It's hard to believe we're already nine weeks deep into the third season of Mad Men. In the words of some filthy hippie at whom Don Draper would sneer while taking a meaningful drag off his cigarette, "What a long, strange trip it's been." Hit the jump for this week's Power Rankings, which feature the (not so) triumphant return of Sal, and the conspicuous (if temporary) disappearance of several of our most beloved characters:
1. Don Draper (even) Last week: 1
Do you know what we secretly love? When Don, lashing out because a toxic combination of professional disappointment and personal frustration finally boil over, cuts off his employees at the knees, reminding them who's really the big, swingin' dick at Sterling Cooper. (At least in weeks where he isn't being blackmailed into contractual servitude by his boss.) Early on in last night's episode, as his team pitched him ideas for the Hilton campaign, patellas splintered as Don battered them with his underling-hobbling member, telling Kurt, whose apparent Berlitz crash-course work is making him somewhat comprehensible, "Now that I can finally understand you, I'm less impressed with what you have to say," before striking the entire group with, "I want to see work as you think of it. Give me more ideas to reject. I can't do this all by myself." Such abuse doesn't approach the verbal savaging he gave Peggy two weeks ago ("You're good. Get better. Stop asking for things. Close the door"), an assessment so brutally effective that corporate performance reviews will likely end with that phrase for years to come, but it's nonetheless satisfying to watch Don swat his too-eager ad-puppies on the nose with a rolled-up NY Times as they nibbled his favorite slippers.
Decidedly less enjoyable was Draper's belittling pow-wow with the embattled Sal, but that unfortunate "you people" business will be covered a little further down the rankings.
Don Draper Fingerbang Threat Level: Low
Did you think it was Miss Farrell who was going to wind up wriggling uncomfortably, ecstatically in Don Draper's ladyflower-wilting grip? The window during which Don may have digitally subjugated the teacher seems to have closed, so he was forced to escalate this bored-cat-and-mouthy-mouse game they've been playing directly to the "showing up unannounced at her apartment over a garage, demanding satisfaction, and after some obligatory verbal foreplay, totally getting it on" stage. This gambit, of course, worked. For a forceful cocksman like Don, teachers are really not that much harder to seduce than cigarette girls, stewardesses, or postal workers.
No, this week it was father-figure/crazy person/lunar pioneer Connie Hilton who was most in danger of having his genital shoreline stormed by Don Draper's finger-infantry. After seducing him with that boozy "you're a son to me, no, better than a son, sons are awful, spoiled brats who are always tryin' to steal me gold!" speech, then withdrawing his pseudopaternal love when Don quite literally failed to deliver him the moon, an unimpressed Connie practically dared those deadly Draper fingers to get all up inside him and take their best shot at his naughtyparts. Don, however, despite bristling at the old man's cutting dismissal of what was a rather inspired campaign, could not unsheathe his weapons of mass penetration. Once Connie came at him with that terrible, hurtful line, "What do you want from me, love?" his twitching fingers relaxed, because it was no longer the hotel magnate before him, but the moonshine-guzzling Pappy Whitman, cackling at the softness of his no-good kid's bullshit-cultivating hands. As upset he was at the disparagement of his work and the sudden emotional abandonment by his stand-in Dad, Don wasn't going to succumb to the Freudian nightmare that is finger-blasting one's own father. He's got enough shit going on as it is.
2. Betty Draper (even) Last week: 2
"Dearest Henry,
It was with great relish that I awaited this afternoon's mail delivery, knowing that the oddly Victorian correspondence we've recently undertaken as some kind of elaborate foreplay would escalate pleasingly as I tore open the envelope of your latest letter, breathed in the dizzying musk you've left on your stationery, and lapped up your words as if they were honey you'd drizzled all over my heaving bosom. I don't write many letters anymore, so I apologize in advance if I'm unable to accurately express my thoughts. but I do have thoughts. Lots of thoughts. Thoughts of a dashing, silver-maned, monied gentleman taking me away from my awful kids and inattentive husband before what's left of my beautiful soul is consumed by suburban ennui. Save me, Henry! We shall concoct a ruse! A fundraiser! And during this fundraiser, when all the ladies are snacking on finger sandwiches, we can sneak upstairs, where you can tear open my bodice and ravage me! Unless you somehow fail to show up to our fundraising rendezvous. In that case I shall show up to your office unannounced, heave a lockbox containing both political contributions and my frustrated desire at that stupid head of yours, and then refuse a conciliatory ravaging atop your desk, or on a couch, because such behavior would be irredeemably tawdry. On second thought, perhaps we can't do this. Write back, letters are fun!
Yours, B"
3. Roger Sterling (up) Last week: 4
If there's a person at Sterling Cooper who can rival Don Draper's talent for puppy-kicking, it's Roger Sterling. In one enraged fit, he dressed down affable doofus Harry Crane for not telling him about the Lee Garner Jr. Situation ("When you get in trouble, call Mommy and Daddy. Everyone's an account man. What exactly do you think we do here, Crane?"), shitcanned poor Sal, and dumped the whole $25 million mess into Draper's lap for salvaging. And later, he even upbraided Don for the seeming chaos originating from his side of the business. "We've had two clients in one week leave here angry. Important clients. Is that what you want this place known for? That and some guy losing his foot in a lawn mower? I'm going to put you on notice, you are in over your head." Rog has got some big brass ones, y'all.
