Within five minutes of anyone learning that I am a television critic comes the inevitable question: “So, what’s your favorite show?”
I wish I knew an obscure series from Uzbekistan available only through pirate websites that I could share, but I usually end up giving the same not-so-thrilling answer: “I really like ‘Mad Men.’”
I know. Obvious. And a little disappointing. “Mad Men” is a critics’ choice, garnerer of awards but never of huge audiences. A single episode of “NCIS” will draw nearly as much as an entire season of “Mad Men.” It doesn’t brim over with violence, romance or mystery. It doesn’t have much of a plot, at least not in the conventional sense.
But no series better illustrates the power of TV’s Second Golden Age or stands as a more perfect example of how television has surpassed cinema as the greater expression of film as art.
It’s already impossible to say that there is a single “best” television show of all time, but certainly there has never been another show that we can say is better than “Mad Men.”
And it all comes to an end Sunday night, as the 92nd and final installment airs at 10 p.m. on AMC. No more Don Draper or Peggy Olsen. No Roger, Joan, Betty, Megan, Pete, Ken. No Lucky Strikes, old-fashioneds or Cadillacs – often wielded simultaneously.
And no more of creator Matthew Weiner and company’s spectacularly crafted episodes, where dialogue, gesture, expression, camerawork, art direction, lighting, music and costume all blend in support of a common dramatic goal.
TV’s Second Golden Age, which began with the launching of “The Sopranos” in 1999, is similar to the New Hollywood period of filmmaking in the 1960s and 1970s, when maverick directors tried to create movies that blended story with bigger ideas.
For many, the height of New Hollywood was “The Godfather,” and “Mad Men” shares with that film an overarching theme about the corruption of the American dream.
But where “The Godfather” saw a dream corrupted by greed and self-interest, “Mad Men” sees it ruined by fear and self-doubt. Throughout the series, “Mad Men” tells the story of people leading secret lives, rigidly conforming to social expectations on the outside while inwardly raging against the emptiness within.
“Mad Men” is set in the advertising business during its Golden Age, the 1960s. Ad men of the era called themselves “Mad men” because the business was centered on Madison Avenue in New York.
The protagonist – certainly no hero – is Donald Draper (played by Jon Hamm), the creative director at a small agency and perhaps the most talented Mad man of them all. He’s also a fraud. Don Draper isn’t even his real name. He was born Dick Whitman, a dirt-poor, abused farm boy who stole the dog tags and life story of a fellow soldier killed during the Korean War.
Don starts out with a picture perfect life – ex-model wife, two kids, a house in Westchester County – and through the course of the series proceeds to destroy it.
His protégé is Peggy Olsen (Elisabeth Moss), whom Don takes from the secretarial pool and turns into a copy of himself. Peggy is Don on the other side of the success mountain, moving up as he slides down. We see Peggy grow into a potent force in the business, and into someone who is less true to herself with each step.
Each of the other characters has a different facade to prop up, but they all share the struggle of matching the ideal self to the real one. They drink too much, carry on affairs, live ostentatiously – essentially do what they can to paper over their truths.
As in “The Godfather,” which begins with the words “I believe in America,” the thematic crux of “Mad Men” is spoken early and clearly.
In the first episode, Don tells a client that the key to advertising is in quieting our inner inadequacy.
“Advertising is based on one thing: happiness,” Draper says. “And you know what happiness is? It’s the smell of a new car. It’s freedom from fear. It’s a billboard on the side of the road that screams reassurance that whatever you’re doing is OK. You are OK.”
The ideas explored in “Mad Men” are fascinating, but they wouldn’t make for much of a television show if they weren’t so perfectly packaged in an entertaining way.
The acting is routinely excellent, the dialogue sparkling. The attention to period detail is astonishing, and the art direction alone makes the show worth watching even with the sound off. The episodes spill over with memorable surprises: Betty (January Jones) shooting at the neighbor’s pigeons, the John Deere incident, Bert Cooper (Robert Morse) performing a swan song just for Don.
The demise of “Mad Men” will, sadly, force me to come up with a new answer to the inevitable question. But I don’t think it will be a better answer.
Contact the writer: 714-796-7724 or mhewitt@ocregister.com or @WatcherofTV on Twitter or The Watcher on Facebook.
