughter she was getting fat, as well as a reminder of her own childhood struggle with food and body image she revealed on the therapist's couch in Season 1. Despite being remarkably strong-willed and tough, she's always been a grown child wrestling with an inferiority complex, and this arc only furthers that idea. In other words, it's a writing masterstroke that finally makes her, if not any more likable, at least more relatable and deserving of some sympathy. And by putting Jones in a fatsuit it forces her to bring the goods in a way she hasn't before. But the show truly hit the jackpot with their casting of Shipka as Sally Draper, as we've gotten to literally  watch her grow up before our eyes on screen, having been emotionally present for some of the show's most disturbing, uncomfortable moments from a very young age, only to emerge from the other side as an incredible young actress whose role grows exponentially with each season. In a show where it's right to hesitate calling anyone a "victim," Sally is the only character who actually qualifies.

It seems the easiest characters to relate on this show are the fringe ones who are on the outside looking in, mostly because they at least outwardly appear to be the most well-adjusted, despite being far from it. Lane Pryce (Jared Harris), who, under somewhat unusual circumstances, becomes a named partner and financial officer at the new firm is one of them. His arc might be the most heartbreaking in the series since no matter how hard he works or tries to fit in, he must deal with demanding wife and abusive father who go out of their way to make him feel worthless at every turn. As a result, he does. And the holes he digs for himself professionally only get deeper until there's no escape. It's hard not to look at him as a good, honest man undone by a sad series of events that spin out of his control. Under pressure, he also makes some really bad decisions that were within his control. Harris was deservedly nominated for an Emmy for his performance, which still finds a way to stand out amidst a brilliant ensemble.

The same amount depth is attributed to even supposedly minor players like Aaron Stanton's Ken Cosgrove, who's everyguy normalness and interesting side career as a published author stand in stark contrast to most of his delusional, career driven colleagues. Or nerdy head of TV, Harry Crane (Rich Sommers), pipe smoking Orson Welles lookalike Paul Kinsey (Michael Gladis), closeted homosexual Sal Romano (Bryan Batt), alcoholic ad rival "Duck" Phillips (Mark Moses), brash art director Stan Rizzo (Jay R. Ferguson) and extroverted, off-the-wall copywriter Michael Ginsberg (Ben Feldman). Some stay, go and even come back again at various points but they all feel as important as any of the lead characters, even with significantly less screen time. The great thing about the show is that you can't forget about any of them at the risk that they'll pop up and play a pivotal role when it's least expected. But one of the most intriguing recurring characters is actually a kid. Sally's eccentric friend Glen Bishop (played by Marten Weiner, son of creator Matthew Weiner) first shows up in Season 1 with a crush on Betty and it's almost too bizarre for words how that arc plays out, giving us our first real indication of just how irresponsible and borderline abusive a mother she can be. Glen's occasional reappearances only get stranger from that point on, saving his absolute weirdest for last.

Don's unforgettable Kodak presentation

It would almost be too easy for a series set in this era to use cultural touchstones as a crutch or jam certain social issues down our throats with heavy-handed symbolism. But the writers never take that bait or place any doubt in viewers' minds that  anything less than completely authentic. And they do it by organically incorporating everything into the creative fabric of the story they're telling. Feminism, sexism, racism and historical events like the Kennedy assassination are all there but instead of merely rounding the bases like most other depictions of the 1960's in media, they put us in the shoes of those who were there to witness them and recreate the feeling of what it must have been like to be there. The ad campaigns should feel like product placement but don't because their depiction relates to how we viewed consumerism both then and now, illuminating just how much has changed, while eerily other things stayed the same. Whether it's the sudden revelation that Lucky Strike cigarettes could actually cause cancer or Don's gripping Kodak Carousel pitch in the Season 1 finale, the show speaks to more than how these products were marketed, but how the memory of them makes us feel. And in way, that encapsulates the series.

This approach also extends to the music, which doesn't the feature big, obvious, soundtrack-ready choices we're used to getting whenever the 60's are presented on film. When songs shows up you know it means something, their placement is carefully considered and, it has something important to say within the show's context. The two most notable are the uses of Bob Dylan's "Don't Think Twice, It's All Right" when Don comes home to an empty house on Thanksgiving and the unforgettably shocking inclusion of The Beatles' "Tomorrow Never Knows" in the Season 5 episode "Lady Lazarus." The latter is definitely a big deal, representing only the second time an original Beatles recording has been licensed for use on a scripted television series. And it was worth every penny they paid for it, replicating the experience of what it would have been like to hear to the group's most progressive song when it was released. When Don drops the needle on Revolver at Megan's urging, it's of little surprise he can't make it through. Of course he wouldn't get it. It's one of those moments where the future meets the past, and if anyone's in danger of being left behind, it's Don Draper. Previously a forward-thinking creative genius, he closes the fifth season as a shell of himself, increasingly unable to relate to a rapidly changing culture he used to have his finger on the pulse of.

Beyond the use of music, the costume and production design of the series is astounding in not only its authenticity, but how it constantly keeps up with the changing aesthetics of the decade. That's never more obvious than when we get a glimpse of the new SCDP offices or Don and Megan's Upper East Side apartment, which is so uniquely laid out and designed you'd swear it hails from another planet rather than a different era. Touches like that and even the Saul Bass-inspired, retro opening title sequence (rightly considered one of TV's all-time greatest intros) only begin to scratch the surface of all the rich details Weiner fills the series with.

Don goes for a swim in Season 4's "The Summer Man"

It's well known that the show's biggest influence in terms of theme and style is the work of author John Cheever, whose stories of hypocrisy and moral corruption in the Westchester suburbs and Manhattan made waves in the 50's and 60's. The shadow of his most famous short story, and its brilliant 1968 adapted film, The Swimmer, looms over the series in not just its depiction of the period and its values, but Don's career, alcoholism and womanizing. It all forecasts an eventual downfall that's starting to resemble that story's doomed protagonist. The similarities are even explicitly referenced in the Season 4 episode, "The Summer Man, " in which a contemplative Don journals his thoughts and takes up swimming, only to find that he isn't physically what he used to be. It's not a stretch to suggest that Don's series-long journey is so evocative and representative of Cheever's themes that Mad Men can be viewed as speculating on many of the details and unanswered questions that were left to the imagination in that short story and film. 

If the ultimate goal of the series is to tie the past to the future, and if that's the truth, you could argue it's already been reached. But it'll be interesting to see where things go as the series heads into what should be extremely fertile ground for dramatic potential in the late sixties. Despite being set in that decade for its entire run, there's always been this nagging feeling that the characters are holdovers from the fifties who still haven't found a way to adjust to the era they're actually in. The fifth season signaled that sea change, and if they can't catch up, they'll be left in the dust. The perpetually youthful Roger's experimentation with LSD was probably just a taste of what we'll see moving forward, as Don continues coming to terms with his identities and his marriage with Megan starts to show cracks. In the minds of many, the late sixties ARE the sixties, so the upcoming potential is great for a show where each season has consistently built on its previous one.

The tagline for AMC is "Story Matters Here," but looking at their two most creatively successful dramas, it's easier to argue that character matters much more. It's one thing to be popular with viewers, win some awards or get strong critical notices, but it's another entirely to create a work of art that's both historically and culturally significant. One that tells us where we were, how we got here, and where we're going. With movies there's always disagreement as to what will hold up over time or how something will age. Not this. It's a lock that we'll still be talking about and analyzing Mad Men years from now. Whether or not Don Draper would be able to appreciate that is another question entirely.