Register a SA Forums Account here!
JOINING THE SA FORUMS WILL REMOVE THIS BIG AD, THE ANNOYING UNDERLINED ADS, AND STUPID INTERSTITIAL ADS!!!

You can: log in, read the tech support FAQ, or request your lost password. This dumb message (and those ads) will appear on every screen until you register! Get rid of this crap by registering your own SA Forums Account and joining roughly 150,000 Goons, for the one-time price of $9.95! We charge money because it costs us money per month for bills, and since we don't believe in showing ads to our users, we try to make the money back through forum registrations.
 
  • Post
  • Reply
Jerusalem
May 20, 2004

Would you be my new best friends?

The Klowner posted:

It's my birthday today. My birthday wish is a Jerusalem write up of the next episode :pray:

Happy Birthday and I'm actually writing it right now!

Adbot
ADBOT LOVES YOU

McSpanky
Jan 16, 2005






Ainsley McTree posted:

My read on Paul is that he's one of those guys who's just useful enough that it'd be more trouble to fire him than to keep him on, but he sits very close to that line

Same, I figured Burt was a look into Paul's future. (And probably would've been if not for the upcoming drama bomb)

Gaius Marius
Oct 9, 2012

McSpanky posted:

Same, I figured Burt was a look into Paul's future. (And probably would've been if not for the upcoming drama bomb)

Burt Is a lot more Keen than one might assume, Paul however is hopeless

Annabel Pee
Dec 29, 2008

Sash! posted:

I want Roger to be, inexplicably, still trucking at 105+.

I don't want to be that guy but we should probably try and spoiler if certain characters survive. And I realise now they will see this spoiler box and presume he actually dies, oops.

Gaius Marius
Oct 9, 2012

Isn't that just the rub, Don't worry so much you can't ruin a well put together story

Jerusalem
May 20, 2004

Would you be my new best friends?

Season 3, Episode 11 - The Gypsy and the Hobo
Written by Marti Noxon, Cathryn Humphris & Matthew Weiner, Directed by Jennifer Getzinger

Suzanne Farrell posted:

I see a man who is not happy.

Betty Draper is packing her bags, but presumably not to finally walk out on Don as she goes about it all with an air of practiced efficiency. Finishing up, she calls to Sally and Bobby to come collect the luggage, but if they hear they don't respond. They're busy downstairs at the breakfast table, Bobby with laser focus on eating his food while Sally is begging her father to buy her a Minnie Mouse costume from Woolworth's for Halloween. "It's plastic and it's crap," warns Don, whose objection is probably more around not wanting to be a "sucker" who has to spend money on a subpar product because it has been successfully marketed to his children.

Sally insists she will ALWAYS love Minnie Mouse, while Bobby looks up from his breakfast to declare happily that he intends to be an astronaut. Betty arrives downstairs, irritated that the children didn't respond to her call, and when Don offers to collect the luggage for her she notes that this isn't the point, the point is that the children don't listen (or just simply didn't hear). Don is a little surprised at how much they're taking for a week's trip, and this alarms Sally as it registers for the first time how long they're gone... are they going to miss Halloween?

Despite her earlier irritation, Betty can't help but be bemused, assuring her daughter they have Halloween in Philadelphia too... now go upstairs and get that luggage! Don gives Sally a big hug and gives her a different assurance: they have Woolworth's in Philadelphia too (and that way, it's Betty buying the subpar product), then gets a hug from Bobby before they head dutifully upstairs. Betty mentioned the previous episode that she wanted to go to Philadelphia to spend one last holiday at her late father's home before it was sold... and Don couldn't even give her that token gesture, more than happy to let her go off with the kids and leave him alone. Or "alone", given his current infatuation with Suzanne Farrell.

For the first time we get an indicator that Betty hasn't simply moved on from her discovery of Don's past. She casually notes she's down to her last $40 and wants some cash, and a surprised Don points out she should have a couple hundred dollars in the bank so surely she can just grab that money out. He seems even more surprised by Betty's questioning look when she asks him if he is SURE he doesn't have any money on him, though does she really expect him to say,"Oh yeah I have thousands of dollars upstairs!"?

He gives her a kiss, tells her to take care (How about "I love you" every so often?) and heads out the door on his merry way, still none the wiser that one of his most carefully guarded secrets has been exposed. Betty is left behind considering: after the initial desire for a fired up confrontation, and then the sick emptiness after her initial fury died out... what is left is a woman who is considering and careful, gently probing the enigma that is her husband for any sign that he might tell her the truth, that he might open himself up to her at last... or if he's just a liar who holds her in such low regard that being open with her never even crosses his mind.



At Sterling Cooper, a delighted (and a little flustered!) Bert Cooper leaps to his feet happily as Roger Sterling and Don Draper enter his office. On the couch beside him is an older but very well-kept woman whose face lights up at the sight of Roger, while he is left momentarily and uncharacteristically off-balance. Her name is Annabelle, and she is very pleased with how well he has held himself together. He remains stunned, gently taking her hand and mumbling that she looks EXACTLY the same which almost seems to make her blush with pleasure, even if she waves that off as an exaggeration.

Don finds himself in the unusual situation of being invisible and while it is novel he doesn't like it (welcome to Betty's well), so he interjects himself with a quip when Roger admits being unsure about Annabelle's last name (because of marriage, because he's clearly forgotten NOTHING about her), shaking her hand. Her full name is Annabelle Mathis, and she's not just here to catch up with old friends... but as a potential client.

Her and Roger finally wrench their eyes away from each other, and they all take seats, Roger immediately regretting a joke about her getting divorced when she reveals her husband died. He was only 51, and died of lung cancer, and Roger casts an uncomfortable look Don's way as Don - either unaware or simply unwilling to acknowledge the faux pas - lights up a cigarette of his own. What her husband's death means though is that her father's company has passed back into her full control, and in spite of himself Roger can't help but openly offer her a sly smirk when he tells her how unfortunate it is for her to be single and rich now.

The company in question is Caldecott Farms, and with a frown she admits that their sales have been disastrous since a public relations crisis. That is putting it mildly, they produce dog-food, and people became outraged after The Misfits came out and they "discovered" it is made from horse meat. The fact that ALL dog food was made from horses in America at the time is not the point, because people only know that Caldecott Farms is "guilty" of this and the other dog food companies are getting their business as a result.

So she wants to find an advertising agency that can figure out another word for horse-meat. Cows are beef, chickens are poultry etc, she wants that for horse-meat. Don admits turning around public perception will be difficult, asking if they HAVE to use horse-meat, and she complains bitterly that people all around the world eat horse and it is delicious. Don quietly acknowledges that HE has eaten horse-meat before, which gets him an odd look from Roger. Why? Because like so many unfair things, eating horse-meat is usually something an American does only if they are either very rich or VERY poor... and Roger knows that Don wasn't very rich.

Annabelle explains she hasn't come only to Sterling Cooper, she's shopping around different Agencies and has told them all the same thing: best idea gets her business. She admits she wants results by Friday but so far only the big agencies are rushing things, which leads Roger to crack a joke about how big HE is which makes her giggle, again almost girlish in his presence. Standing, she offers two non-negotiable factors: she will NOT change the recipe, and her father named the place Caldecott Farms so she won't change that either. Don stubs out his cigarette and nods his understanding, and Roger gladly takes Annabelle up on her request to walk him out. After they're gone, a delighted Cooper admits that the agency had Caldecott Farm's business once before.... but her father was a "son of a bitch", as if that explains everything.

As Annabelle descends the three shallow steps down to the secretarial floor, she puts out her hand for Roger to take to help steady her. He's not fooled by the excuse for physical contact being that she's in heels, and though he was clearly delighted to see her now this has faded enough for him to be suspicious of WHY she is here. She's insists it really is as simple as needing something new business wise, reminding him that while she may be single she knows he is married, though she enjoys playing with him by asking a question they both know the answer to: is it still or again?

He agrees to take her out for dinner but only for business reasons, but as she leaves looking like the cat that got the cream (or the dog that got the horse?) he finds himself unable to stop watching her. Whatever past the two had was clearly very, very mutual and remains very, very unresolved.



Suzanne Farrell arrives home with a beaming smile to see that Don has let himself in. He admits he was surprised to find the place empty since all the lights were on, and she explains she knew he was coming and didn't want to either sit in the dark or risk the owners of the property see him turning the lights on. He credits her for her forward thinking, in spite of the fact she's just openly laid out how carefully they have to try and hide their affair. She doesn't care about that though, and neither does he, like Roger and Annabelle they only have eyes for each other, as she launches herself into his arms and kisses him passionately.

She begins telling him enthusiastically about the spaghetti dinner she will be making him, and explains she got the idea from a lovely place she went into in Little Italy. Pressed up close to him, she whispers longingly how she would love to take him there, and immediately realizes her mistake. Don doesn't complain, simply acknowledges her desire, and she quickly promises him she isn't asking anything more from him than he can give. The fact she had to leave the lights on to help keep him from drawing attention didn't trigger this reaction, but openly telling him she wants to be able to go places in public with him did: they can only ever be illicit, there is no future in this relationship and the best case scenario is the avoidance of too much emotional and social damage.

Don acknowledges his own part in this, she went in with eyes open but he pushed her. But this only invites her to speak more candidly about her feelings, the near-inevitable conclusion of any relationship no matter how "eyes open" both parties thought they might be. She admits that even if she steps back and looks at his life with her out of the picture, all she sees if a man who isn't happy. "I'm happy now," Don offers, and this upsets her more. Perhaps because she knows it is impermanent, perhaps because she thinks he's just paying her lip-service. Perhaps because she thinks it is true and that is just going to cause them both more troubles. In any case she pulls away and goes back to pointedly unpacking the groceries and setting the table.

He doesn't pick a fight or try to fix things or even acknowledge them, because that's now what Don is in this for: this affair is a way for him to escape the pressures of his work and married life without having to deal with any of them or the underlying problems. He simply declares he is going to go lie down and she can fetch him when she is ready, leaving her to stew in her own juices and either get past her bad mood or force it down for his sake so they can pretend everything is fine in this clearly doomed (from the start!) relationship. How can anybody be so self-sabotaging and unaware that they are the architect of their own destruction?

Enter Greg Harris.

Seated in his best suit and tie, Greg is explaining why he decided to leave surgery. But why psychiatry then? asks his interviewer, and he smirks and notes this is a pretty personal question. Because of course his interviewer is Joan Harris, and they're seated in their apartment going through a mock interview ahead of Greg's attempt to make the shift from a surgeon with brainless fingers into a psychiatrist. In response he plays down the importance of psychiatry and how it isn't as intimate as getting your hands into somebody's organs, but Joan is no slouch at psychiatry herself and points out that his refusal to answer the question now has HER wondering: what experience DOES he have with psychiatry.

None he freely admits, before shrugging that he recalls his father having a nervous breakdown once. They intrigues her, and forgetting the faux-interview setup for a second he freely tells her about his father breaking down when furniture sales were low, refusing to buy a Christmas tree and causing his mother to run away for two weeks. A "headshrink" got him through the problem, but the family has never spoken about it since.

To Greg's surprise, Joan declares this is wonderful. Not the fact his father had a nervous breakdown, of course, but that he just spoke so openly and freely about his family and his personal experiences. That is the kind of openness that will wow interviewers, and when he tries to downplay how effective this strategy might be she reminds him that she has seen plenty of executive burnout in her time... she knows how to talk to people, but more importantly she knows how to handle people. The fact that he can't see how carefully she handles him doesn't speak volumes for his potential as a psychiatrist however.

Suzanne comes to bed, sliding in beside Don and enjoying feeling him beside her for a moment before speaking, admitting that she just had to come to terms with the fact she was wrong when thought she could be in this without wanting more than she'd get. But she also knows this feeling will pass, in fact she knows it will, a line that speaks volumes: this is not the first time she's been involved with somebody she couldn't for some reason be with, nor the first time she thought she couldn't live without them.

Don though offers that cruelest of things: hope. He says it doesn't have to pass, and admits - while speaking about his own loving children for gently caress's sake - that one day he saw her while dropping them off and just wanted to pile her into the car and drive away forever. He's felt that about Midge (fly away to Europe with me!) and Rachel (let's go to California!) and she'd be no different, but in the moment Don can afford to either ignore or dismiss the knowledge that this is a doomed affair and pretend this momentary obsession won't end just like all the rest, either through her actions or more likely his own.

Because for Don it's always the idea of the woman. He likes to be challenged, he likes women who have a mind of their own (and begrudges Betty for not even though that was of his own making), but the reality always ends up being different from the fantasy, and nothing can ever fill the hollowness inside of him.

He throws her the bone of offering to clear his schedule so they can travel somewhere together, and after a moment of laughing she asks if he is really serious... because if he is, she has a place in mind. He promises her he is, and for whatever reason Miss Farrell seems to think Don is a man who keeps his promises (like to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for better or worse, till death do us part).



The next day at Sterling Cooper, Roger is busy in his office... practicing golf. His phone rings and after a few swings he realizes that Ginger isn't going to answer it, so he picks it up and is surprised to hear Joan Harris on the other end of the line. Her usual confidence is slightly shaken when she says her name and he offers no recognition, and for a shaky second she adds,"Harris?" wondering if he's already completely forgotten her. But then he's straight back to his old flirty ways and she responds with her characteristic unshakeable confidence.

She admits that she knew Ginger always has a hair appointment on this day of the month... but she ALSO knew that Roger's lunch date for the day had been canceled. With a little grin he asks what he is wearing since she's so well-informed, the lets her know that Hooker has rearranged all the secretaries alphabetically. "By cup size?" she asks, and he can't help but joke that he knows exactly where SHE would be seated if that was the case. Not offended but still making a point to "playfully" chastise him, she gets down to the real point of her call: she needs help finding work.

He's surprised, asking if something happened with "Dr. Cut-up" and she breezily explains that he's pursuing his "dream" of becoming a psychiatrist, but it means she needs to find some extra work to make up the difference while he continues his training. He doesn't hesitate to recommend she come back to Sterling Cooper, but on that at least Joan knows it would be a mistake: she'd been replaced as Office Manager even before she finished up AND she could make more working at Department Stores than as a secretary.

Roger sits listening, drinking in her voice and perhaps also the memories of their times together. He admits he is glad to call her, and she admits she is sorry it had to be to ask for a favor. On that Roger has a surprising but welcome philosophy: it's nice to be thought of, and even nicer to know you're in the minds of people who are important to you... even if you also wish you weren't on the minds of other people who aren't. They go back to momentarily flirting again, Roger admitting that everything else at Sterling Cooper BUT him is different now.

When he asks how he should handle getting her in touch with people about work, she can't resist a last tease, grinning and declaring how impressive it is to see him working something out for himself. A broad grin crosses his face and he bids her a genuine and warm goodbye. Hanging up, he stares at the phone for a few moments. With his longing look after Annabelle, he seemed torn by the feelings she brought up in him again. With Joan there is nothing mixed. Hearing her and talking to her again made him feel happy. Nothing else, just happy.