4. Connie Hilton (up) Last week: 8
As we alluded to earlier, Connie Hilton is now officially a Crazy Person. He sees angels, adopts ad men, seeks to destroy Communism with the worldwide export of the American hospitality industry, and wants to colonize the moon. Next week, he'll torment Don by showing up in his office wearing a fish-bowl as a "space helmet," challenging his sometime-son to a duel with ray-guns made of crushed Patio cans, then collapse crying into Draper's arms, begging him to help the old man build a casino resort in the Sea of Tranquility catering to Martian sex-tourists.
5. Henry Francis (up) Last week: 7
"Darling Betty,
I was so very glad you were clever enough to find my address and inquire as to whether any Snoops read my mail, so that we could initiate this correspondence as a heady prelude to our eventual lovemaking. I must, however, express some disappointment that you responded to my absence at our erotic fund-raiser like a spurned harridan; I thought I made myself perfectly clear when I explained that it is you who needs to come to me because you are a married woman, and I could never forgive myself if we first consummated this affair in your marital bed. I may be a dashing cad, but I do observe a certain protocol when preying upon disillusioned housewives. But I do apologize for not having proper coital accommodations here in my office; a woman of your class and beauty does deserve better than to be taken atop my desk, among staplers and decorative fountain pens and what-have-you. I know that you've said you can't go through with this, but I am a patient man. Eventually, your husband will disappoint and frustrate you, you'll be reminded of the fabulous life your rotten, rotten children are denying you, and I will be waiting. Here in my office, where I will have set up a magnificent four-poster bed, despite the strange appearance such an object might have in a place of work. And I will be wearing a helmet, ready to absorb the brunt of your hurled passion.
With warmest regards, H~~#"
6. Sally Draper (down) Last week: 5.
Sally to Carla: "I said I don't want a salad!"
Sally Draper PatricideWatch: And with that sly misdirection that momentarily made Mommy turn her eyes to the housekeeper, young Sally Draper quietly concealed a salad fork in the lining of her dress, an implement she would later place in her hope chest, among the collection of razor-sharpened Barbie legs, lethally modified safety scissors, and other improvised weaponry she might one day -- perhaps soon! oh, so soon! -- plunge into Daddy's heart as he naps on the couch in front of a flickering television.
7. Salvatore Romano (up) Last week: unranked
When last we saw Sal...um, when was that exactly? When he suffered bellhoppus interruptus because of that fire alarm? When he inadvertently outed himself to Kitty when he was a little too spot-on with the Bye Bye Birdie choreography? In any case, Sal is back! And now he's gone, because a bullying, closeted cigarette-company scion had a "long, wet lunch" and decided to get handsy in a locked editing suite. Unfortunately, Sal decided to play the "I'm married" card with a man whose predatory gaydar was pinging like mad, a refusal that would prove (for now, at least) to be his undoing. Not even Don, the one person at the office who truly understands having a secret, would save him when he came clean about what had happened. Instead, Don expressed bafflement and disappointment that Sal wouldn't put out to save a $25 million account that "can shut off our lights," and with an ugly sneer of "you people" at his inconveniently principled director, sent Sal packing. Coldly. "I think you know this is the way it has to be. You'll do fine. And please, no sobbing when you're assembling your portfolio later. It's undignified."
8. Lee Garner, Jr. (up) Last week: unranked
How is it that all of Sterling Cooper's being plunged into turmoil by the entitled offspring of really rich guys? First, we had Horace "Ho Ho" Clark Jr. crapping away his trust fund on a jai alai pipe-dream and potentially threatening Bert's relationship with his father. And now we have Lee Garner Jr., heir to the Lucky Strike coffin-nail fortune, harassing poor, poor Sal. What's next? Some Utz brat demanding a slow-dance with Pete Campbell as the entire firm watches? (Yes, please.)
9. Harry Crane (up) Last week: unranked
"I'm not gonna panic and do something stupid like I usually do." HAHAHAHAHA! Oh, Harry! Harry, Harry. Harry. You're so adorable when you think you can avoid being a silly little boob!
10. Miss Farrell (up) Last week: unranked
Well, it happened. It was eight episodes in the making, and it took a lot longer than he's accustomed to waiting for extramarital nookie (he's no Henry Francis, after all), but Don got his woman. Sure, she played a little hard-to-get, dissing him as a cliche teacher-diddler, but in the end, she gave it up after a little sweet-talk about how badly he wants her, even if she did warn him that the whole thing is going to end badly. (Which it will. Don might even come home one day to find Bobby boiling in a pot on his range-top.) On the other hand, Don spooned her afterwards, which Betty only gets when they go to Rome. So there's that.
On the bubble: Peggy Olson (Last week: 6); Joan Holloway (Last week: 9); Pete Campbell (Last week: 3)
The sad truth is that there's just not enough time in 44 minutes to service every character every week. So we'll just have to imagine that Peggy's still having her wardrobe devoured by Duck Phillips in between meetings on the Hilton account, Joan's been demoted to the perfume counter, and Pete's still weeping himself to sleep for porking the German nanny.
Not ranked: Paul Kinsey, Ken Cosgrove, Bert Cooper, Bobby Draper, Lane Pryce, Moneypenny, the Lucky Strike Thousand-Yard-Stare Seaman, Kitty Romano, the Hilton moon colony, salad.