“You are dying and going to advertising heaven.” Jim Hobart
It’s funny that while the entire identity of Mad Men is wrapped up in New York City almost as much as it is advertising (despite not being filmed there), California has played almost as key a role in the show’s evolution.
California has always been Don’s Jerusalem. Think back to the days when he visited Anna Draper and cast himself into the sea for a spiritual cleansing. Or, more recently, the point where he almost left for Los Angeles with Megan at the end of season six before allowing Ted to leave. Going to California is, for Don, going “home”, at least as he sees it. His chance to flee as far as he can until he hits the ocean. A chance to resolve his circular patterns of self-destruction by finally heading west.
When McCann Erickson subtly informed Sterling Cooper that they were going to be “swallowed” by not renewing their lease in the Time-Life Building, you could almost see Draper’s eyes light up when he realised there was a chance to engineer another bit of organisational jiggery-pokery and move the firm to LA.
Someone had to tell him that moving west wouldn’t make his problems disappear. Ted - the portrait in Don’s attic, who’d already been stung by this way of thinking - had a go:
“I know you’re attached to California. I don’t know what it means to you, but it doesn’t mean anything to me.”
“It means something to me,” Don replied, quietly.
The plan to round up some business and ship away seemed sound. As Roger pointed out, they’d be saving the company millions of dollars’ worth of contracts, but you had a sense it was doomed to failure.
For a start, we’ve seen this happen before. Both in Shut the Door, Have a Seat and For Immediate Release, where Don conducted a sort of Ealing caper in which he invoked his fading powers to restore the status quo of his own, er, status. But it won’t wash this time. Roger sold the family jewels and now McCann is holding him by them. The idea that we’d say goodbye to Don and the SC&P crew as they jetted off into the sun – and Joan into the arms of new beau Richard Burghoff – would be far too neat.
That became clear when Ken Cosgrove, clearly enjoying having the tip of Pete’s nose “in the seat of his pants”, refused to play ball and take the Dow account to a new agency. Then, at the meeting with Jim Hobart – just as Don was in full Carousel mode – selling California, he was stopped mid-flow as Hobart sold them (or told them) their futures working on the biggest accounts in advertising. They’re done.
We left Ted, Pete, Don, Roger and Joan facing the camera in the boardroom, fates sealed: The Last Supper as seen by Norman Rockwell. California may be Don’s Jerusalem, but Coca-Cola is every ad man’s paradise. The question is, will Don find either?
“For the first time, I feel like whatever happens is supposed to happen.” Pete
Woven into the McCann drama was Peggy’s attempt to find a child actor for an advert. Just as back in the Olympia Diner we saw Don telling stories about his life as Dick, here Peggy talked about her own Dick Whitman secret – the baby she had adopted back in late 1960. In a conversation brought on by Peggy’s obvious discomfort at looking after a young girl who’d been left in the office waiting for her mum (who fell prey to a stapler, joining the Sterling Cooper injury hall of fame), Peggy and Stan began to discuss the rights and wrongs of the mother’s behaviour.
The conversation, in which she – in her own way – told him about giving away her boy (now aged nine), highlighted the quality of the acting here. Elisabeth Moss (particularly) and Jay R Ferguson find inspiration beyond what you see written down, both filling in pauses with entire chapters of meaning:
Peggy: Maybe she was very young. And followed her heart and got in trouble. No one should be able to make a mistake and not move on. She should be able to live the rest of her life. Just like a man does.
Stan: You’re right.
Peggy: I know. Maybe you do what you thought was the best thing.
Stan: What did you do?
Peggy: I’m here. And … he’s with a family, somewhere. I don’t know.
We’re not going to know what happened to Peggy’s baby. I guess she might, one day. But for now it’s the wound that even shipping out to California won’t heal. So, what’s next for her? Three years at McCann and a big move to another firm, as her headhunter suggested? To go back to this half-season’s big theme – is that all there is?
Culture watch
After the insurrectionary final scene as Don and Roger tried to break the news of The Swallowing, Dino sang us out with Money Burns a Hole in my Pocket. “This is the beginning of something, not the end,” urged Don to general indifference as the music kicked in and his staff ignored him, suggesting that quite the opposite is true.
Scout’s Honor – Lou Avery’s army monkey cartoon – was picked up by Tatsunoko Production, makers of Speed Racer (aka Mach GoGoGo), which arrived on US screens in 1967. Go Speed Racer!
Ken Cosgrove shares a favourite wine – the 1953 Château Margaux – with Uncle Monty. It’s the same vintage that Withnail and Marwood managed to plunder from Crow Crag – “53 Margaux – best of the century”. It’s the bottle Withnail is glugging from in the final scene of the film.
Incidentally, the 1953 was at its peak in about 1970, and a bottle would have cost around $40 ($242 in 2015).
Notes
The test referred to by the dean of Greenwich Country Day (whose alumni include George HW Bush and the Winklevoss twins, but not Tammy Campbell) was the Draw-a-Person test devised by Florence Goodenough in the 1920s and now known as the Goodenough-Harris Draw-a-Person Test. Unfortunately, Tammy’s test wasn’t good enough, and her attempt resulted in a “head, a moustache and necktie”.
Though, as we found out, it wasn’t really because Tammy couldn’t draw a man. Headteacher Mr Macdonald was still fuming over the actions of the Campbell-led troops at Glencoe who killed 38 MacDonalds in their beds. An outrage even if the king did order it.
Time and Life was directed by Jared Harris (who, of course, played Lane Pryce). His first, and I assume, final directing credit on the show.
I’m very slow on spotting this, but Don has his three Ad Age awards on his office wall. For the years 1957-59. It’s notable that they stopped coming once we met him in 1960. Don’s glory years – if there were any – are before our time with him.
There was a great line from Shirley as Meredith crept up on her and Dawn whispering: “My goodness, Meredith, we should put a bell on you.”
You’ll note that Don’s sole remaining confidantes appear to be the staff at his call service.
Further reading
An oral history of Mad Men courtesy of the mad geniuses at The Onion. All together now: “ADVERTISING”
Matthew Weiner’s advice for struggling artists
Jessica Pare on Megan and the end of the show
Janie Bryant, the show’s costume designer, on how the show made her a style superstar