Far from happy is Betty Draper, sitting at her father's desk in her father's house, looking idly through her father's drawer and - whether consciously or not - drawing parallels between what is to be found there and what was found in her husband's. William brings in Milton Lowell, their father's lawyer, who apologizes for missing the funeral due to attending his grandson's graduation. Betty just smiles and notes the funeral was beautiful, and William suggests they eat lunch before they get down to business. Lowell notes he can't stay though, so William finds himself awkwardly perched on the edge of the desk, Milton seated, and Betty firmly in place in Gene's old seat: the new head of the family which clearly rankles her younger brother.

William tries to take charge, proclaiming that Betty wants to know the cost of her house so he can buy her out, magnanimously declaring that he is willing to pay TWICE what their father paid for it.... in the 1920s. When Betty points this out, William insists that their father always claimed he paid top of the market prices for it back then, as if that has any bearing on inflation. It's a moot point anyway, the terms of the Will were clear: the house is in both their names, with the intention being that IF it was sold it was at maximum market value to ensure both of them were paid handsomely for it.

This gesture of equality isn't taken in that vein by William however (and, let's be honest, maybe it wasn't intended in that vein by Gene), because everybody knows that he doesn't have the money to buy Betty out, which somehow in his head means that the house is ONLY Betty's. It's a zero-sum game for William, if he can't own all of it, he assumes he owns none of it. He storms out of the room, but if he thought they would race after him begging for his return he's sorely mistaken. Betty in fact doesn't even seem to register his disappearance beyond the chance to speak to Milton about what is actually bothering her, a "real" problem unlike what she considers the irrelevance of William's issue (which speaks to partly why William is like he is, perhaps).

She asks for advice on a sensitive matter, one that requires complete confidentiality. Milton quickly closes the door and sits attentively, listening as she works herself up to finally say it out loud. It comes in fits and starts, at first she tries to speak carefully, then she stumbles, then she just lays it all out: her husband is a liar, he has been married before, he bought his ex-wife a house, and he isn't using his real name. Saying it out loud comes both as a relief and a shock to her, snapping her out of a kind of haze she has been existing in since the big confrontation she planned never came to fruition. She admits as much, saying it out loud makes it "true" for the first time, and until now she's felt like she has been in a dream. But now she doesn't know what to do next.

Milton considers as she tries to light a cigarette with a shaking hand, admitting he's only met Don once and all he knows about him is that Gene insisted he NOT be in the Will. He offers first legal and then personal advice. Since they're in New York, if she wants a divorce, she'll need to prove adultery and saying she can "perhaps" do so won't be good enough, she'll need to prove it in a court of law. If he doesn't want out of the marriage, divorce is next to impossible, and would leave her without resources meaning she would HAVE to sell the house because there is no way she could buy William out. Plus there is a possibility he could get the kids instead of her, dependent on a variety of factors (I would assume him being the primary income earner, since without being able to prove adultery she may not be eligible for alimony).... so that leaves the personal options.

Is she scared of him? No, she insists, scandalized. Is he a good provider? Yes, she admits, confused, starting to argue this isn't the point. For as nice and friendly as Milton is though, he's still an older man in the 1960s, and he tells her this is the advice he would give his own daughter: sure her husband might be a liar and a cheat, but if he's not hitting her and he's paying the bills, shouldn't she try to make things work? She buries her head in her hands, she's awake at last only to find herself in another nightmare. One compounded by comedy of a sort as William tries to storm back in after realizing that nobody is coming after him, finding the door looked and assuming his worst fear has come true: they're locking him out like a kid to discuss business without him. "THIS ISN'T RIGHT!" he bellows, and Betty surely agrees... just not about the same thing he's upset by.



Annabelle joins Roger for their business dinner, where she is impressed to find him sitting with his martini untouched. She is also far from surprised when he grins and tells her this is actually his THIRD martini. She wants "one of the lovely wines" so he motions for the waiter and declares she would like "one of the lovely wines", meaning she has to elaborate she meant a Bordeaux. The waiter leaves, and Annabelle finds Roger is far from the smitten fool he was in the meeting from earlier in the week.

In fact now he's far more like the Roger everybody else knows: somehow simultaneously acerbic, self-pitying and smug. The bitterness comes from their parting, and after the briefest of brief discussions of her Account before she declares that is enough business, they paint enough of a picture for the viewer to fill in the blanks. 25-or-so years earlier, Roger was a rich-kid traveling through Europe enjoying a very pleasant and exciting affair with Annabelle.

He spent money prolifically and lived like he wanted to be "a character in somebody else's novel", clearly enamored with and modeling his life on Hemingway. They dined in cemeteries in pre-War Paris, Roger boxed recreationally, and they lived only for the present day and didn't put a thought towards the future.

And then she left him for another man.

She romantically likens it to Casablanca, a comparison that Roger scoffs at. The only similarity was that he and Rick got left by their romantic interests, but that is where the similarities end. He came back to America and got put to work by his father, then World War 2 came along and he spent it in the Pacific, then returned and spent the next 20 years working. Their only encounter during that time was when her father's dog-food company cut ties with the Agency and HE got the blame for it, even though as far as Annabelle knows the problem was between her father and Cooper. So that initial love-struck look on his face has been replaced by bitter memories of a betrayal and the loss of his freedom, and in many ways he resents that she has come back into his life AFTER he "finally" found a beautiful, carefree girl who doesn't care about the future (I wonder how Jane would feel being described like that?).

Now that he's unloaded all that bile though, he relaxes, and takes a kinder tone. His suggested solution for her PR/sales issue? She's already rich, just sell her horse-meat to some other company and let them slap THEIR label on it. What she offers back by way of response probably speaks to Roger in some ways, because it is a question he likely often asks himself as it becomes clearer he has been sidelined in the Agency: what does she do when she has nothing left to do? Long gone are the days of wandering around Paris and living life without a care about what tomorrow might bring. Now she needs to be doing something, taking some control of her life.

The wine arrives and a somewhat astonished Annabelle says she won't drink the whole bottle. Roger, fully relaxed now, assures her that he'll help her to finish it off. For the moment, at least, they find an equilibrium for their still readily apparent mutual attraction and the realities of time, age and plenty of bad history.

The wine all drunk, Roger helps Annabelle into her coat as she collects it, and she gleefully (and LOUDLY) recounts a conversation with a European she "introduced" to peanut butter, and how she'd had to explain she was in Paris a decade AFTER Hemingway and not at the same time. They giggle together at the shared memory, Annabelle pressing in close, forehead to forehead, and with comical exaggeration he tells her to cut it out. She takes a step back and asks if she looks like a widow, and he slaps one hand drunkenly over an eye, looks her up and down and tells her she looks great.

She giggles again, leaning back in, heading tilting for a kiss but finding herself stuck several inches away because he doesn't lean in to join her. With drunken self-assurance she informs him that he still wants her, and he responds in a way that surprises her: "So what?"

Yes he wants her, but Roger Sterling of all people seems to have somehow learned a lesson that is not only beyond Don Draper but flies in the face of everything we know about Roger himself: just because he wants something, doesn't mean he HAS to have it. He points out that he's married, but more importantly he's HAPPILY married, he's a newlywed, hell he's practically still a honeymooner. He ignores her reminding him he was always good in bed even when drunk, and shuts down her drunken logic that they can just tack on "this" to "that" in relation to her having been there "first" before not just Jane but even Mona (there wasn't much of a window between those two he admits, more of an overlap). It finally dawns on her... it isn't going to happen. Roger Sterling is going to remain faithful to his wife, and when he offers to call her a cab it is the final indignity. She bids him goodnight and walks out, and Roger is left somehow resolute and... faithful? I did NOT see that coming.



Joan returns home and finds Greg sitting in his chair drinking a beer and not really watching the television. She asks how his interview went, but she should already know based on the sulky look on his face. He complains that he screwed up the questions, then tried to speak about the articles he read but couldn't remember anything and just ended up making a fool of himself. Joan tries to be comforting, saying she is sure it wasn't as bad as he's making out, and sullenly he snaps at her to stop acting like she knows everything, because she wasn't there.

She takes a seat on the armrest and places a comforting hand on his shoulder, trying a different tack to soothe his bruised ego. Okay sure maybe this interview went badly, but that's just something he can build on and avoid for the next interview, and the ones after that. But he's like a child, he didn't get what he wanted right away and now he wants to pout. He snaps that he didn't even want to be a psychiatrist anyway, claiming it's not real medicine. Bitterly he points out that he always did everything right, everything he was told to do. He got good grades in school, he went to college, he went to Med School. All he ever wanted to do was to be a surgeon, and if he can't be that then he might as well be a bank teller.

Joan, trying very hard to keep calm herself, reminds him that she doesn't care WHAT he does, that has never been her primary concern (to be fair, she was thrilled to have landed a doctor, but to be equally fair she could have probably landed a doctor well before him if she'd been so inclined). But whatever he ends up being, it needs to be something, because they need the money. He doesn't want to hear that though, he wants to sulk, so he snaps at her that she doesn't understand, she's never worked for something and sacrificed and done as she was told and put up with bullshit only to have the thing she worked for all this time snatched away from her.

She sits perfectly still, face blank, for a few moments. A woman in 1960s America. A woman who bought into the idea that the flipside of the lack of agency society gave her would be offset by being taken care of when she did what she was supposed to do and found a man. A girl who grew up dreaming of a Prince Charming, handsome and brave and loving, who ended up with a failed surgeon who raped her when he was feeling his masculinity threatened, who is now bitching and moaning about how tough life is being a handsome white male in America. She takes that all in, then she gets up, picks up the vase of flowers on the table and smashes it over his head.

She storms off into the bedroom as he squawks in surprise and pain. Leaping up, clutching the back of his head (she hit him hard enough to shatter the vase but not do any real damage to him) he bellows out asking what the hell she is thinking, and complaining that she's crazy. She doesn't respond. What would be the point. He's far, far, far from a psychiatrist. He has no idea what is going on in her head.

The next day at Sterling Cooper, the first of the focus tests is going on, observed from the next room by Don, Annabelle, Roger, Peggy and Smitty. Three dogs sitting patiently by their owners are given bowls of dog food from an unlabeled can, and immediately begin wolfing it down with relish. They were brought in hungry at Sterling Cooper's request, but the point is clear: these dogs love this dogfood.

Smitty is intrigued and bewildered by the whole process: the guy running the test isn't wearing a white labcoat! (Peggy with supreme confidence explains this is because dogs don't like uniforms) Also the owners seem to be describing themselves when they talk about their dogs' personalities. A bemused Don asks Smitty if this is his first focus group, because all of this is nothing he hasn't seen before. But it's what comes next that is the entire point of this process. The researcher asks the owners how they feel knowing the dogs are eating Caldecott Farms' dog-food.

There is an uproar from the owners after the two uninformed owners are told by the third that their dogs are eating horse-meat. The researcher struggles to try and make a point, asking them what their preferred brand is so he can inform them that it is ALSO horse-meat, but they're too far gone to listen to any point he wants to make, cradling their dogs (who want to finish their delicious horse-meat!) and demanding to know why he would do something so inhumane.

Unable to take any more, Annabelle demands they turn it off. Don instructs Peggy to do so, confusing her immensely as she points out it's not a screen, it's actually happening. Suppressing his irritation as best he can, he elaborates that he means he wants her to turn off the sound. She does, while Annabelle complains to Don that she already knows people are upset about the name, so what is he trying to prove?

He is, of course, trying to make a point in direct violation of one of the two cardinal rules she gave him: they HAVE to change the name. He outright says that any agency that doesn't try to change the name is just stealing her money, because the fact is whether it is fair or not: Caldecott Farms is a poisoned name. He of course knows a thing or two about changing your name to get a fresh start, though he's also no psychiatrist and probably doesn't see the connection between that and this, even when he declares that the new name will "promise the quality of the product that's inside."

She won't have it. She stands up and declares she will find another Agency, one that can actually do the job she's asked them to do. But Roger surprises her and Don both by sticking up for Don, telling her to get over it and let it go: the name MUST change. She storms out and he gives chase, while the poor researcher on the other side of the glass bellows as loud as he can asking if they're ready for the next group.

Roger follows Annabelle down the corridors, and she stops in the break room to complain that she doesn't like the way he is speaking to her. He looks around at the various staff members and orders them out, and they quickly clear out of the room, none of them having any desire to be around while one of the original Founding Partners is having it out with a client.

The first thing he asks is if she's still angry about last night, and she mutters she doesn't actually remember anything about last night. Maybe that's true (she polished off half a bottle of wine) or maybe it's just to save face, but Roger has no chill at all and just breezily reminds her that she threw herself at him and he turned her down. Appalled that he'd throw this in her face, she snarls that he is just trying to hurt her. Either realizing it was a bad joke or legitimately surprised that she's not taking part in the little verbal back-and-forth he enjoyed with her (and the likes of Joan) in the past, he promises her that he isn't trying to be cruel.

It is cruel though, if only because he isn't trying to be. He admits the truth, yes he loved the time they spent together when they were young, and yes her leaving him broke his heart... but that was a quarter-century ago and he's moved on since then. She, unfortunately, has not. She admits that when she buried her husband after 20+ years of a seemingly happy marriage, she realized she would have rather had her heart broken by Roger every single day of that same time period. Because too late she realized HE was the one.

"You weren't," he tells her simply, and her face falls. "Oh," she says, as it really hammers home for her. They had a passionate love affair that ended badly, but there was always a sense of incompleteness to it, an idea that they could pick up again where they left off... that maybe that was even inevitable. Except it was all a movie in her own head, her private version of Casablanca and he doesn't have nor want a script for his part in it. He's not Rick, this isn't star-crossed lovers or a bitter romance with the promise of something more to be. He moved on and doesn't want to rekindle anything, and she's allowed herself to be stuck in the past.

She offers quietly that he's lucky he found Jane, assuming Jane is the "one" that he has always been searching for (how long until the new wife smell wears off, though?) and leaves with a final goodbye and whatever dignity she can muster. Roger watches her go, this time not with the longing from their meeting of a few days earlier but a quiet sadness that a part of his life is now irrevocably over. As he watches, in a fun little comedic moment to undercut some of the tension, a secretary makes her way into the break room, sees Roger standing alone with his back turned, realizes something is up and makes a quick turn and exit. She doesn't know what is going on, but nobody wants to get up in any of the partners' drama, the rest of the room being empty is more than enough to tell her she doesn't want to be there.

Jerusalem
May 20, 2004

Would you be my new best friends?

From Roger's uncharacteristic restraint right to Don's uncharacteristic brazenness. Suzanne's idea for their trip was to spend the night(s?) at the Norwich Inn, but before they go he's driven her in his car right onto his street and across the road from his own house. It's dusk, the chances of being spotted are low but it's also astonishingly and stupidly blatant. As a car passes he can't help but look around to see if they were noticed, and with a giggle she lowers herself in the sweat to not be seen. It's all very naughty and risk-taking and she's getting a thrill, but more from that fact he has taken her out in the relative open.

He won't go quite so far as to bring her into the house though, saying he'll be right back out after he drops off his briefcase and picks up a couple of things. He exits the car, her remains lowered down in her seat, and walks across the street, some of his own neighbors walking along the sidewalk on the other side of his car where his mistress is waiting.

He enters the dark house, switches on the light and.... "Daddy?" His eyes widen as Sally races up to give him a big hug, and quietly he tells her he'll be right back and reaches for the door, meaning to get the gently caress to the car and tell Suzanne to get the hell out before they're seen. Before he can though, Bobby races in and hugs him tight, and then Betty comes walking out to see him too.

