Mad Men - Season 6 Finale - Recap: Damaged Goods

Then there's Peggy (Elisabeth Moss), who left SCDP just to wind up right back in the old building upon the merger, and then entering into an affair with her boss, only to then get whiplashed by his decision to call the whole thing off. Pete (Vincent Kartheiser) got caught in an affair of his own, which cost him his marriage to Trudy (Alison Brie). However, his influence increased within the agency, in a tale of parallel ascension/decline with that of the career-climbing chameleon, Bob Benson (James Wolk), who continues to have his "hand on every rung," to paraphrase Roger's words. Those are only a few of the stories that Mad Men has told in its sixth season, and it's a credit to the show that it continues to keep get a lot out of a little. There is a very minimalist approach to the scripting of this show, and often times less really is more. While I've gotten on the show's case in the past about substituting subtext for an actual story, "In Care Of" is a more direct distillation of what worked best about season six: it's the feeling of unease building to a personal calamity, mixed in with the eventual fallout from that big, dramatic event; and then, sprinkled throughout, is the everyday business of work and life. Sure, the show has a certain theatrical sensibility (occasionally), but it feels far more realistic than most shows on television, if only for that dedication to verisimilitude. I can't say what's next for Don Draper, but I can imagine it'll be both spectacular and unspectacular, in equal measure.

Credit: Jaimie Trueblood/AMC

There's a lot to get to in this episode, so let's break it down:

Pete:

Pete is faced with sudden tragedy, though I'm not sure it's ever really played as such. Pete's mother, while on a cruise with Manolo, fell overboard and is now lost at sea. The way Pete and his brother resolve to forgo prosecuting Manolo when they learn of the expense involved tells you all you need to know about the Campbells and how their relationship to their mother has been something of an albatross for them. Of course, they would have been well within their rights to prosecute, as we learn that Manolo swiftly married Pete's mother not long before her eventual tumble overboard, and Pete theorizes that Manolo assumed she had far more money stashed away than she actually did. Turns out, Pete's mother was actually in dire financial straits, so Manolo pretty much got nothing for all his efforts. Bob Benson insists he didn't know what Manolo was planning, though Pete isn't so quick to forgive. As the two men head to Detroit for the Chevy meeting, Pete gives Bob the cold shoulder, which comes back to bite Pete when Bob goads him into driving a manual transmission Chevy in front of the executives. Pete crashes the car, and his hopes of landing Chevy go up in smoke. But at least he can put his family troubles behind him, as Trudy reminds Pete that he's finally free of his obligations to the Campbells. Pete says goodbye to his sleeping daughter before leaving for California to work on the Sunkist project, and it's the warmest, most touching Pete scene there's been since the whole unfortunate business last season with depressed Beth. It's to the point where I don't think I'd mind seeing Pete and Trudy get back together, unlikely as it is.

Peggy/Ted:

After his wife stops by for a visit at the office, Peggy gets the sense that Ted (Kevin Rahm) is rubbing his domestic life in her face. And so she decides to get all dolled up and go out on a date with some guy, but not before stopping by the workroom, where Ted is with Harry (Rich Sommer) and Jim (Harry Hamlin), to flaunt her sexy look. Naturally, Ted is compelled to track her down to her apartment and confess his feelings to her, going as far as to say he plans to leave his wife. "I love you," says Ted, and Peggy more or less falls into his arms as they quickly start undressing to consummate this whole affair. Their post-coital afterglow is really something, as I can't recall the last time I remember seeing either Ted or Peggy this genuinely happy. But Peggy doesn't want a scandal, so she forces Ted to go home to his wife for the night. It's this decision that ultimately spells doom for their relationship, as Ted starts to feel guilty while lying in bed with his wife. The next day, Ted is beseeching Don to give up his spot on the Sunkist account so he can move to Florida with his family and get a new start. Though Don initially refuses Ted, he ultimately relents, perhaps because he sees a bit of himself in the guy and knows that he doesn't have the stomach for regular infidelity.

