By Josh Oakley
“All of us were doing the same thing at the same time.”
In my review of this season’s premiere, I stated that Mad Men was a show about doors. I stand
by that (especially given how this episode ends), but I was using a metaphor to
look at how the show perceived death and fate and choice. What Mad Men really is about is, at its core,
what nearly all great television should be about: people.
Last week’s “The Strategy” utilized the tropes of the medium to explore how these
relationships have grown defined over the years. And “Waterloo” seals the
message with a death in the family and a musical number that reminds us of
something important: We are indeed defined by our past. But our past is not one
singular, monolithic thing. The past is malleable. Just not while we’re living
it.
As far as clear forward momentum, one of the most obvious example falls on the shoulders of Sally. The Francis family has house guests for the
summer, and among them is an almost hilariously-strapping young gentleman who
repels shirts like mid-00’s Matthew McConaughey and has a cynical streak like True Detective Matthew McConaughey. In the early scenes involving the two, the plot’s path forward
seems obvious: Sally loses her virginity, or doesn’t lose her virginity and
that means something. Either way it seems like the show is headed for a large, explosive moment. And then, the pivot. Sally instead kisses Neil, the nerdy
kid obsessed with his telescope. The reason behind her decision (and the show
rightly keeps all of her story here within her sense of agency) is beautifully played,
subtly sneaking up on the character as much as it does the viewer. Whereas the
attractive older boy sneered at the moon landing, Neil offered a direct glimpse
at the hope that exists beyond the atmosphere. He can’t stand to listen to what
he considers little people grappling with a larger issue: instead he wishes to
view it himself, capturing the quiet rebellion that Sally often encounters.
Sally isn’t a cynic, as her father reminds her on the phone. There are
miracles, even if they come along rarely.
Another wonder comes in the form of the show’s best pitch
since season one’s “The Wheel”. Peggy has struggled all season to define
herself in the context of loss, both of a lover and the power she presumed she
would acquire. She hit rock bottom in her narcissistic view of the flowers
delivered to her secretary, but this was merely to prove a larger point about
how adrift we all can be at times. Here, she is given her moment to shine, and
she delivers a monologue that encapsulates the fears and triumphs of the late
60’s in only a minute or two. The speech defines her character, and Don, and
plenty of others scattered throughout the show. The emphasis on family last
week was not a glancing look. This show is fascinated by the ways we connect
with one another, and how tenuous those relationships can be. Peggy and Don
have gone through battle both together and against one another, but they can
coax something from each other that no one else can. Peggy is capable of that
speech without Don, but he helps to inspire the passion in her that only he may
share. One of the show’s most memorable early moments featured Don telling
Peggy “It will shock you how much this never happened.” They’ve been through
nearly ten years since then, and the tides of time show. Gone is the
protection, but the guidance remains. These two have grown as individuals, but
also as a unit, and Don no longer needs to tell Peggy what must be remembered
and what must be forgotten. As her pitch betrays, she knows the hollowness of
being alone all too well herself.
And here is Don, and here is Roger, and here is Bert. Each
man is younger than the one before, but not younger enough. When Roger calls Don to relay the news of the original
partner’s passing, there is an obvious passing of the torch, as death readies
its new victim and a new man enters the on deck circle. Roger certainly takes
the passing of his old friend into his hands, collecting his emotions and
rearing his head in the battle for control at SC&P. His play to become a
subsidiary of McCann/Erickson is seemingly wise, a way to regain power and
ensure the longevity of the company. So what to say of the fact that this is
technically a step backwards, a return to a path once left behind? Maybe open
doors can never close, and maybe, as Roger once posited, those doors never
change much of anything at all. But instead, perhaps, this too can be seen as a
net positive. Compromise is not a bad thing, and survival and companionship can
be as vital of a cause of a power struggle as anything. Too bad, then, that
we’ll never hear Bert Cooper’s thoughts on the matter. He is lost to time, like
so many before and so many to come, born in an ancient era and dying in what
looks like a sci-fi-tinted future. For the young to be born, the old must die,
and though this is not lost on the partners at SC&P, it does not make the
suffering easier. Roger is affected by the loss of a friend, yes, but also by a
staunch reminder that this too shall pass. “This”, of course, being life
itself.
Along with Roger, the partner most affected by the loss is
Don, another person who has grappled with death many times over the course of
the show. His brother and surrogate wife passed in two of the show’s most vital
episodes (“The Wheel” and “The Suitcase”, making me kind of wish this episode
was titled “The Burger”, but, you know, I get it). Visions of the past dance
around him, and he is often haunted by the invisible ghost of Lane Pryce. The
fact that Don is so ready to give his pitch to Peggy, to give her the chance to
flourish, says everything about how successful his journey has been this
season. He is investing in another’s future because he realizes how short his
may be. And this comes to a head in the final scene of “Waterloo”, one that
rivals any the show has done in both shock and power. Bert Cooper sings “The
Best Things in Life Are Free” because Don now knows this to be true. It is the
affection of his daughter, the mutual respect of Peggy, the
commiseration of Roger; these are the things that actually mean something, when all of the physical possessions ad men sell
are torn away. Beneath the façade of stuff is human connection. And that
connection is hard, and will only grow more difficult over the decades to come.
Which is why Peggy is so right in her pitch to Burger Chef: we all need a place
to call home, even if it’s just a booth in a restaurant for half an hour. Hell,
a makeshift dinner table worked wonders for Don and Sally earlier this season.
The late, somewhat-wise and somewhat-curmudgeonly Bert Cooper said that nobody
survives Waterloo. Yet here Don is, at least for now.
As that look Don gives as Bert closes the door one last time
proves, change is hard because it inherently means leaving something behind.
Maybe that thing in the rearview mirror is an old friend on his way to another
life, or perhaps a planet called Earth receding, shrinking until it is obvious
what all of this was in the first place: just another door to walk through,
impossible to see what exists on the other side.
Grade
“Waterloo”: A
Season 7.0: A
Miscellaneous:
- We all know Jon Hamm is an incredible actor. But, and excuse my language, holy Jesus shit fucking Christ almighty, that look he gives as the music number ends. In one expression the hope that the song captures and the loss that the man singing it represents is laid completely bare. In case we still needed reminding, this is one of the all time great performances in any medium.
- Peggy tearing up at the thought of Julio moving is also some stunning work from Elisabeth Moss, as is the pitch which is second only to that for the Carousel. But that scene with Julio is great, as Moss extends the corners of Peggy’s character to capture how her loneliness and her willpower feed off of one another.
- “Every time an old man starts talking about Napoleon, you know they’re gonna die.”
- We will all be using a gif of Peggy saying “We have no liquor” for years to come.
- This was an episode packed with perfect moments, so I didn’t even get to the one where Peggy, Don, Pete and Harry practice the pitch. It almost reached meta-levels of commenting on the characters while also doing some great foreshadowing.
- I could say something about Pete here, but he said it all himself when he one-ups Joan: “I’ve got ten percent!”
- “Armstrong On Moon”
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