Inside his heart is racing but outside he remains cool as a cucumber, smiling at her and telling her he left his hat in the car (surely the natural thing would be to ask why they are home early, not immediately that you have to go back to your car). But she tells him to get it later. Tells him. Not asks. She tells him she needs to talk to him. Not "we have to talk" but that she needs to talk to him. Or in other words, that he has to listen.

She instructs the children to go upstairs, and when Sally complains that she wants to say hi to daddy, she growls out,"Upstairs!" in a way that brooks no disagreement. The two head up, while Don mentally recalculates, maintaining his cool as he saunters over easily and FINALLY brings up that she came home early, asking only half-jokingly what William did now. He leans in for a kiss but she drops her head and quietly tells him not now, and he freezes.

Guilt is screaming in his mind, she knows! She knows about Suzanne! She's angry because you're cheating on her and you've been caught! But his rational mind is also yelling back she can't know, that this is all coincidence, a horrible coincidence that he'll just have to navigate through. He takes a stab at it now, asking why she didn't call, not too subtly making HER the bad guy for now informing him she was coming, complaining he only came home to feed Polly and change shirts before returning to the city for a client dinner.

She ignores all that though, she meant what she said when she said SHE wanted to tell HIM something and not the other way around. She needs to show him something, and leads him confused up the stairs, offering nothing else, making him follow in her wake for a change. Confusion grows as she walks into his study, steps behind his desk, and then instructs him to open the drawer.

Now his confusion is laced with irritation, and he verbalizes it. That's HIS desk. In other words, you have no right to it, it's MINE. But she cuts past that by slamming the keys onto the surface of the desk, and his eyes shoot them in a panic, she has the keys!?! She quietly demands he open the drawer or she will, and when he makes no move she picks them up and starts to insert them.

NOW he's moving. Zipping to her side and taking the keys from her. Quiet but intense, he warns her again that this is HIS desk, it is private. Legitimately offended, genuinely mad at her, he demands to know where she got HIS keys to HIS drawer? This actually works momentarily, she's drawn into explaining herself, even into offering up a hasty justification that even if he hadn't left them in his bathrobe she could have brought in a locksmith and gotten the draw open at ANY time if she'd wanted to.

But that's not the point, and she stops defending herself and goes back to her demand: she has respected his privacy for far too long (she could bring up Dr. Wayne here, but perversely that might actually make Don MORE resentful) and she wants him to open it. He won't, of course, how could he? Inside are things she can NEVER know, and even now he's thinking about how to hold her off long enough, to convince her strongly enough, that he can get the contents of that drawer out of here and somewhere more secure. Thoughts of Miss Farrell are long gone as he deals with his wife's latest obsession, how can he ge-

"You know I know what's in there."

https://i.imgur.com/UscRh0t.mp4

Jon Hamm's face here is.... extraordinary. The sheer horror. The world has opened beneath Don Draper's feet, every pretense and guard and shield he has constructed out of narcissism, self-preservation, self-loathing, fear and emptiness has been wiped away by those 7 words. When Pete Campbell revealed his knowledge of Dick Whitman, he was horrified and frightened but with a struggle retained his poker face. When Adam showed up out of nowhere he was nervous and sick but kept control. When Bert Cooper learned his secret he was shaken but held his tongue and his ground. Here though? There's nothing. The mask is removed, the lie is exposed. She KNOWS. Not about Miss Farrell, but that seems inconsequential now. Less than that, she is gone from his mind entirely. She KNOWS. His life. His secrets. His past. She KNOWS. The woman he should have been the most open with knows. Things he never wanted her to know. Things he decided for himself she didn't need to know. She KNOWS. There is no going back, and at the moment he can't even see a way forward. He can't see anything. Even more than when they were separated, when he begged for her to take him back, he is lost. There is no Don Draper in this moment. There isn't even a Dick Whitman. There's just a yawning chasm in the shape of a man, unable to articulate any thought or emotion beyond sheer, unadulterated and unfathomable horror.

His hand lowers, he can't meet her gaze. Finally all that comes out is a trembling,"I can explain...." but she's not interested in that, she gave him the chance to open the drawer and he chose to question and accuse her of not respecting his privacy. He stammers out that she didn't have to look through his things, but now that she's revealed she knows it is too late for him to try and claim the moral high ground. She gave him that one last chance and he didn't take it, now he is just another child caught out lying and trying to lay the blame elsewhere.

"Which things, Don?" she demands, and pulls out the shoe-box, asking if he means the pictures covered with other people's names? Is that him? Dick? Is that his name? Even now he tries to rationalize, reminding her that people change their names, that SHE changed her name. That was a mistake, because as she points out she took HIS name... a reminder of their marriage, of the supposed bond between them that was built on a lie. Plus, of course, she wasn't the first. Who is Anna?

"I can explain..." he tries again, and she doesn't doubt it. He is, after all, a very gifted storyteller, but what was once a source of pride for her is now contempt. This is the result of her failure to have the explosive confrontation she initially wanted. She is cold. Controlled. There is no mistaking the power dynamic here, far different from his controlled and carefully tuned begging at the end of the last season when he asked her to take him back. Now he is lost, adrift, for once at a loss for words. Now she is controlling the narrative, pushing the agenda, never letting up with further revelation after further revelation exploding the multi-level depth of his lies. Lies by omission largely but lies nonetheless.

He can't even meet her eyes, can't even be in the same room as that awful, stony-faced judgement. If she was screaming at him, or sobbing, or even attacking him or smacking him with a vase like Joan did to Greg... then maybe he would be able to manage things. Instead he's facing a monolith, a woman armed with the one thing he fears the most: the truth about himself.

He leaves the room, saying he needs a drink. Making it down the stairs and to the kitchen, he staggers like an old man to the sink. There isn't even the suggestion of considering slipping out the door to let Suzanne know what is happening, I doubt he even remembers she exists in this moment. He pours water and splashes his face, and then Betty is there again, tossing the shoe-box onto the counter, asking him if he's thinking what to say or looking at the door, contemplating running away yet again.

"I'm not going anywhere," he managed, and for a moment he looks resolved.... and then he pulls out a cigarette and fumbles it, hands shaking, the loss of physical control an obvious symptom of the loss of psychological and emotional control he usually works so hard to maintain. This does engender the barest twinge of sympathy from Betty, even now after all this caught off-guard by just how deeply rocked Don has been by this exposure. She tells him to sit down and she'll get him a drink, and he does as he's told, in no fit state to do anything but as he's told.

He manages to light his cigarette, and she brings him a glass and a bottle. He pours, drinks deeply, and then comes the statement/accusation: "You bought her a house." Rather than explain, he simply asks where she wants him to start, and she begins with the most obvious question: what is his name? "Don Draper," he insists with genuine intent,"...but it used to be Dick Whitman."

So who is the other woman then? Even now that she knows so much, the truth is confusing, and he has to dive deeper, tell her things he should have told her long ago. He ran away by joining the Army, he was able to leave Korea early thanks to a mistake made after an accident that killed the original Donald Draper. He met that Draper's wife and took care of her (here he manages to lie by omission again, not mentioning that SHE tracked him down, making it sound like looking after the late Don Draper's wife was his active decision), and then divorced her the minute he met Betty. In the midst of this, he makes two revelations that shake his sense of identity to the core, a rare moment of self-awareness from a "self-made" man.

The first is that what he did was illegal. He broke the law. The second is what so many refuse to ever accept, that it really isn't just a matter of "pulling yourself up by the bootstraps". He used the clean slate that being Don Draper offered him to begin a new life, rather than trying to start a fresh one as Dick Whitman. He allowed every obligation and connection he had to be wiped by the lie of his death, giving him a blank slate as a full grown man with no baggage to carry into the future.

But he keeps forgetting that she knows details, that he mostly can't get away with vague answers or niceties. They didn't divorce the minute he met Betty, they divorced 3 months before he and Betty eventually got married. And that was 3 months where he could have told her the truth, let her know who the man she was marrying was. He counters that there would never been a right time: not a first date, not a wedding night. What that fails to account for is that he's been married to her for a decade now, they have 3 children together.... so he was NEVER going to tell her, no matter how right the time might have been, not until she took that decision away from him.

"Why did you need to know?" he complains, but she shuts down his attempt to get aggressive, snapping that he doesn't get to ask the questions tonight. Tonight is her turn for answers, and for once she is going to get them. She brings over the shoe-box, gesturing to the photos inside, accusingly stating that he has a family and sighing angrily when he mumbles that no he doesn't. She lets him know what she always thought, the gaps she filled in because he wouldn't tell her things. She assumed he was some local high school football hero who hated his father, that he had been poor and was ashamed of it. Betraying her own prejudices, she explains she knows because he doesn't "understand" money, the type of thing only people who have never been in want of it would say.

She asks if he saw "her" when he was in California, and he admits that he did, but adds that she reminded him he loved her (after he enjoyed a week off screwing Joy). Betty isn't moved by that though, asking how she can ever trust him, how can she love him? If he were her, would he love him? Here he admits his own deep-seated insecurities, saying he was always surprised she EVER loved him. She doesn't feel sorry for him though, how could she? How can she trust him when she doesn't even know him? "Yes you do," he insists, a lovely thought except of course we've seen for 3 seasons now that he actively goes out of his way to prevent her knowing him. Prevents her in a way that goes far beyond his Dick Whitman past.



Why did he leave the shoe-box here in the house though? She believes he must have wanted to get caught, and perhaps that is true. Don admits he didn't think he had a choice, again lying by omission by not telling her about Pete's blackmail attempt or Cooper's knowledge. Upstairs Gene begins to cry, the only thing that could pull Betty away at this time. She warns him that they're not done before going to answer the call. Don stands and for a moment considers this shocking turn of events, his exposure, everything. He collects up the shoe-box, looks at the photos, and then turns and slowly walks out of the kitchen and upstairs to the bedroom.

There he sits on the edge of the bed and waits. Hearing Betty leave Gene's room after settling him, he calls out to her so she knows where to find him. Gene kicked his blankets off which is what made him cry, and he soon went back to sleep after she tucked him back in.

He asks her to sit beside him, and then he takes the photos up in his hand. She stares at them, both disgusted by him but fascinated, wanting to finally know what he has kept from her all this time, the details of a past that will help fill in the blanks of the enigma that is her husband. He shows her Archibald, his father, but explains the woman beside was not his mother... his mother was a 22-year-old prostitute who died giving birth to him. The woman in the photo is Abigail, his father's wife, and she raised him. His father died when he was 10 and they moved, which is where she met "Uncle Mack" and married him.

"He was nice to me," he says at last, the first positive thing we have ever heard him say about any member of his family outside of Adam. It's Adam that Betty mentions next after Don tells her everybody else is dead, and he somehow seems surprised even now at how much she knows, how much she put together based on the photos and a few documents. Fresh guilt floods him as he admits that Adam committed suicide, barely holding back tears as he reveals Adam came to him for help and he turned him away... then admits it was worse than that, Adam didn't want help, he just wanted to be part of Don's life and Don was too scared of losing everything he'd built that he abandoned his own brother.

"I'm sorry, I am," Betty tells him as he actually breaks down crying, unable to hold it back any longer. She reaches out and tentatively places a hand on his shoulder, and here we see the horrible truth... Don could have revealed this to Betty so much sooner than he did. It would have been a difficult conversation, it might have even severely strained or risked their marriage entirely... but no more than the many, many awful things he has done independent of his hidden past. Even after 10 years of hiding this enormous truth from her, of having to be forcibly exposed, when he breaks down crying for a brother whose death he blames himself for, Betty reaches out with genuine sympathy to her husband.

This remarkable, remarkable scene ran for almost 15 minutes straight. Most of that was simply Don and Betty talking to each other. There was no score, no music or swelling themes to tell me how I should be feeling(there was, I simply was so enthralled I didn't notice it). There were few if any raised voices, no threats of violence. Yet watching it could not help but make me think of the Tony/Carmela scene in White Caps, which is arguably the greatest ever episode of The Sopranos. The two scenes could not be more different, outside of both of them having at the core a wife confronting a husband over a terrible secret. Carmela is enraged, screaming, sadistic at times, accusatory and emotionally charged. Tony is stunned, guilty, using performative bellowing to try and hide his fear.

Here in Mad Men, which shares a clear lineage with The Sopranos' production and writing staff, we see the other side of that coin. Betty is cold, controlled, in charge not just of herself but of Don, completely flipping the script from her season 1 self. Don is at a loss for words, physically and emotionally shaken in a way absolutely the opposite of his usual hyper-controlled facade. But each scene engenders a recognizable, intense emotional reaction that draws the viewer in.

I didn't feel a second of that 15 minutes. I just sat watching it agape, from the moment Don's face fell in horror I was absorbed, and then suddenly it was over and I realized the enormous amount of content that had just flowed into me seemingly independent of the normal passage of time. I wasn't watching a television episode, I wasn't watching a scene, I wasn't even watching two very accomplished actors nail amazing performances. I was watching Don and Betty Draper have it out over the stinking lie at the heart of their marriage. It is the best scene I have ever seen in this show, and that is saying something. It was, and is, absolutely incredible.



The happily married Roger Sterling, however, it still at work late in the evening, long past his usual 4:30pm escape. He's drinking and making phone-calls, because while Annabelle is gone from his life there is another woman who remains on his mind in a good way. He's calling a colleague named Bob to recommend him Joan Harris, explaining that she may be expensive but she'll also whip his office into shape like he's always complained needs to happen. Whoever Bob is asks after Jane, perhaps testing the waters considering Roger is calling up talking about the beautiful redhead who used to work for him, but Roger doesn't feel the slightest bit uncomfortable or guilty, simply thanking him for asking. He hangs up and sits back, feeling good about himself. He's done something out of genuine affection, for the second time this episode Roger Sterling of all people has done the right thing.

The subject of their conversation is setting the table for two at her apartment, hoping perhaps that - much like the time he raped her - they can just pretend the unpleasantness didn't happen and go back to the facade of a perfect young couple (Betty Draper of all people could commiserate and also scream warnings to her). Greg returns home, looking a little sheepish but bearing flowers, and offering her both an apology as well as a joke making light of the loss of their vase, perhaps hoping to make it clear he bears her no ill will.

He promises to buy her lots of things and, holding her temper but still not happy, Joan points out it isn't about him buying her things. But what he says next gives her pause, because without reservation he apologizes, admitting that he has been an rear end and lashing out because he couldn't have what he wanted. She lets him keep talking, and he's happy to do so, saying he was faced with a problem he couldn't solve and taking it out on her... but he's found the solution at last, and it was so easy! It was right in front of him in fact... he's joined the Army!

Oh my loving God.

She simply stares as he almost sings that they're both going to be taken care of, and the best part is he'll only have to do six weeks basic training AND he gets to be a surgeon after all, because the Army needs them! He can even have his residency in New York! Joanie is startled and, perhaps in spite of herself, hopeful... could it really be that simple? But... what about after his residency? Oh that? He says he "might" have to go somewhere, but it'll probably be West Germany or "maybe Vietnam, if that's still going on."

Oh my loving God.