In essence, Don sees a version of himself that could have made his marriage to Betty work, had he just stopped after the first adulterous mistake. But he kept going, and now he's in a marriage with Megan (Jessica Pare) that really isn't doing much better. Don gives Ted the California spot, and all that's left is for Ted to say his farewells. Of course, Peggy is in no mood to hear Ted's apologies. In one of Elisabeth Moss's best scenes this season, she turns on a dime, going from sympathetic to Ted's plight (believing that Don is forcing Ted to go to California) to baleful and loathing. Ted tries to smooth things over by saying he needs to give his marriage another shot, citing that he has kids. Then he says, “Someday you’ll be glad I made this decision.” Peggy responds, “Well aren’t you lucky to have decisions!” Ted leaves, and all Peggy can do is take inventory of her emotions at the moment. It's such a lousy place to leave Peggy for the season, yet it seemed somewhat inevitable. The show doesn't always illustrate the toll of infidelity from the side of the female in a relationship, but season six has gone to great lengths to illustrate the emotional and moral plights of women involved with married men, between Peggy and newcomers like Sylvia Rosen. Moss continues to be one of the show's best performers, and I hope season seven gives her even more complex material.

Credit: Jaimie Trueblood/AMC

Roger/Joan

It's a brief storyline, but essential to bookending Roger's (John Slattery) story this season. After losing his mother, and being barred by his daughter from ever seeing his own grandson, Roger is desperately reaching out for a family. When things fall through with his daughter once again, it becomes even more of a bitter sting to Roger that he isn't allowed to visit the son he had by Joan (Christina Hendricks). This feeling of resentment manifests as a backlash against Bob Benson, as Roger feels he's trying to insinuate himself into Joan's life for temporary gain. However, things ultimately look up for Roger when Joan invites him to Thanksgiving dinner, extending an invitation back into the life of his biological son. For once, Roger looks plainly happy, even if he isn't exactly thrilled to see Bob Benson there, carving the turkey. But, as Joan politely reminds him, "I've invited you into Kevin's life. Not mine." I like that the show doesn't try to draw pathos out of the fact that Joan doesn't know about Bob's sexuality. They could have made Bob's attempts at ingratiating himself to Joan far more overt and sinister, but the show took the route of restraint, and the storyline was better for it. There is, of course, a certain ironic quality in Joan being suspicious of the wrong man, as Roger is the one who is fully on the up-and-up, while clean-cut, all-American Bob is the one with skeletons in his closet (the fact that he appears to be pursuing the one female associate who is actually a partner in the firm is no coincidence).

Credit: AMC

Don

Don's story takes up the majority of the episode, and with good reason. It looks to answer the question of just how Don Draper sees himself, particularly in relation to the other people in his life. After getting drunk beyond reason, and rejecting a minister's pro-Jesus pitch with a punch to the face, Don spends a night in the drunk tank. Upon coming home, Megan finds him pouring all their alcohol into the sink. Don vows to become a new man -- but, more than that, he vows to give the family a fresh start. He would move them out to California where Megan would pursue Hollywood while Don works on the Sunkist account -- which he stole right out from under poor Stan (Jay R. Ferguson), who does NOT take the news well. Don continues to hold up their brief time in California (back in season 4) as an ideal for their relationship, rationalizing that they were happy then, and could be happy again. Don continues to claw at the past when he refers to Betty (January Jones) as "Birdie," in a scene where a distraught Betty calls Don to tell him that Sally (Kiernan Shipka) has been suspended from the boarding school for purchasing beer with a fake ID. “She was drunk,” Betty says. “She got the other girls drunk.” Betty then states that there's little else she can do for Sally -- what she needs is her father. Don agrees to pick Sally up for Thanksgiving only after Betty plays the "broken home" card, implying that Sally's emotional troubles are the result of her parents' divorce. And while that's a gross oversimplification of the problem, Betty isn't exactly wrong. Don himself is trying to do his damndest to rescue his marriage to Megan, and it wouldn't surprise me if part of that is as one big mea culpa to prove he's not a broken man who creates broken homes.

As for California, Megan is ecstatic about the news and embraces Don, and it seems for a moment that their relationship is back on track. However, things go downhill for Don, as his self-destructive tendencies are revealed to have little to do with the alcohol, and everything to do with the man himself.

