The Pain from an Old Wound: The Season One Finale of Mad Men Recapped

Over the last month, the Mad Men bandwagon has gotten quite full. I noticed the sea change when a couple of my friends told me they started watching the show and were loving it. Not long after that, articles all over the interweb began sprouting up about how Mad Men was this underappreciated gem, the type of television show that comes along once in a long while. Then AMC announced they were picking up the show for a second season, despite the fact that I personally know 27% of the audience.

I guess my only gripe about all this positive feedback is as follows: why did it take everyone so long?

When I first wrote about the show back in August, I compared it favorably to The Sopranos, which admittedly was an easy parallel--it's created by a former Sopranos producer (Matthew Weiner) and features the same sliding gray scale of character moralities that the iconic HBO series did. Only now though do I realize what a great disservice that was.

Mad Men is to The Sopranos what Lebron James is to Michael Jordan. In some ways, it's even better than its predecessor and in some ways it's not, but no matter what the criteria, both shows are among the best I have ever seen on television. Free from the strict conventions of the mafia genre, the unrelatable world of murder and racketeering and the psychoanalytic masturbations of David Chase, Matthew Weiner has created a television show that has the potential to be more indelible than The Sopranos, even if it could never be more beloved. It's the perfect combination of performance, story and setting that not only good television, but good films are made of. I can just feel George Clooney sitting there watching this show, saying aloud, "why didn't I think of this?"

Since minute one, Mad Men has been flat out terrific. The season finale was par for the course--an almost irrationally perfect encapsulation of what makes Mad Men the best show on television.

The first season of Mad Men has been a dual trip for Don and Betty Draper (Jon Hamm and January Jones) to the land of self-awareness. In the penultimate episode, it was Don who finally had his eyes opened. I never doubted for a second that Don wasn't aware his entire life was a complete lie--both literally and figuratively a put on for those around him--I just don't think he ever really accepted that fact. But throughout the season, roadblock after roadblock popped up in his way, violently forcing him to face his worst fears, slapping him in the face to awaken him from his slumber. Long abandoned younger brother coming to find you, slap! Best friend's heart attack forcing you to face your own morality, bang! Sniveling underling who knows your darkest secrets, bash! By the time Don arrived in his girlfriend Rachel's office at the end of that episode, crying and begging to "run away" and drop his entire life, he had been reduced to his most base. Underneath the brylcreemed sheen of Don Draper was a cowardly, damaged man with not one clue as to who he really is or even was.

On the flip side, I never thought Betty was self-aware. She actually seemed blissfully unaware, childlike in her naivete, willing to close her eyes to even the most blatant infidelities that Don was involved in. But in the finale, after being faced with the crumbling marriage of her best friend, and then spurred by the knowledge that Don and her therapist were discussing her sessions in late night phone conversations, the shroud on Betty's psyche was lifted. Sadly for her, since she didn't have a boyfriend to run to, a la Don, her solace was found in talking and crying to the 12-year-old son of the divorced woman on her block. It was a moment that was simultaneously bizarre, heartbreaking, absurd and pitch perfect. Of course Betty would talk to a child about her problems since she's spent so much of this season acting like one. Of course she would ask a child if she was going to be "okay," with the wide-eyed sadness of a child awoken from a nightmare. And of course, the child had nothing more to say to her than, "I wish I was older."

For Betty Draper, the entire scenario only seemed fair.

But then in a surprising reversal, like her husband, Betty pulled things together after that breakdown. In a sharp twist, she managed to turn the tables on Don, spilling her guts in therapy about Don's infidelities, knowing that the revelations would get back to her husband. It seems she wasn't as blissfully unaware as I thought--noticing everything from a different perfume scent on Don's clothes to a different sexual prowess in bed. The scene with her therapist was Betty's through the looking glass moment.

Both Jon Hamm and January Jones deserve all the recognition they can get for their performances throughout the season. Jones, in particular, was breathtaking during the final episode, making Betty into the best possible combination of Grace Kelly looks and Marilyn Monroe vulnerability. Betty is so pathetic and so lonely that you just want to give her a hug and tell her that yes, everything is going to be "okay." Jones' performance has that effect. What could be a grating and annoying one note character becomes something so much more in her hands. When the season started, Betty was the weak link in the narrative. Now? She's equally as important as Don.

Meanwhile Hamm is so effortless as Don that his performance goes under the radar. It doesn't even feel like he's acting. Combining matinee idol looks, the deep baritone of someone who has drank and smoked their entire life and a pair of eyes that hide deep wounds, Hamm is like a better looking James Gandolfini or a more nuanced George Clooney. He was born to play this role and he doesn't waste the opportunities given to him. Don constantly has so many ulterior motivations going on just under the surface, that even when you think you've seen everything he has to offer, another fifty layers spring up before your eyes.

Of course plenty of other things happened in the finale--Peggy gave birth to a baby she didn't even realize she was carrying! Pete is obviously the father! They hate each other and have to work together now that Peggy is a Junior Copywriter!--but I think the best moment of the episode happened in the last five minutes. After using some family photos to sell the Kodak Carousel Slide Projector, Don, with the pang of nostalgia in his heart, headed home to catch his wife and kids before they left for Betty's parents house Thanksgiving. He arrived just in time, kissed his wife, hugged his kids and started to pack the car up. It was the perfect Norman Rockwell moment.

Except it was all a dream.

In reality, Don was greeted to a dark and empty house. He called for his wife and kids to no avail. And so he sat down on his stairs with the blank expression of a man who has no idea what is going to happen next. And on the soundtrack, with a music cue that would make even David Chase jealous, Bob Dylan sang "Don't Think Twice, It's All Right:"

It ain't no use to sit and wonder why, babe
It don't matter, anyhow
An' it ain't no use to sit and wonder why, babe
If you don't know by now
When your rooster crows at the break of dawn
Look out your window and I'll be gone
You're the reason I'm trav'lin' on
Don't think twice, it's all right

It was a perfect ending to a perfect season. A moment that was indeed filled with nostalgia--filled with that feeling of pain that you can only get from an old wound. On a basic level, the ending was heartbreaking because neither Don, nor Betty, have anyone to talk to. They are now both awake to their personal nightmares, but because of a complete lack of communication, they both have to face their problems alone. The Draper's are literally two ships passing in the night.

Like that Kodak Carousel that Don Draper so expertly sells in the season finale, Mad Men itself has the feeling of something both brand new and totally nostalgic. A show that hearkens back to The Sopranos, but sets forth on its own path to glory. The results are flawless. Mad Men isn't just the best show on television, it's poised to be the television drama of the remainder of this decade.