But he keeps on talking, about how often married doctors or ones with families don't have to go overseas, plus he'll go in as a Captain which means SHE won't have to work anymore. He CAN give her the life he promised, and have the one he wanted, and it'll all be paid for by Uncle Sam! There is no possible downside, this plan cannot fail! She doesn't know what to say, but she gets caught up in his excitement, in his begging her to tell him this will make him happy because that's all he wants. She agrees it is wonderful, and they embrace, and she eagerly agrees that they'll flag soup for dinner and go out to celebrate. But as she walks away, her face.... it doesn't fall exactly, but it is troubled. Joan is no fool, and there's no such thing as a free lunch, what the gently caress has Greg gotten himself into?

Night has truly fallen now, and outside on a suburban street in Ossining, a forgotten figure emerges. Suzanne Farrell has long since realized that Don won't be coming back, or can't. But she has waited, not hoping for his return but for the cover of dark to slink away. She can't be exposed, not for the risk to herself but also to protect Don, looking after him even though he has - for the moment, and understandably if not forgivably - forgotten about her.

She walks on into the night, knowing something is wrong but not what. That is not her privilege, and this is a reminder of her status which she went into knowingly but doesn't have to like: she's not Don's wife, she's not even his girlfriend. She is the "other woman", and her needs sadly come last, even in her own ranking.



Indeed, Don brushes his teeth and rinses his mouth, dressed in his pajamas, wandering just how an evening that started with plans for a sexy trip up to Norwich Inn ended with his entire hidden history utterly exposed to a wife who demonstrated a poise and control beyond anything he has ever seen from her before. If he thinks of Miss Farrell he certainly gives no sign.

He wakes the next morning and for a moment lies in bed, perhaps wondering if it was a dream, maybe just perplexed how he has managed to stay in the house and his own bed rather than being kicked out on the street. Betty is not in the bed, and when he gets up he sees her luggage remains unpacked. The shoe-box sits on the dresser, and he picks up the photos and prepares to put them away, to hide them inside again... and then realizes there is no point. Who would he be hiding them from? He simply leaves them where they were.

Downstairs in the kitchen, the kids are completely oblivious to the radical shake-up in the power dynamic of their home. Sally and Bobby are eating, Gene is seated in his carry chair wriggling his little limbs about, watched by Betty. Don enters, dressed for work and unsure of his current status. Betty turns to acknowledge him and simply asks if he wants breakfast. He stands blinking for a few moments, mentally trying to understand what is happening, is everything fine now or are they just keeping up appearances? Sadly uncharacteristically, for once he actually asks if SHE is having anything to eat.

Bobby breaks away from his fixation on breakfast to ask his father if he'll be trick-or-treating with them tonight. Don, who only a few days earlier had been willing to let his kids go do that in Philly with his wife while he banged Sally's old schoolteacher, promises Bobby that of COURSE he'll be trick or treating with them. He stops by Betty, reaches out and places one hand on the back of her head, looking for a sign of how to progress. She doesn't encourage a kiss but nor does she flinch away, and for now he will have to be satisfied with this. So he kisses his kids goodbye and heads out the door, pausing first to stare at his wife and tell her that he'll see her tonight. She doesn't respond, but she also doesn't offer any sign of rejection, and again he will have to take that as positive a response as he is likely to get.

At Sterling Cooper, he surprises Allison with his appearance, she thought he had canceled his plans for the week? He canceled the plans he canceled his other plans for, he explains, but dismisses her asking if they should reschedule United Fruit back to their original appointment, because he has plenty of work to do. As he moves for his door, he pauses for a moment to consider the name on the door: Don Draper.

The business, of course, is finally calling Suzanne. He admits he stopped by her apartment earlier but there was no answer when he knocked, and she explains (he gets an explanation for her absence, of course) she was out running. She asks if he was caught, and there is a hint of hope in that question, even now she hasn't been able to help thinking maybe if his marriage collapses she might somehow end up with him even if there are other enormous consequences for her career and standing in the community?

"It's more complicated than that," he offers at last, and with a quiet,"Oh," she asks if this means she won't be able to see him again. "Not right now," he replies and holy loving poo poo, really? Not right now? NOT RIGHT NOW!?! Has he learned loving NOTHING? Is his only reaction to the life-shaking events of the previous evening that he thinks he has to put his extra-marital affair on hold for a little bit? Or is he just trying to let her down gently? Is that even a less lovely thing than just taking a brief break before going back to business as usual?

Suzanne lets it sink in for a moment, because she probably suspects,"Not right now," means,"Never again," in actuality. She closes her eyes, lets the emotions wash over her for a second, then forces a smile and asks him if HE is okay. He's charmed as ever by her, of course, because of course she would be thinking about him rather than herself. She might be charming and sweet but she's also not naive, and she asks a question pertinent to her own well-being: it's "complicated" but does that means she is at risk of losing her own job? "Okay... goodbye," she manages to get out, holding back her sobs, and hangs up. Maybe she'll be back, maybe this is it, but one thing should have been made painfully clear to her if her long wait last night didn't: she's the bottom rank when it comes to his priorities.

Don returns home that evening as promised, a hyper-active Bobby leaping to his feet declaring that now they can go. Betty warns him to keep it down so he doesn't wake the baby, and he manages to restrain himself only to not speaking, running around Don and then jumping from foot to foot trying to contain his excitement. Sally of course just wants to show off her costume to daddy. Bobby is dressed as a hobo complete with cigar, while Sally is a "gypsy", which Don marvels over appropriately (and thanks goodness she's not dressed in a cheap Minnie Mouse outfit).

Betty stands and asks if he wants anything to eat which he declines, and so she asks if she should just carry Gene or put him in the carriage. Testing the waters, Don notes it is cold outside so if she likes she could stay at home with Gene... or he could? "No," says Betty simply after a moment's consideration, and more besides hands Don the last half of her hot-dog to finish off. "Good," he nods, while inside he is leaping for joy. Every single action indicates acceptance, that against all odds now that she has finally gotten him to come clean (on certain things) she is at least willing to attempt a return to some level of normalcy.

How much of that is the knowledge of the difficulty of divorce, how much is taking to heart Milton's suggestion of trying to make things work, how much remains of genuine love for a man she simply did not want to keep important thins from her? Perhaps it doesn't matter, the end result is that Don Draper's marriage remains intact for now, even if he doesn't particularly deserve for it do so.

So finally, after far too long a wait for Bobby's liking, they head ou onto the street to join the other throngs of children excitedly collecting candy from strangers. Their first stop is at Carlton and Francine's (they were invited to their party and declined, remember?), where Carlton happily passes out candy to "The Gypsy and the Hobo". He looks up at the parents, asking the innocent question he'll probably ask every parent who comes. It's a question that gets to the heart of Don Draper's conundrum though.



He told Betty in no uncertain terms that even if he used to be Dick Whitman, he was now Don Draper. But what does being Don Draper mean? At the end of the first episode of the first season, I didn't know who Don Draper truly was and I noted that I suspected Don himself didn't know. It's now three seasons later, and I feel I have a better grip on the type of person Don Draper is. What I suspect, however, is that even now after all this time, all these revelations, all these confrontations etc.... Don Draper still doesn't know who he is, or who he is supposed to be.

Episode Index

Jerusalem fucked around with this message at 13:22 on Apr 22, 2021

Shageletic
Jul 25, 2007

catching up with the thread but just wanted to post this



This coming Sunday marks the 45th anniversary of America’s first moon landing. But moon fever started well before the historic 1969 event, and Hilton Hotels was quick to float the idea of the “Lunar Hilton,” the first ever hotel to be built on the moon.

In the 1960s, Barron Hilton, president of Hilton, told both Cosmopolitan Magazine and The Wall Street Journal that he hoped to introduce the new Lunar Hilton at some point in his lifetime. He described his vision of the hotel as 100 rooms built underneath the surface of the moon, with an observation dome that allowed guests to look back at the earth.

These plans stirred up excitement and intrigue all over the world. The hotel chain even printed “reservation cards” (below), for people to put down their name and reserve an exclusive room in the lunar hotel. They received thousands of responses.

Shageletic
Jul 25, 2007

also just caught this from Jerusalem's review

quote:

On paper [Don] does the same thing as Pete, in reality the two couldn't be any more different

lol

Shageletic posted:

Thinking about it, this ep was once again Pete trying to mimic his more suave counterparts, following their behaviors without the ability to obsfucate or grounding to hold back. Don chasing a woman who is already his, Henry chasing a woman who saya no but might be into him. And Pete, as usual, the faded carbon copy of more confident personalities, doing everything the same but so much worse.

E: Pete is also much more honest about it too.

Shageletic fucked around with this message at 14:41 on Apr 21, 2021

JethroMcB
Jan 23, 2004

We're normal now.
We love your family.


It's such a magical moment.

Torquemada
Oct 21, 2010

Drei Gläser

quote:

new wife smell
S-tier forum user name right here.

Shageletic
Jul 25, 2007

Yoshi Wins posted:

I knew Kinsey went to rub one out, but somehow I never thought of it as masturbating to the Marilyn ad before. That's hilarious.

On the subject of Don keeping a change of clothes at the office: I think there was an evolution of his behavior, but not one that came around to being morally acceptable (obviously). In season 1, he seemed to think it was his right to have a mistress, but he was wary of falling in love, which is why he sheepishly told Rachel he was married after their first kiss. I think in Out of Town, we saw that he intends to do his casual cheating further from home. But now with Suzanne, he's cheating closer to home than ever before.

I believe Don thinks he still has the right to cheat if he's really feeling crappy. He started the affair with Rachel on the night that Roger had his heart attack, which shook him up. He starts the affair with Suzanne after his father substitute Connie bullies him, which I think cut him pretty deep. So it's like he thinks, "If I need it, I should still be able to cheat on my wife."

This is, uh, not a good way to think, and in fact, morally this is the most heinous affair we've seen him engage in. So I'm not trying to let him off the hook here at all--I just want to look at how he his the same and how he is different from before.

I never cared for the way Lane is depicted as a do-nothing boob at work in season 5. In this season, he seems pretty sharp to me. Cooper is not the easiest person to manipulate, but Lane does it so well that Cooper basically doffs his cap and says, "Well done, sir." I feel like the "Lane is incompetent and/or doesn't do anything" angle in season 5 is just there to explain why no new financial officer character needs to be brought in after his suicide, and it always felt phony to me. What say you folks?

There's definitely a degradation in the way Don acts. As if the earlier seasons were him at his most shining, gleaming, and this season is him being increasingly...tawdry.

Like the show cycle is a metaphor for a person's life, we are falling into Don's midlife crisis.

The Klowner
Apr 20, 2019

by Jeffrey of YOSPOS
It's a birthday miracle! Can't wait to read this

Yoshi Wins
Jul 14, 2013

The confrontation scene truly is wonderful. It's so fascinating to see when Don tells the full truth and when he is deceptive. He's completely honest about what happened with Adam, which is the worst thing he's ever been (at least partially) responsible for in his life, but he is really deceptive about the months before he married Betty ("I divorced her the minute I met you" is an absurd lie).

This was the episode that was submitted for consideration for an acting Emmy for Jon Hamm. Really unfortunate for Hamm that he was up against Bryan Cranston, who won for the season 3 finale of Breaking Bad.

Shimrra Jamaane
Aug 10, 2007

Obscure to all except those well-versed in Yuuzhan Vong lore.
Bryan Cranston won like 4 emmys in 5 years which is kind of bullshit considering all of the competition he faced.

Yoshi Wins
Jul 14, 2013

Although I love the scene where Betty confronts Don, I think the Annabelle stuff in this episode is kind of weak. I think the parallel between her clinging to the company name and clinging to her past with Roger is way too on the nose. And I really don't like the focus group scene, because it just oozes, "Don't you hate stupid SHEEPLE" to me. The restaurant scene and the one right after where Annabelle is really drunk are pretty good. They did a good job giving us a sense of what it was like when they were dating just with little snippets about random memories.

Also, Annabelle's name is similar to Mirabel, the woman whose name Roger said he loved so much on the night he had his heart attack. I wonder if we're meant to interpret that as meaningful. Because this is Mad Men, I think probably less, but it's a small enough to detail to possibly just be a coincidence.

The Klowner
Apr 20, 2019

by Jeffrey of YOSPOS

Yoshi Wins posted:

This was the episode that was submitted for consideration for an acting Emmy for Jon Hamm. Really unfortunate for Hamm that he was up against Bryan Cranston, who won for the season 3 finale of Breaking Bad.

It's one of the least bullshit "actor got cheated out of an award" moments ever. Like if Jon Hamm is gonna lose out on an Emmy for this episode, it better drat well be to an actor of Cranston's caliber on one of the greatest shows of all time

The Klowner
Apr 20, 2019

by Jeffrey of YOSPOS

quote:

It is the best scene I have ever seen in this show, and that is saying something. It was, and is, absolutely incredible.

Oh, we have such sights to show you...

sebmojo
Oct 23, 2010


Legit Cyberpunk









I mean it is a show high point, it's just... not the only one.

The Klowner
Apr 20, 2019

by Jeffrey of YOSPOS
Also

quote:

This remarkable, remarkable scene ran for almost 15 minutes straight. Most of that was simply Don and Betty talking to each other. There was no score, no music or swelling themes to tell me how I should be feeling.

There is music playing very quietly and subtly throughout much of this sequence, namely while Don is walking out of the kitchen after Betty leaves, and while he tells her about Adam in their bedroom

McSpanky
Jan 16, 2005






Gaius Marius posted:

Burt Is a lot more Keen than one might assume, Paul however is hopeless

I completely forgot that Burt shows up a few more times throughout the show and bounced back just fine, whereas we all know what happened to Paul...

Gaius Marius
Oct 9, 2012

McSpanky posted:

I completely forgot that Burt shows up a few more times throughout the show and bounced back just fine, whereas we all know what happened to Paul...

Are you mixing up Freddy Rumsen and Bert cooper?

Yoshi Wins
Jul 14, 2013

Gaius Marius posted:

Are you mixing up Freddy Rumsen and Bert cooper?

Pretty sure they're talking about Burt Peterson.

Jerusalem
May 20, 2004

Would you be my new best friends?

The Klowner posted:

Also

There is music playing very quietly and subtly throughout much of this sequence, namely while Don is walking out of the kitchen after Betty leaves, and while he tells her about Adam in their bedroom

Legit didn't even pick up on it at all!

Man it still blows me away to realise that sequence ran for close to a full third of the episode's running time. Did Mad Men have commercial breaks? Please God don't tell me they interrupted that scene to tell people how they could buy an "almost new!" car or to show man-children hanging out at Sonic or something.

Gaius Marius
Oct 9, 2012

Mad men had a lot of commercial breaks. An absolute ton. It was awful

Pause the show every ten minutes and throw this on for the authentic experience

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mJIvKRMMcRY

Gaius Marius fucked around with this message at 03:22 on Apr 22, 2021

GoutPatrol
Oct 17, 2009

*Stupid Babby*

McSpanky posted:

I completely forgot that Burt shows up a few more times throughout the show and bounced back just fine, whereas we all know what happened to Paul...

by showing up nominally in one episode and then fired in the next, yes, he does show up.