Credit: AMC

After Ted notices Don's been getting the shakes, he suggests that he have a drink before the pitch meeting with Hershey's Chocolate. Ted's father was an alcoholic, you see, and so his advice that “you can’t just stop cold” is rooted in personal experience. And, for a moment, it seems to work like a charm. Don is back to his spry old self, pitching the Hershey's men on how a Hershey bar symbolizes affection, by relating a fake story about how his father purchased him a candy bar when he was a little boy. Don states that, from that sunny afternoon on, Hershey's became synonymous with his father's love. The Hershey's men are overjoyed with the pitch, as Don's "Hershey's is Love" strategy seems to hit all the right buttons. But then Don blows it all to Hell. Overcome with guilt and pain over his failings in life (a feeling inspired by his having locked eyes briefly with Ted, who'd all but given up any hope of rescuing his own marriage, now that Don was taking the last spot to California), Don confesses that the story is bull. He goes on to tell the real story of his association with Hershey's chocolate, that one of the workers in the whorehouse he was raised in offered to buy him a Hershey bar if he'd go through the pockets of one of her johns during sex. The Hershey men are understandably confused and put-off, though they maintain a polite facade. But the message is clear: Don has just lost the pitch.

Credit: AMC

This incident, coupled with his having missed a pitch with Sheraton due to his drinking, Don is forced by the partners, including Bert Cooper (Robert Morse) himself, to go on a forced leave of absence. Don doesn't want to go, but he has little choice in the matter. What's peculiar is that the scene plays out as something of an intervention, with Don insisting that nothing is wrong, while his friends/colleagues insist that this is for his own good. The presence of Duck Phillips (Mark Moses) doesn't exactly help things: as a corporate recruiter, he brings new talent into agencies such as SC&P. and Don can only watch from the elevator as Duck brings his latest find into the SC&P offices, and while I don't think they mean to do so with the man Duck brought to the firm, I feel they're sending a message to Don that he can be replaced. Granted, I'm not entirely sure that's even true, since he's Don Draper, for crying out loud. But SC&P is now large enough that it's feasible for them to make due without him. They're already proving this by putting him on forced leave for several months. But hey, if this serves as the impetus for meaningful introspection from Don, then all the better.

And really, introspection is Don's forte. It's just the follow-through on that soul-searching that never seems to pan out. That's why the latter part of his storyline is relatively encouraging. Sure, Megan pretty much hates him now, but I was always uncertain of just how much Megan really meant to Don. When he confesses to Megan that they won't be going to California, since he gave up his spot to Ted, she lashes out at him for letting her quit her job on her soap opera and schedule all those interviews with casting agents. She goes to town on Don, saying that she and his "messed up kids" are all in the same boat, all instruments of Don's damage. Don takes offense at Megan talking mess about his kids, and the resulting argument sees Megan storming out, proclaiming that she "can't be here right now." The next morning, after his intervention/forced hiatus, Don finds some measure of comfort in fatherhood, in showing his children, for the first time, who he really is. He drives Sally, Bobby and Gene out to Pennsylvania and brings them to a building next to a rundown tenement in the ghetto. As Don leads the kids out of the car, he points to the ruins of the whorehouse in which he was raised and tells them, "This is where I grew up." Suddenly, Sally looks up to her father, and though her face doesn't betray a sense of understanding, there's the feeling that she at least feels some measure of emotional kinship with him by seeing how far he's come, and seeing that her damage is not her own, it's Don's too.

Credit: Jaimie Trueblood/AMC

Season six of Mad Men has been a season of contrasts, in some respects. Between "Don Draper" and "Dick Whitman," and all the other people who aren't as good at running dual lives as he is: Bob Benson, Ted Chaough, Pete Campbell. All have tried the Don Draper trick, in one form or another, and none of them have pulled it off half as well. Yet Don is losing his ability to maintain the facade, and as cracks in his armor begin to show, and the real Dick Whitman can be seen underneath, his Don Draper persona grows weaker and less effective -- both in the boardroom, and in the bedroom. He just doesn't have the pull with clients or with women that he once had, and so he must evolve. And like its protagonist, the changing times of the late 1960s means that Mad Men must also evolve. I'm not sure in what form that evolution will come, but I can already see the scope of the series expanding as it barrels towards its final season. And I can't wait.