Schlieren
Jan 7, 2005

LEZZZZZZZZZBIAN CRUSH

Gaius Marius posted:

Mad men had a lot of commercial breaks. An absolute ton. It was awful

Pause the show every ten minutes and throw this on for the authentic experience

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mJIvKRMMcRY

Johnny Walker Red is atrocious

MightyJoe36
Dec 29, 2013

:minnie: Cat Army :minnie:

The Klowner posted:

Also


There is music playing very quietly and subtly throughout much of this sequence, namely while Don is walking out of the kitchen after Betty leaves, and while he tells her about Adam in their bedroom

The fact that there was music playing in the scene and Jerusalem didn't notice it speaks volumes about the scene.

Gaius Marius
Oct 9, 2012

or about the volumes of the scene

GoutPatrol
Oct 17, 2009

*Stupid Babby*

Or Jerusalem should watch with headphones.

Beamed
Nov 26, 2010

Then you have a responsibility that no man has ever faced. You have your fear which could become reality, and you have Godzilla, which is reality.


I dont remember hearing any music that scene either. It must be very subdued.

The Klowner
Apr 20, 2019

by Jeffrey of YOSPOS
Yeah my memory of the scene before I rewatched it was that it is completely quiet but the fact that it isn't does speak to the craft of the film tv-makers

Xealot
Nov 25, 2002

Showdown in the Galaxy Era.

Gaius Marius posted:

Mad men had a lot of commercial breaks. An absolute ton. It was awful

Pause the show every ten minutes and throw this on for the authentic experience

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mJIvKRMMcRY

Watching it live was pretty uncanny for that reason. Especially after the show crossed a sort of cultural rubicon where the ads started to reflect marketer's perception of who was watching. Christina Hendricks selling whiskey, but also John Hamm and John Slattery selling cars, and a ton of artsy, loosely-prestige ads for luxury goods in general. Not on purpose, it became a kind of ironic commentary on the show as you watched it: sad guy Don Draper looks wistfully to the open road, thinks about fleeing his obligations...in a brand new Mercedes-Benz C-Class. Mercedes-Benz, the Best or Nothing.

Jerusalem
May 20, 2004

Would you be my new best friends?

Gaius Marius posted:

Mad men had a lot of commercial breaks. An absolute ton. It was awful

Pause the show every ten minutes and throw this on for the authentic experience

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mJIvKRMMcRY

Can just see Don Draper going :cripes: after Paul Kinsey excitedly gave him a screening of this ad.

JethroMcB
Jan 23, 2004

We're normal now.
We love your family.

Xealot posted:

Watching it live was pretty uncanny for that reason. Especially after the show crossed a sort of cultural rubicon where the ads started to reflect marketer's perception of who was watching.

Yeah, between the period setting and the fact that it was a show about advertising, the ads got reaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaal cute to the point of insufferability.

Speaking of, at one point AMC launched a reality show about teams pitching ads to run after Mad Men; I guarantee the holdover between the two was almost nil.

Annabel Pee
Dec 29, 2008
I remember in the UK at least for season premiers and stuff they showed period accurate ads instead which was pretty cool.

MightyJoe36
Dec 29, 2013

:minnie: Cat Army :minnie:

Schlieren posted:

Johnny Walker Red is atrocious

Maybe, but I'd definitely drink it with Christina Hendricks.

KellHound
Jul 23, 2007

I commend my soul to any god that can find it.
I just realized which episode is next and I'm very excited for some of the absurdity in it!

Jerusalem
May 20, 2004

Would you be my new best friends?

Season 3, Episode 12 - The Grown-Ups
Written by Brett Johnson & Matthew Weiner, Directed by Barbet Schroeder

Walter Cronkite posted:

President Kennedy died at 1pm Central Standard Time. 2 O'Clock Eastern Standard Time, some 38 minutes ago.

Pete Campbell lies huddled on his couch in his office, shivering. For once he's not sitting alone in the dark: daylight is shining through and his office door is open. He is however still wearing his coat, and is brought back to reality by the insisting prodding of his shoulder by the mittened hands of Hildy, also bundled up. There is something wrong with the heating in Sterling Cooper, and everybody is dressed as warmly as possible to try and fight off the cold.

He gratefully takes the cocoa she has brought him and holds it tight in both hands, trying to warm his frozen hands, complaining how ridiculous it is that it is colder inside than out. Hildy clearly doesn't like the cold either, but is more or less ambivalent: the building will fix the issue, they always do. She's more upset by Pete's initial gratitude instantly disappearing to complain that the cocoa she has brought him is Instant. She reminds him without being TOO accusatory that she got it from the diner (i.e, she went out of her way to bring this to him) and besides, she doesn't know how he can tell.

For Pete, who was bought up not just having the finer things in life but EXPECTING them, it couldn't be clearer. He sneers that he can tell because the diner uses water instead of milk. As always biting her tongue, Hildy lets him know that when she returned from lunch she was told that Mr. Pryce wanted to see him. Too cold to be alarmed (or even hopeful), Peter actually demonstrates some tiny level of self-awareness by apologizing for being short with her and admitting that - instant and made with water or not - the cocoa is doing its trick of at least slightly warming him up.

In Pryce's office the benefit of being Managing Partner isn't all that obvious, he is also bundled up and having a hot drink. The difference being that while Pete was shivering and pathetic, Pryce is maintaining the British "stiff upper lip", sitting calmly in place on his own couch and drinking tea (with gloved hands) and maintaining his poise. Pete enters the office, still clutching to his (instant) cocoa and hunched up in a vain effort to escape the cold.

He takes a seat when offered, and Pryce makes only the most token effort to soften the blow as he explains he has bad news: Ken Cosgrove is going to be the Senior Vice President in Charge of Account Services. Pete himself isn't being demoted, he is going to be titled the Head of Account Management, but even he can see this is more of a sop to hopefully keep him from feeling humiliated or enraged: Ken has "won" the "war" between them.

Doing his best to hide his disappointment and bitterness (and not particularly succeeding), Pete asks a question he will never get a satisfactory answer to: why? He points out he and Ken's billings are neck and neck, and in fact if you consider that he got the short end of the stick (he didn't, even if he and Ken's accounts had been swapped he'd still be certain he was getting screwed over) then he has actually over-delivered.

Lane makes what effort he can to compliment Pete on doing his job well, pointing out that he has an undoubted talent for ensuring his clients' every needs are met. The trouble is, and this is the type of intangible that somebody like Pete will never be able to wrap their head around, Ken has a rarer gift: his clients don't think they have any needs at all.



Slowly Pete nods, and Pryce commends him on taking it so well while also making it clear when asked about Cooper and Sterling that ultimately it was HIS decision (and thus, also his decision/to his credit that he gave Pete the improved title to avoid his humiliation at going back to a regular Accounts man). Pete stands and offers his hand, and Pryce makes a point of removing his glove before taking it, another personal touch to highlight that he appreciates and respects Pete... or rather, that he wants Pete to perceive this to be the case. Pryce assures him it absolutely was a difficult decision to make, and of Pete goes.

Pryce is probably congratulating himself. This was his experiment after all, to pit Ken and Pete against each other so each would work to out-compete the other and Sterling Cooper's billings would benefit as a result. Hell, it might even have worked if Pete had ended up "winning" the contest. But while he sits back thinking he's just gotten himself an accomplished Senior VP as well as a pathetically grateful "Head of Account Management", the truth is far from as rosy.

Because once again, Pete has been rejected. He's been told he's not good enough. That he doesn't have "it". That he's lesser-than. He telling himself bitterly that he isn't getting the credit he deserves. That he's being unfairly treated. That he's a victim. Why he is the most victimized and unfairly treated person in the world!

He returns straight to his office without a word, glaring as he passes Ken who is - of course - flirtatiously setting up a floor heater beneath the desk of a grateful secretary. He spots Pete and his smile compresses, trying not to look too pleased, to in fact look at least a little saddened. But surely he's been told or at least suspects: he has won the game he refused to play, simply by just doing his job well.

Pete goes into his office and emerges just as quickly, thankfully not brandishing the gun that even now remains an unsecured fixture of his decor. He's carrying his case, and tells a surprised Hildy that he doesn't feel well and he's going home. He took his "humiliation" in stride but he isn't going to stick around for the rest of the day brooding... he can go home and brood instead!

On the ground floor lobby, Peggy and her roommate Karen are returning from lunch... though Peggy is mostly just complaining about the cost of going out for a drink when she could have stayed in her office and drunk booze she didn't have to pay for. Karen seems unperturbed by Peggy's needling - which is far more like her mother than she might like to admit - as she has apparently become used to it since they started living together. In fact, it seems they get on well enough that in addition to going out to lunch together every so often, Karen is also fully aware of Peggy's extra-curricular activities... which rather surprisingly still include "Doug".

"Duck," corrects Peggy, not at all concerned by Karen's knowledge and familiarity with her love life. It seems that Duck is a regular at the apartment, to the point that Karen can recognize his aftershave when she smells it. She shakes it off though, admitting that she isn't even sure herself why she's bothering to talk about men right now. Peggy - again showing elements of her mother and sister - sweet agrees that it is good that Karen is being more picky.... "finally".

She's surprised when Karen admits that with only married men seemingly around, not everybody can throw caution to the wind. Realizing the insinuation, she quickly corrects Karen again: Duck isn't married. Karen lets out a little,"Oh!" of surprise, then ponders her mental image of Duck some more, looks at Peggy - young, making money, talented - and asks a question that surprises (and that perhaps she doesn't really know the answer to herself) Peggy: then why IS she with Duck?



It's a loaded question that can be unpacked in many ways: not least of which is that Karen seems to assume that Peggy would only be with Duck because she's getting some material advantage from it along with the "security" of knowing it can't ever get TOO serious. The elevator arrives, mercifully saving Peggy from the conversation. She spots Pete leaving and starts to give a little forced smile but if he notices her he doesn't give any sign, just strides past. She tells Karen she isn't sure if she is working late or not, and heads into the lift while Karen continues on towards her Travel Agency.

You know, Karen might be somewhat presumptuous but she took her roommate out for lunch AND waited with her by the elevators when she could have gone straight back to work, that's nice! But then, what else would you expect from a good Norwegian/Swedish (depending whose parents are being talked to) girl?

Another "nice" girl is Jane Siegel-Sterling, who has bought and sent a lovely gift to a friend. It's a diamond and sapphire studded pair of Van Cleef earrings, extremely expensive and luxurious... and utterly unwanted.

Because the recipient of the gift is one Margaret Sterling, the bewildered and miserable bride-to-be who is falling apart as her wedding day fast approaches and calamity after calamity keeps piling up. She's presented the gift to her mother, more upset that Mona simply takes it in stride as a typical Jane move, complaining that she always takes her side. Mona can't help but be amused at the idea that she's taking the side of a woman her husband of 25+ years left her for, but for Margaret it is long past a disgrace and almost into torture having to deal with her father's new wife.

Jane is, of course, roughly Margaret's age, and that has got to be psychologically distressing enough. But Jane has also started to give Margaret "advice" about how to keep a new husband happy, which can't help but make Margaret picture Jane doing these very things with Roger, which revolts and infuriates and disgusts her all the more. "She's ruined my life" sobs Margaret, to which Mona sensibly retorts her father had more than his share of responsibility for that.

She takes a seat beside her miserable daughter on the bed, passing her a tissue. Margaret lets it all out, that the wedding is cursed, that she doesn't want to get married and everybody knows the wedding is doomed, that Brooks' own mother told her that in India a bride is burned to death if the marriage doesn't take place when it is supposed to. Mona rolls her eyes, pointing out that just because Brooks' mother went to India doesn't mean she isn't an idiot.

But Margaret is determined now, repeating the same threat she made earlier in the season: if Jane comes to the wedding, then SHE will not be going. With the calm mindset of a woman who has seen and done it all before (and dealt with her daughter's tantrums for a good two decades now), Mona simply tells her that's not going to happen. Jane will come to the wedding because Roger wants her to come, and Roger is paying for everything so he gets to make that decision. Brooks is NOT like her father. His mother IS an idiot. Nobody is getting burned alive.

When Margaret starts to complain about not being listened to, she is shocked when Margaret sternly commands her to go to her room. Bewildered, she gapes as Mona simply states that if she wants to act like a child then she will be treated like one. While it is true that Margaret might be a bit of a brat, she actually DOES have a point: it is HER wedding, why should what is supposed to be the happiest day of her life - an event that her parents INSISTED she must have, by the way - instead be a day for her father to flout a new wife as young as herself in everybody's faces?

Where she falls down is in her response to prove she isn't a child... by running to the phone and putting through a call to, who else, but her daddy!

Roger - an adult child himself in many respects - is languishing on his bed at home with a cigar and a glass of booze when the phone starts ringing. He turns to stare at the ringing phone, an impossibly far half a foot away from him, and yells out for somebody to get it. When it turns out a butler wasn't actually standing somehow just out of view six inches away from him, Roger sighs and with an almighty effort picks up the receiver himself.

He listens, baffled, as Margaret sobs that it should have been her bridesmaid or "mommy" who gave her something new and blue. Who is she talking about... WHAT is she talking about? He asks her to put Mona on, and with savage triumph Margaret jabs the receiver in Mona's direction, following on what has apparently been a lifetime of sulking and trying to play her parents off against each other.

Has it EVER been a successful strategy though? Perhaps with her father, but Mona is no fool, and when she takes the phone she handles everything expertly. Roger attempts to "handle" the situation, telling Mona exactly what to say to put Margaret in her face, and Mona simply ignores him and tells Margaret that her father has promised to control Jane. When Roger "bravely" declares he won't play chicken anymore and will take the wedding deposit out of her inheritance if Margaret cancels the wedding, Mona simply informs Margaret that the wedding is now off.

At first Margaret tries to play it cool, but when Mona asks her - firmly - if she is really sure this is what she wants, Margaret breaks down miserably and admits that no it isn't, she DOES want the wedding to happen. So once again Mona dismisses her, commanding her to go get something to eat and complaining she doesn't want to take her dress in AGAIN.

Once Margaret is gone though, Mona - still in control - doesn't mind venting a little: why did Jane buy Margaret such a ridiculously expensive gift? He admits that he wasn't even aware they ever saw each other, promising that he had "forbidden" such meetings, despite his insistence in an earlier episode that Margaret had to not only accept Jane's presence in her life but somehow embrace it.

Mona is amused at the thought that Roger still thinks he could ever order his wife (whoever that might be) not to do something, but also more than a little fed-up with all the drama herself. She admits that she really can't wait for Margaret to finally be out of the house, and almost my muscle memory Roger asks the type of question he would have once done by rote when they were married, asking her if everything is all right. Mona openly laughs, because now this isn't a dance EITHER of them have to do anymore, and it doesn't matter whose fault that is. She simply says goodbye, and on his end Roger can't help but see the humor either, offering his own goodbye before hanging up.

It's actually kind of sad, the last connection between these two is Margaret and even she is soon to start her own entirely new life independent of them (apart from the money!). This phone-call is now redundant with Margaret out of the room and there is no need for it it continue, just like once Margaret is out of the house there is will be few if any reasons for Roger and Mona to have any interactions at all.



Roger takes a moment and then bellows for Jane, and she comes walking in from the corridor dressed to the nines either about to go out shopping or just returning from it. Pleased to see him, she notes she didn't realize he was home and he admits that he overdid it at lunch... and that he just heard she has also overdone it. Jane immediately knows he is referring to the earrings, and complains that she is sick of the awkwardness between her and Margaret... and thought spending Margaret's father's money on an overly-expensive gift meant to be given by her mother or bridesmaid would sort everything right out!

She complains that SHE is the good person here, but Roger grumbles that she's not good, she's bad, because she didn't do what she was told. Jane's temper skyrockets, as she complains - eerily reminescent of Margaret - that he always takes HER side, and reminds him that SHE is his wife and he should be defending her instead. What's more, she snarls, and on this she is absolutely right, this is her house as well and she has every right to do what she wants. She undercuts this proclamation of her rights somewhat by then retreating to another room and locking the door behind her.

Roger, his authority undermined, follows after her, warning her that she better not have locked the door. It's an empty threat though, she has locked the door and it's not like he is going to kick it in. While she might have left the room like Margaret, Jane isn't cowed or awed by Roger's authority like Margaret is with Mona. Now he has TWO unhappy young women in his life.

Like Jane, Trudy Campbell comes home to find her husband unexpectedly not at work. Pete sits sulking at the dining room table, eating leftovers straight from the dish. She asks (happily!) why he's home, and is horrified when he grumbles that he got fired. She immediately asks what happened, and he petulantly mumbles that Lane told him Kenny is now "senior something of something accounts." The most important part of that being, of course, that Pete is not, he's just "Account something."

He complains that he couldn't even hear whatever it was Lane was saying, he just stood and watched his "frog-like mouth flapping". Trudy, still caught up on that initial,"I got fired," tries to make sense of all this: so did Lane ask him to leave? "No," whines Pete, and choosing her words carefully Trudy reaches out a comforting hand and tells him she HAS to ask... did Pete himself lose his temper?

"No, I didn't," he mutters, obviously regretting that he didn't. But Trudy is trying to understand the angles, as well as doing her best to navigate the minefield of her husband's self-destructive ways. So if Lane didn't ask him to leave, and Pete didn't lose his temper, and no mention was made of them being desperate to keep Pete there (which means, in her mind, that the subject of Pete leaving did not come from EITHER side)... that means he's still got his job, still got a future, still got a chance.

Pete cuts her off before she can verbalize that, telling her to stop playing Ellery Queen, because he's made his decision: he's calling Duck. Trudy immediately shuts that down, no he isn't! If Sterling Cooper wanted to fire him he'd be fired (boy is that true, Cooper long since removed his protection), so all he has to do is continue biding his time.

Proving the lie that he didn't hear what Pryce said, Pete complains that he was told he cares too much about his clients and they know it. How could that be bad? he demands with the same kind of desperate need for approval his clients probably see. She doesn't answer, instead she offers comfort: he holds all the cards, she assures him, a patently absurd statement, and everything is going to be fine. She gives him a little kiss on the head, and takes the dish away from him to return to the fridge.

He allows himself to be comforted, because after all despite everything he likes the comfortable little niche he has at Sterling Cooper, and he likes being told he somehow came out on top in his latest humiliation, and he likes being valued and comforted by his wife who gives him the validation he craves. So he continues to do just what he's done ever since his failed blackmail attempt, he sits back and hopes things will somehow change for the better by themselves.

In the wee small hours, baby Gene wakes at the Draper Residence and lets out an almighty wail over some minor disturbance that has unbalanced his entire world. This is something that he will hopefully eventually grow out of, unlike Margaret Sterling and Pete Campbell. In bed, Betty Draper wakes to the sound and turns in the bed, not entirely surprised to find her husband is nowhere to be seen. She places a hand against the pillow, perhaps seeking some proxy contact with Don... or more cynically to see if it is cold and he has been gone for quite some time.

She sleepily makes her way down the hall and into Gene's bedroom... and there's Don, sitting in the rocking chair cradling little Gene in his arms, helping settle him. She stares in surprise for a moment and the sighs, and it is hard to tell if she is pleased, relieved or a little put-out to find him there. She admits she thought he'd left, but he simply states he is here and goes back to looking down at his son.

Betty thanks him for taking this turn, and he reminds her gently that he has done it before. He has, she agrees, but tells him she will be find to take over now. Standing gently so as not to upset the now quieted baby, he passes Gene to her and asks if she wants anything. Grateful for the offer, she declines and tells him she will return to bed soon. He leaves the room, and she settles into the chair, staring down at her now peaceful son, quieted thanks to the surprise presence AND active engagement of his father.



The next day at Sterling Cooper, the building now has the opposite problem to the previous day. Paul sits in Peggy's office with her as they go over an Account, dripping with sweat as the heat has been cranked right up inside. Olive buzzes through to let Peggy know that "Mr. Herman" is on the line, a name that triggers recognition from Paul, because of course Herman was the real life first name of that weirdo teetolar they had working for them a year or so back before he went crazy and tried to take Don Draper out of the game, and ate poo poo for his trouble.

Peggy answers and asks Paul for a minute alone, but he mouths back,"No,", having no intention of going anywhere. Of course it is Duck, gleefully telling her that he's right around the corner at the Elysée and wants her to come join him. She tries to beg off, saying she has lunch plans already with Kurt and Smitty, but he smirks and declares they're "a couple of homos" and she can blow them off and come order in room service with him.

In spite of herself she blushes and grins, and Paul is thrilled (and surprised) to see the sudden girlish look on her face, able to take a rough guess as to what exactly the caller on the other end of the line is saying. She points out it is short notice, but knowing that she's already capitulated on some level, he just grins and tells "Creative" to "be creative" and hangs up.

Peggy's creativity is worthy of Paul's in this moment, as she stands with the barest effort to suppress her giddiness, then tells him that she needs to go to the printer. Paul doesn't object or insist they continue their work, instead he simply stands, closing his folder and leans forward knowingly, declaring,"I know a nooner when I hear one!"

Gasping, she declares he's disgusting, but he's already out the door with a great mood after seeing Peggy Olson is as human as any of them. Ironically, his "nooner" quip is a sign that the one thing she has continually been in search of is coming true: for once Paul is treating her like "one of the boys"... which sadly generally consists of being disgusting!

In Harry's office, he's eating lunch at his desk and taking notes as he watches television, meticulously making sure that all the commercials Sterling Cooper's clients have paid for are being aired. Pete pops in and closes the door behind him, taking a seat and giving Harry the news: the Senior VP job went to "Kenny and his haircut", a jab/accusation that Kenny somehow got the role based on his looks alone rather than... I dunno.... coming from a high society Manhattan family?

Harry knows, of course, though he assures Pete that he only found out after the fact. He also doesn't mince words, straight up telling Pete that whatever the decision means, ultimately it can't mean anything good. They both lament their lack of future, Harry - who created his own department and was singled out by PPL as a major asset to restructure the company around - claiming all he did was spot something that other Agencies had which Sterling Cooper doesn't. Pete - who picked up on the fact that there is a growing consumer base in Black America - sighs that nothing like that exists in accounts, and dismisses Harry's suggestion to look into Marketing by claiming that is the province of Research. He doesn't particularly want answers, after all, he wants to have a moan.

As they talk, unnoticed by either, the CBS broadcast Harry was watching has been interrupted. A special report is airing, something to do with President John F. Kennedy's motorcade in Dallas.

Don pops into Lane's office where he is eating lunch at his desk as well. Spotting the memo in Don's hand, Pryce has no doubt what he has come to see him about and agrees it is official without asking what it says. It is, of course, regarding Don's pick to fill Sal Romano's vacant spot with a new Head of the Art Department, a request that has been declined. Lane explains that Mr. Charcot is too expensive, and Don - barely controlling his temper - can't believe it when he says the clients don't appear to have noticed any lack now that the Art Department is without a man in charge.

Bitching about the heat (Lane, as physically in control as he was in the cold, says it is because he is allowing himself to get overexcited), he offers sarcastically to walk Pryce through a delivery schedule, determined to break through the Managing Partner's head that not everything comes down to a simple plus and minus on the balance sheet.

At the Elysée, Duck is watching Walter Cronkite report that there was an attempt on the life of President Kennedy, who was wounded and taken to Parkland Hospital. A knock on the door distracts him and, not wanting to spoil the mood, he unplugs the television so he can concentrate on enjoying Peggy (who he affectionately calls Pee Wee) for the afternoon. After all, it's upsetting for sure that the President was wounded, but life goes on.

Don, struggling to loosen his tie in the heat, is still bitching to Pryce about the lack of an Art Director, insisting he can't properly run Creative without one. Lane is confident (or least expertly equipped to present that facade) in the decision though, going so far as to lift the receiver and ask him if he wants to call Saint John Powell and complain about it directly to him. Just like Margaret though, Don knows who to retreat to when somebody calls his bluff on a tantrum, he's going straight to daddy!

In this case, daddy would be Bert Cooper, who he reminds Lane still has a say around Sterling Cooper in spite of the new ownership. Don leaves, more in control of himself now, and Lane lets his calm face drop to be one of irritation - after all, even if he might have been the machete cutting away at excess costs before, how can he reveal the truth of why there will be no more (expensive) hires? That PPL are looking to sell Sterling Cooper and want to make it as attractive an asset as possible, and paying a lot of money to a new Art Director won't work for that equation?

His phone rings and he answers, accepting the fact he's probably never going to get to finish his lunch. Whoever is on the other end tells him something short and sharp, and in utter bewilderment he echoes a phrase that was being bellowed in shock all across the country,"What!?!"

In Harry's office, still utterly oblivious to Walter Cronkite taking up the screen, Harry unknowingly repeats Trudy's line to Pete: if they wanted to fire you, they would've fired you. Harry takes a moment for his own self-pity, he's going to die at his desk unnoticed despite everything he has done for Sterling Cooper.

Suddenly a line of employees bursts through the door, horrified faces, all demanding to know why Harry isn't watching, why the sound is down etc. "Somebody shot the President" is said, and Pete and Harry finally pull their heads out of their asses to turn and pay attention to what has the nation transfixed, the channel being changed to another news report detailing the Secret Service being too late to prevent the shooting.

Outside on the secretarial floor, phones are ringing unanswered, only one secretary remaining (standing) at her station, sweating staining her armpit as she tries to make a call of her own. Everybody else is either in Harry's office or gathered around the radio. Don walks into this scene, staring confused and asking what the hell is going on. Suddenly, eerily, every single phone stops ringing. Nobody is doing business anymore. Anywhere. Everything has come to a stop, and even Don who knows nothing about what is happening realizes that SOMETHING is horribly amiss. The secretary alone at her station tries to get a signal, but there is nothing, the phone-lines are overloaded or simply going ignored at the switchboards all over the country.



Betty Draper is no exception. She sits at home on the couch watching in horror, the newscasters doing their best to equate this to something, anything in living memory to compare it to. The closest thing they can manage is the death of Roosevelt in 1945, but even that was a physically frail man in his 60s who had looked shockingly old and infirm in the final months before his death. Not so Kennedy, young and active (despite horrendous back problems) with a beautiful wife and adorable children, who had turned the White House into Camelot.

And then the worst happens. The newscaster is interrupted by a report that has just come over the wire, two priests who were with President Kennedy have reported his death. It is not official, it is not confirmed, but simply by voicing it, the worst fears have come true, the possibility has become all too real. Carla arrives, looking like she is in a walking daze, and she asks if Kennedy is okay. Betty manages to get out that they just reported he was dead and Carla lets out a gasp of horror and disbelief.

Both her and Betty begin openly weeping, Carla taking a seat beside Betty in a display of familiarity that would normally be inconceivable. As Carla lights up a cigarette to try and calm her nerves, Sally and Bobby walk in from the kitchen, picking up only now that something is going on, there is something wrong. Sally doesn't know what it is, but she knows her mother is crying, so she carefully approaches, nests on the arm-rest and puts a comforting arm around her mother's shoulders. It's all she knows how to do, this is a complete inversion of her usual life experience.

Among the small number of Americans unaware of what is happening, Peggy and Duck lie in bed post-coitus, Peggy complaining he may have given her a hickey and reminding him she's told him before she doesn't like it, and especially not the questions it raises from her mother. Now that the sex is over though, Duck finds himself thinking a little more about that news report, and admits as much to Peggy: there was something on the news he can't quite stop thinking about, and he just wants to see if there is any more information.

Peggy still doesn't know what this is all about, so she simply sits and watches as Duck turns on the television to Walter Cronkite talking about how Adlai Stevenson was recently assaulted in Dallas. Cronkite suddenly stops talking, putting on his glasses and reading a paper handed to him. Words that would go down in history spill from his lips, at first with his usual professionalism, coming slower, with pauses in the wrong places as he wrestles with the enormity of what he is reporting but continues to do his job... and continues past that, because the news goes on, and so coughing and holding back his own clear horror and sadness, he reports that the Vice President has left the hospital and the assumption is that he is about to take the Oath of Office... there will be a new President. Today.

President John F. Kennedy is dead.

Beneath the national tragedy, of course, are the many personal tragedies, some larger and some smaller than others. Arguably one of the latter, though understandably the former for her personally, Margaret Sterling is seated on the carpet in the bedroom in her wedding dress, sobbing in panic as her seamstress (there to confirm the dress still fits ahead of the ceremony tomorrow) and maid watch hand over mouth the reporting on the news. Mona can't take her eyes off the screen either, but does at least reach out to try to comfort her sobbing daughter, who sees this as the latest in a long series of signs that her wedding is utterly cursed and ruined beyond repair.

Don returns home to find no sign of Betty, and the children sitting eyes locked to the television screen. Eyewitnesses to the assassination are being interviewed on the news, talking about standing and waving to the President only for chaos to suddenly reign. Don stares down at the screen where a man is fighting back tears as he talks about the President going from waving cheerfully to slumped down in the car. He asks where Betty is, and Sally - eyes never leaving the screen - tells him she wasn't feeling well.

She enters the kitchen and Don immediately moves to her side, the two embracing as she admits she has been unable to stop crying. Don is there for her, of course, but he is also concerned for the kids and words it in the worst way possible, asking why they've been allowed to sit and watch the news. Surprised and a little upset at the question and insinuation she has somehow erred in her parental responsibility, she asks him a very relevant question: what is she supposed to do? Is she (and how is she) supposed to keep it from them.

After all, this isn't a story about military operations in Vietnam, or a report about a car crash, or some bad accident. Something you can distract the kids from for 5 minutes and the news has moved on to something else and everybody else has already forgotten about it. The President was murdered. You can't hide from that, you can't tuck it to the side or sweep it under the carpet. Somebody shot the President of the United States in the head while he was being driven around in Dallas, and it is all America (and the world) can talk about.

To be fair to Don, he's in uncharted territory too, he also has no idea how to deal with this. So he does what he's been doing for so long, he relies on his status as the Pater Familias to try and create the impression he in some way is in charge of an unprecedented situation. He radiates comforting authority as he tells her to go upstairs, take a pill and get some sleep and he will take care of the children. She goes willingly enough, oblivion feels like a respite right now.

Don returns to the living room, where he tells the children to turn off the television so he can make them dinner. They don't ignore him, they simply don't hear him at all. They're transfixed on the screen, where Jean Hill is telling the reporter how her friend Mary Moorman snapped what would become an infamous Polaroid of JFK only a fraction of a second after he was shot. For her part, Mary has her head down and is staring into nothing. The horror is real for almost all Americans today, but for her it was particularly traumatizing. It would be a long time before the public saw the footage of what she saw in person: the President's head almost literally exploding as a bullet passed through it.

Don sits down on the two-seater and tells Sally and Bobby to look at him. As Jean Hill recounts what happened, he explains to his children that everything is going to be okay: they have a new President, and people are going to be sad for awhile, but ultimately things will go back to normal. He mentions there will be a funeral on Monday, and it is Bobby's response to him that finally undoes him: will they be going to the funeral?

It's... too big. The whole thing. It feels personal to Bobby because he's never seen something affect everybody so much before that didn't personally involve the family: Grandpa Gene's death, daddy's mysterious disappearance a year or so back etc. Everybody's sad about the President's death, he must have been part of the family, so they must be going to the funeral right? Don helps Bobby take a seat behind him and surrenders, this is something he can't control or manage or shelter the kids from, or even answer their questions. Instead he joins them, sitting and watching in horror, fascination and despair the ongoing postmortem of what was supposed to be the most important, powerful, and untouchable (and in his case, young and charismatic and oh so "American") person in the world.

Jerusalem fucked around with this message at 00:04 on Apr 28, 2021

Adbot
ADBOT LOVES YOU

Jerusalem
May 20, 2004

Would you be my new best friends?

After he finally gets the children to bed, he joins Betty in the bedroom, turning off the radio as Governor Rockefeller expresses his deepest condolences to Jackie Kennedy. Don collects Betty's pills and takes a couple of himself. Tonight he will give up any pretense of control, he needs the help and he will take it.

The next day, the kids are in place in front of the television again, Betty seated on the couch still in her gown despite it being well past noon. On the news, Cronkite is giving background on the suspected assassin, a 24-year-old named Lee Harvey Oswald with Communist links, though he insists he himself is only a Marxist. Don joins them, dressed up and asking Betty to get ready as well.

She's surprised, he really intends to go out? She tries to go back to watching the television and he joins her momentarily, then pats her knee and tells her to get ready again. She can't believe it, surely the wedding is off? Don doesn't know, but even now in this state of affairs he isn't going to call Roger to ask him. He insists that if they show up and there is no wedding, they'll just go out to dinner instead. Finally he offers a genuine reason for his push to go, especially considering how many times he has expressed a desire to simply stay home and not have to do work-related functions: he simply can't bear the thought of staying in all day watching this misery on the news.

Betty forces herself up and trudges off to make herself up for a wedding that NOBODY wants to attend, while Don - not even bothering to attempt to break his kids free of their fixation on the television - tells Bobby and Sally to simply stay inside until Carla arrives.

Carla, remember, has a family of her own, and it is kind of bullshit that she is expected to come in today of all days to watch somebody else's.

Pete is also transfixed by the television, where a translated news bulletin from West Berlin is talking of a moving tribute paid to Kennedy in Rudolph-Wilde-Platz, site of his famous Ich Bin Ein Berliner speech. Like Don, Trudy wants to get out, she has dressed up and intends for them to attend Margaret Sterling's wedding. Pete at least is in his suit, but he's oblivious to her intentions, musing in quiet disgust that nobody ever voted for Lyndon Johnson and yet here he is: President of the United States.

It was Pete in season 1, remember, who for all his many, many other faults picked up on Kennedy's youth, dynamism and charisma making him a real contender to tap into a spirit for change and rejuvenation from the American people that a "self-made man" like Nixon simply couldn't counter. It felt, for a second, like everything about to change... and now it's gone, they're back to the same old, same old.

Pete's analysis is, of course, ignoring a lot of facts, like Kennedy's disastrous handling of the Bay of Pigs, his not entirely subtle infidelities, his part in the escalation of the conflict in Vietnam, and not to mention the fact that Pete himself is far from an agent of change and revolution: he is only estranged from his family's traditions because they ran out of money for him to inherit. But he's still got a valid point: the aftermath of Kennedy's death is a return to a status quo that has felt increasingly on the verge of change. That change may be more accurately sourced to the growing Civil Rights movement (and the growing counter-culture movement that will soon give birth to the "hippy"), but Kennedy's death also provides an outlet to express that growing sense of frustration and dismay with the American experience and the idea that the American Dream may just be a lie to keep people in line.

Trudy tries her best to keep her own gaze from being captured by the television. She tries to talk as if their departure is a simple fact and not something to be discussed, but Pete - finally grasping that she wants them to leave - asks why they're even bothering to go. She reminds him that it is business, there is a system, and this is something that HE has told her many times. He agrees that it is one thing to go along to an event like this (and impress with dance moves!) and pretend he doesn't hate his bosses... but it is another thing entirely to go along and pretend like the President hasn't just been murdered.

She sits down beside him, ready to offer him comfort but also push for him to get up and get moving... but then catches a whiff and asks if he has been drinking. He has, angrily proclaiming that the whole country has been drinking... and it isn't to celebrate some spoiled brat's wedding either. Trudy, like Don, had acknowledged that the Sterlings' might cancel but they had to go on the off-chance, but now Pete tells her bitterly why he knows they won't cancel... because they're happy.

Trudy listens in shock as Pete tells her about the things he heard being said in the office yesterday, like that Kennedy made a lot of enemies. She's outraged, regardless of politics this is not something that can be tolerated: there is no excuse for shooting the President, no mitigating factor... this is America! She's further revolted when Pete tells her that while Chet was talking about Jackie and the kids suffering through this loss, Harry Crane was hunting through paperwork to calculate how much their Clients were losing due to their ads not airing through the wall-to-wall news coverage.

"I'm not going," Pete declares defiantly, telling her she can go if she wishes but he won't be a party to the farce. Trudy considers and then surprises Pete by telling him he's right. She takes her shoes off and settles onto the couch beside him. He puts his arm around her, and though neither are happy to be sitting at home watching the ongoing postmortem, they are at least joined in the knowledge that they are there together, a rare unity of mind between them as for once they disdain political and business calculations and just do what they think is right.



Whether they're happy or not, the wedding has gone on and now the few guests who did show up are at the reception. Don and Betty Draper are there, and for once Jennifer Crane has managed to land a coveted seat at their table... because there are so few people around. She's happily explaining that she spoke with a friend who still works at the phone company, and it annoys her that people think the operators had all stopped working to watch the news since what actually happened was the entire system overloaded due to the stress of EVERYBODY calling. It's not exactly riveting conversation, but Jennifer is in heaven, she's sat at a table with the Creative Director of Sterling Cooper and his wife, attending the wedding of the daughter of one of the Agency's Founding Partners... and this time there is no Trudy Campbell to dance away all the attention!

The MC announces over the microphone that the Maitre'D has changed the seating arrangements given the number of absences, with a "simple" system of even numbered tables now taking the six front tables on the right, and odd numbers taking the left. Roger steps up and requests the microphone, and simplifies it further... just sit wherever the hell you want! He even advises people that they are free to collect whichever of the two main dishes they want or even both, they can help themselves. He gets a good laugh when he cheerily explains he means that literally, because there are no waiters!

Mona's date, Bruce Pike, is explaining how to set the worlds to right at their table. He points out that 3 months after Roosevelt died, America bombed Hiroshima and THAT is how they "got over it". That is what they need to do now, hang Lee Oswald and then "take care" of Texas... hell, the whole South! Everybody at the table just kind of... absorbs this, polite but non-committal smiles, none of them really wanting to talk about Kennedy. Mona asks how the sweetbreads were and Margaret, looking extremely relaxed now that the dread of the anticipation is over and she is FINALLY married, assures her mother she was right about the sweetbreads (and everything, really).

Roger strides by and quietly declares to Mona that the problems have now been all solved, but with a calm expression she informs him that the cake is not coming. "poo poo," he mutters, then takes her drink from her hand and walks away, stopping to down it as he and Don momentarily capture each other's eye... and then pretend they didn't.

Somebody catches Betty's eye though. A latecomer has arrived to the reception, and she can't help but mouth a tiny little,"Of course," under her breath... because of course it's Henry Francis. She watches as he moves confidently across the room, where he is greeted by a beautiful younger woman who stands and kisses his cheeks. Betty takes this in with horror roiling under her perfectly composed expression, but she can't take her eyes off the pair as they move in unison to the bride's table to offer their congratulations.

The woman congratulates Margaret, telling her she looks like Natalie Wood, then turns to Henry Francis and tells him that she wishes he could have seen the ceremony... and calls him daddy. Relief sweeps over Betty, betrayed only by a tiny little smile: Henry Francis has not abandoned her and moved on... that she knows! Her eyes remain locked on him though as she drinks her wine, her gaze noticed by Don but probably dismissed as just being focused on the bride.

Henry is his usual charming self, though he makes a slight misstep when he tells Brooks and Margaret that he heard the church was packed, and Margaret comments that they weren't there for the wedding. That seems to put a dent in her happiness, most of the attendees were probably there to pray for Kennedy... or America... and there in the midst of it was Margaret Sterling getting married.

As he and his daughter walk away, Betty watches them go, then casts a quick look at Don to see if he has noticed. He hasn't, and this failure almost seems to fill Betty with... contempt?

In the kitchen, a small group of guests have escaped to watch the television, where Lee Harvey Oswald is being transported as reporters fire questions at them and he calmly explains he has been denied legal representation and insists he is "a patsy".

Ken is getting open a bottle of champagne, Jane is horrified that THIS is what a "monster" looks like, Cooper just stares, and Harry details that Oswald lived in Russia, dismissing the distinction from Ken that he only visited. Roger appears in the kitchen, insisting they all get out and rejoin the others, snapping at one of the kitchen staff to go out and buy a cake.

They largely ignore him, focused on the television and Oswald who is about to be interviewed. Roger tells Jane she has to get out there for his toast, and she complains that she's already heard it a million times, and reminds him of a fact he is doing his best to ignore: the President is dead. Straight from that though she leaps into complaining that their table is empty, as if a better grouping of guests would have kept her out there. Roger growls that he consolidated the tables, then gives up and simply asks Cooper to keep an eye on her.

He leaves, and Cooper finally, slowly responds,"Absolutely," never taking his eyes off of the television. He lived through the Great Depress and two World Wars, he has seen multiple Presidents come and go, but apart from Franklin Roosevelt (a Democrat!) none of their deaths have probably had all that much impact on him. This one though. This one is different. The President killed in broad daylight by a 24-year-old "Marxist" hanging out in a book depository, an event covered in excruciating and seemingly endless detail in wall-to-wall television, radio and newspaper coverage going around the world.

Harry and Ken make their exit, they were business-conscious enough to come to this wedding in spite of the tragedy, so they're business-conscious enough to know that staying in the kitchen AFTER Roger demanded they return would be a bad idea. Cooper is beyond that, certainly beyond any power Roger might have... and right now so is Jane.



Roger makes his toast, as promised, and it is clearly different the one he intended or rehearsed with Jane. He's always been very good at making speeches, and warmly declaring his admiration and respect for people whether it is genuine or not. It would be nice to think that this one day he being sincere though, as - a quick joke at Jane's expense aside - he commends them all for coming out today to share in happiness rather than wallow in despair, and then makes a specific point of singling out Mona for how she has carried on and maintained everything through all the chaos, not just of today but the entire wedding (and, of course, her own divorce).

He welcomes Margaret and Brooks up and speaks about how they have proven an inspiration for all the adults (the "grown-ups") in attendance, and reminds them that if they can survive a day like today then marriage itself will be a cakewalk. Everybody raises their glasses as Roger toasts to "many years of happiness", and as they all drink, Betty turns her gaze on her husband for a moment, considering her own.

Roger takes Margaret out onto the dance floor for the first dance, and the MC starts to invite any other father/daughter pairings to join them before thinking better due to the reduced guests, and instead just invites everybody who wants to dance to come onto the floor. As couples (and Henry Francis and his daughter) take to the floor, Don turns to Betty and asks if she would like to dance, knowing how much she enjoys it. This time she is less than enthusiastic though, and Don mistakes this for being down and just needing a bit of a pick-me-up. He still thinks he can dress up nice, turn a charming smile on her and have her melt in his authoritative, powerful arms.

All the angst and misery has been forgotten in this moment for Margaret though. The anticipation is always worse than the actual thing, and now she is glowing as she dances with her father, standing up for Brooks when Roger critiques his dancing skills, but with a smile on her face because she knows he isn't being serious. Roger for his part beams with pride, he might be an arrogant jackass who wants things his own way all the time AND to be congratulated for getting it... but he's also overflowing with pride to see his daughter a grown woman married to a good man, and to have given her the happy day he believes to be his duty as a father to provide.

He catches a glimpse of Mona dancing with Bruce, and Margaret spots it. "She's happy," she informs him, happy enough herself in this moment (aided by the lack of Jane) to be content with her mother and father being happier apart than they were together. Roger of course can't help but make a little snipe, saying she won't be when she learns his net worth has dropped by a half (presumably he works in some field related to Kennedy?), but even that just gets a laughing admonishment from Margaret. Yesterday and probably after the honeymoon she'd invest all kinds of hidden meaning or bitterness in a remark like that. Not today though, today is her wedding and she is happy.

Betty is not happy, and up this close and personal even Don can tell. He doesn't know why though, or rather he assumes he does, that she is upset and feeling unsure in the wake of Kennedy's death, perhaps her old anxiety or depression returning. When she notices him staring, she tries to put on a smile which just makes it clearer she is upset, and so he does what he always does: he tries to make out that everything is under control.

He tells her everything will be fine, and is surprised when she instantly responds asking how. With nothing to say beyond the facade of his confidence, he instead leans in to kiss her. In the past it was always enough. She yearned for him, longed for his touch and his presence and his attention. When he pulls away from the kiss now though, there is more the impression of her fixed impression after Henry's kiss. When he tells her,"You'll see," as if he has all the answers and she need merely trust him, there is one perfect moment where you see her heart break before she puts her own facade back on. Whatever he is selling, in this moment at least she isn't buying it, and that hurts her... because once upon a time he could tell her anything and she would take it as the gospel truth.

As they continue to dance, Henry Francis is in parallel, unable to stop looking her way. His daughter has picked up on it, asking why he keeps looking at "that woman"? "What are you talking about?" he asks with a entirely too put-on laugh, turning away so Betty is to his back, making a point of "casually" turning his head in another direction as if his daughter simply mistook his normal head movements as being focused on Betty. No wonder he's just an advisor, if he wanted to be a politician he'd have to be a lot better liar than that.

As the reception finally winds to a close, Betty emerges from the bathroom and looks out at the waiting men. Don is chatting with Harry who is presumably waiting for Jennifer. Just a little across from and behind Don is Henry Francis, and now he makes no bones about the fact he is staring directly at her. Don catches sight of her and the focus shifts ever so slightly to bring him into prominence... but Henry does not fade into the background. Betty slowly approaches... and of course stops by Don, smiles at Harry's joke about Jennifer "falling in" and then leaves with her husband. Henry turns to watch her as she goes... but she never once looks back.



Roger returns home to his entirely too large home with his young wife draped over one shoulder, still an impressive enough physical specimen despite his awful diet and heart condition and age... so long as he doesn't have to climb 20+ flights of stairs with a belly full of oysters and martinis. Jane, of course, has drunk too much as always, though she is coherent enough to marvel that Kennedy was so young... and now she'll never get a chance to vote for him. Because, of course, she is incredibly young, yet another reminder of the vast gulf of experience between the two of them.

Settling onto the edge of the bed, he notices she has already passed out while still fully dressed, and tries to snap her awake by asking if she wants him to cut her out of the dress. This gets no response, and turning a bleary eye onto the phone he declares loudly that he's going to make a phone-call. Picking up the receiver, he dials from memory, quite the feat given how much of that work is normally handled by his secretary. Who is he calling on this, the night of his daughter's wedding? Why one of the other women he cheated on Mona with, of course!

Joan Harris answers the call, unable to help snorting out a little laugh when she realizes it is Roger calling as if it is the most natural thing in the world. Reminded that Margaret got married today, Joan admits she forgot and expresses condolences for the "poor thing". Finally free of his duties as the father-of-the-bride, Roger finally admits what he worked so hard to avoid all day.... it was a disaster. Still, they all pulled through, including himself, and made it through the day.

They sit in companionable silence for a few moments, before Roger notes how weirdly quiet it is in the city now. Not for everybody, Joan points out, Greg only just called to say he'd be working overnight in the Emergency Room... babies are still being born, accidents are still happening, people are still getting sick. Roger admits he's glad Greg wasn't home because he had to talk to her (not wanted to, had to), and then it comes out: nobody is saying the right thing about "all this".

Joan is surprised and admits as much, he really is upset about Kennedy's death in a way that nobody would have expected from him. Least of all himself, he asks what that is all about, not quite believing it himself, and of course as she always does, Joan gets to the heart of the matter... it's because there's nothing funny about this. Roger once joked about a man getting his foot hacked off by a lawnmower in their own office, cracks jokes about his own failed marriage and his daughter's often livid reactions to him. But not this... this was different in a way he hasn't really ever experienced before.

Jane, lightly snoring, flops one arm down across his knee. He gently puts it back, but the intrusion marks an obvious ending to his conversation. He tells Joan to hang in there, she offers it back, and he takes another little moment before saying goodbye, which she reciprocates. He hangs up, and sits there in his big bedroom in his big home with his young, drunk wife... and nothing else. Today was his only daughter's wedding, and now that it is done he can't share in the triumph and bittersweet joy with the only other person in the world who would understand his pride and happiness and fear and hope for Margaret, all of which of course is tried up in complex ways with his feelings over Kennedy's death.

Why did he reach out to Joan? Because other than Mona she's the only one who knows him well enough to understand how he feels in this exactly moment. He loves Jane, he adores her, even if she sometimes frustrates him, his rejection of a chance to cheat on her just last episode demonstrates that. But their relationship is still in the early stages, they are still forming and creating a shared experience... she wasn't even old enough to have voted for Kennedy, and tonight she's all he's got. And he's got nobody to blame for that but himself.

On Sunday, Betty is back to the couch, not made up, in a bathrobe, watching the relentless news coverage go on. Oswald is being escorted through the basement of Dallas Police headquarters to be taken to County Jail, but of course the place is packed with reporters, as well as a live television feed being broadcast on NBC. Don is in the kitchen making a drink when he hears a low thud coming from the television, and Betty suddenly screams in horror.

He rushes into the room, asking what is wrong, and what is wrong of course is that Betty has just witnessed a murder broadcast live on television - the assassination of Lee Harvey Oswald by Jack Ruby. Don can't believe it when she tells him, not because he's accusing her of lying, but because he literally can't wrap his head around the absolutely insane details of the last few days. Betty can't take it anymore, roaring out,"What is going on!?!" because everything seems to be falling apart, it has been nothing but chaos.

Don reaches out to comfort her and she flinches away, snapping at him to leave her alone. She walks away, leaving behind an even more confused Don, no idea why she has reacted like this to a natural desire to comfort her. He turns back to stare in shock at the television as reporters scramble to get information, asking police officers who know little more (or even less) than they do.

Sally stands in the doorway after her mother's exit, staring at her father, and finally asks him what happened. Where Betty bellowed out her question out to the universe, Sally looks for answers from the closest thing to an all-knowing being she has: her father. Bobby couldn't truly comprehend what was happening, Sally is old enough to have a general idea but still a faith that a "Grown-Up" can provide stability and sense. Don can't answer her anymore than he can answer Betty of course, but at least when he tells her nothing and to go upstairs, she does as she is told.. even if reluctantly and not a little sullenly. He has no idea what Betty is doing anymore.



Don falls asleep on the couch watching the never-ending news. He's woken by Betty, now fully dressed and made up, who informs him she is going on. Bleary-eyed and still waking up, he asks where, and she simply says for a drive. Blinking, he sits up and agrees it is a good idea, he'll get the kids and they'll all go. No, she explains, she needs to clear her head. She doesn't say it unkindly, but she also doesn't leave any room for argument: she wants to be alone, and she means to be.

Her drive, of course, has an ulterior motive. She pulls into the parking lot behind White Plains Shoe Repair, the place (and the entire area) of course deserted as everybody is at home glued to their televisions. She's joined by another car, and it is no surprise that it is Henry Francis. He joins her in the passenger seat of her car, asking where Don ("your husband", Don isn't anything more than that to Henry) thinks she is. She doesn't know and she doesn't care, bitterly noting that he's been lying to her for years.

She couldn't be in the house anymore, and now that they're together she admits that she wasn't expecting (or prepared) to see him at Margaret's wedding. He admits that he hoped to see her there (is that why he "couldn't" make it till the reception when there was a better chance of not being lost or losing her in the crowd?). She notes their first meeting at Derby Day seems like a 100 years ago now, and then finds herself drawn back to seeing Oswald murdered on the television earlier, and asks again what is going on.

Just like Don, Henry Francis promises her everything will be okay, but he at least adds a reason for why he believes this beyond just believing it: America has lost Presidents before, and they're still standing today. Betty wishes she could believe that, but at the moment she finds it difficult to believe anything.

"Have you thought that there are other ways to live?" he asks her, and when she hesitates he makes it as clear as he can that he's going into this eyes wide open. He isn't in love with the "tragedy" of them being star-crossed lovers who can never be, he doesn't get off on pining for her knowing he can't have her. He wants to be with her, and isn't fazed in the slightest when she reminds him that she has three children.

She doesn't respond and he takes that as an encouragement of sorts. He admits that though the upcoming primaries may make the decision for him, he's also willing to leave the Rockefeller campaign right now if it means he can be with her. She doesn't want him to do that, of course, but he seems determined to make it clear that he isn't after a "tawdry" roll in the hay like she accused him when they were alone in his office.

So though he doesn't need an answer right now, he makes his intentions clear. He doesn't want an affair. He doesn't want clandestine meetings. He doesn't want a few brief sexual encounters before they both move on. He wants to marry her. She's stunned by this, and finally offers that she doesn't know what to say. If anything, his response pleases her all the more than the offer: she doesn't HAVE to say anything, he's already told her. What he does want is for her to look into her heart, because he knows that he can make her happy.

He leans forward to kiss her, and this time there is no subtle reciprocation followed by a stony-face and a quick exit. Instead she leans forward to meet him, she kisses him as passionately as he kisses her. When they break away, she's slightly upset, but more because she knows there can be, for now at least, no more than this. Once again he says all the right things, instead of longing to kiss her more or to have sex, he admits what he would love most would be to take her to a film. For the two of them to just go find whatever theater was playing her favorite film and just sit down and watch it together.

"Singin' in the Rain," she informs him, a happy little smile on her face, and he tells her to just think about that. He leaves, and this time doesn't have to hide the fact he's watching her intently as she drives away. She called the meeting, and maybe wild thoughts ran through his head of what might happen, but he's also no fool: she's made it clear how far she is willing to go and what she simply cannot allow regardless of her feelings about Don... she is still married. For her, this drive has certainly cleared her head, and then buried a little thought deep inside to make her smile every time she remembers it: the idea of her and Henry Francis, cuddled up happily together watching Singin' in the Rain.

Pete and Trudy Campbell are cuddled up together watching something too, but it's far from a happy time. On television, they're almost reveling in playing back the slow-motion footage of Lee Harvey Oswald being shot, while Pete is aghast that security was lax, complaining they might as well have just thrown Oswald to the mob. Trudy has been percolating over this weekend, holed up with her husband, fed an ongoing diet of media coverage of the murder of a President and later his assassin, and now she comes to a conclusion.

She asks him if he is not going to work tomorrow, and of course he isn't, Monday has been marked a National Day of Mourning. But he will go in on Tuesday, and at first Pete seems to assume she is doing her usual,"You have to keep giving your best and hoping!" speech. But it is quite the opposite, disgusted and disillusioned by Kennedy's death, Trudy declares he owes Sterling Cooper nothing. He did everything they told him to and got nothing for it (he is the third most senior Accounts man counting Roger!), so it is time Pete Campbell started being selfish for once!

She wants him to go back to work, yes. She wants him to continue to keep his clients happy, of course. But she also wants him to start gathering those clients, because she knows they will follow him wherever he goes. Pete nods of course, believing just as much as her that they would gladly leave an Agency with a proved track record to follow him. She doesn't outright tell him to call Duck, but her intent is clear: Pete needs to find somewhere else to work, and take as much from Sterling Cooper as he can when he goes.



At the Draper Residence, Don is drinking and watching coverage of Arlington National Cemetery where the President is to be buried the following day. Betty returns home and walks in to look at him, and he informs her he has the kids over with Francine. She tells him she doesn't know where to start, and in alarm he asks her what she means, perhaps thinking some other horrifying tragedy has befallen America yet again.

She looks at her perfect husband and her perfect house, and then with a sad but resigned voice tells him him she wants to scream at him for ruining all this... but then he'd try to "fix" it and there's no point in that. Bewildered, he stands and once again his efforts to say and do the right thing come across as talking down to her. He promises her that while things seem painful now, they will pass.

What he fails to understand, of course, is that the Kennedy Assassination and the murder of Oswald, as horrifying as they were to see, aren't the cause of her upset. They merely provided an outlet, a tipping point where she finally felt able to express a pain and hurt deep enough to clear out the bile that has been building up in her. A bile caused by him, his lies and infidelities bad enough, but worst of all the fact that he simply doesn't respect her. That he loves her? Of that I don't doubt... but he also resents her, resents her for being the way he made her. So he cheats on her, he talks down to her, he offers empty promises and assurances that he will fix everything that at best paper over the cracks and are only ever temporary before he decides to go enjoy somebody else for awhile.

Midge, Rachel, Bobby, Suzanne... she only ever knew about one of them but even if they'd all remained hidden she would have known something was wrong. This is the source of her anxiety, her dread, her inability to take charge or make decisions. She sought a shared life with Don Draper, and the fact he was once Dick Whitman is secondary to the fact that she only JUST found that out after 10 years of marriage, and only because she found out for herself and then forced him to confess it. And now she has a confession of her own to make.

"I don't love you."

Stunned and hurt, even now Don - who so casually cheats on her and continually expressed his admiration and respect for Suzanne so recently - tries to tell her she's just distraught and doesn't know what she is saying. She does though, and she says it again. She tried. She really did. After his confession, she did her best to accept him and be with him again, to make a fresh start finally with full knowledge of his background.

But at the reception he told her everything would be all right and he kissed her.. and she felt nothing. Her heart broke in that moment, not out of any love for him but because of its absence. Once she yearned for his simple presence, she expressed her desire to work with him, to be a closer part of his life. Now, she feels nothing. And it is all, all of it, entirely his fault. In the background talk continued unabated about Kennedy's remains, but they might as well be talking about Don and Betty's marriage, which is as dead as their President.

Don can't admit it though, still sure he can set things to rights. He tells her she'll feel better tomorrow, and astonished and a little sad (and yes, even pitying) she remarks that he can't even hear her right now. "You're right," he agrees, meaning something different, that he WON'T hear her, that he still thinks he can ignore and work past another roadblock in their marriage. He leaves the room, and she sits down on the couch in front of the television, full of despair herself... not for Don, not even for herself, but for their marriage.

Upstairs, Don's composure is gone. He staggers to the chair across from the bed and slowly lowers into it. Head down, sitting in the dark, he allows himself to feel all the pain and hurt that Betty's words caused him. This, of course, is part of the problem. If he'd ever been willing to share any part of his thoughts and feelings with Betty outside of those few times when it suited him, maybe this never would have happened?

Perhaps it still would have, but you can't even argue men of the time weren't in touch with their emotions like that. Because he's had no problem sharing his thoughts, feelings, fears and dread with his mistresses ever since the first episode of the first season when he admitted to Midge he was sure to finally be outed as the imposter he believed himself to be at heart.



Monday morning comes and life is normal at the Draper Residence, with one obvious exception. Don, dressed for work, stands in the doorway of the kitchen watching Betty dish up breakfast for the children. Finally he enters with a good morning which the kids return but Betty does not. He gives her the side-eye as he walks past, but she ignores him, cleaning the pan without a word to him.

He apologizes to the kids that he has to go to work after all, and happily informs Bobby he'll be fine when his son warns him it is cold outside. Putting on his coat, he makes no move towards Betty who makes none towards him. Too young to grasp what is going on but well aware that something is off from the normal routine, Sally and Bobby watch their father collect his case, stare at Betty (who pointedly will not look at him) and then simply turn and leave. It's unusual, but not upsetting for them... at least not yet. Ignoring the Grown-Ups, they just go back to eating their breakfast, and Betty takes Don's exit as her cue to get back to cleaning up as if he'd never been there.

Don arrives at the darkened office of Sterling Cooper but is surprised to hear typing coming from an office. It is of course Peggy Olson, who gives a little start when he calls her name. He asks what she is doing there and she says she is working on Aqua Net. He walks over and looks at the art boards mocked up from their agreed upon double date variation of Paul's long-winded idea... and of course there is is, two couples driving in an open-top convertible, scenes eerily reminiscent of the assassination.

Of course it was Peggy who realized this. Peggy who came in to get a head-start on the work to fix this before Aqua Net could fly into a panic. She tells him they'll be ok, they weren't due to shoot until after Thanksgiving anyway. She asks why he is in and he mumbles out something about the bars being closed, and she admits she couldn't deal with all the people Karen invited over to watch the funeral and write condolence letters to Jackie... and her mother was crying and praying so hard at her sister's that there wasn't any room for anybody else to have feelings.

Noting that the funeral has started, she admits she had planned to watch it in Cooper's office, and asks him if that is okay. Don says it is fine, even though that's not really his call to make, and going into Cooper's office was enough to get Jane (almost) fired not that long ago. She asks if he'll join her but he declines silently, barely able to hold himself together at the moment and just trying to get alone.

She heads away, and he moves into his office. True to his word he pours himself a drink. A sad, lonely man who has lost everything on a day when America and enormous portions of the world were focused entirely on the loss of another man, a man who Don once expressed nothing but contempt for. There are National Tragedies and there are personal tragedies, and for Don Draper November the 25th will go down as the worst day of the year 1963.



Episode Index

Jerusalem fucked around with this message at 18:05 on Apr 27, 2021

  • 1
  • 2
  • 3
  • 4
  • 5
  • Post
  • Reply