Mad Men Power Rankings, Week Eleven: 'This Name Is Poisoned'

1. Don Draper (even) Last week: 1

There's this hoary old saying we all know, "The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he doesn't exist." Yes, we know, it's a terrible, terrible cliche. But let's Draperize it for the circumstances! "The greatest trick Don Draper ever pulled was letting Betty believe she had all the power." We won't argue that Don wasn't genuinely gut-stabbed when Betty stood behind his desk and demanded he open it, when he staggered into the kitchen, alone, wondering if he was about to lose everything. "You know I know what's in there," she said. And we knew she knew he knew she knew what was in there. In that moment, reacting to that knife unexpectedly thrust into his belly, there wasn't time to whip up a plate of his delicious bullshit and somehow make Betty think that secrets are actually a great thing to have in a marriage, that they keep things vital, interesting. ("A secret is the gift of yourself, that you give her bit by bit over time, as you slowly untie the bow together," he might have pitched, if he'd had a few more minutes to think about it.) But maybe after Betty saw a weak-kneed Don for perhaps the first time, and told him to sit down at the kitchen table while she fixed him a drink, he knew how to play it: tell her everything, let yourself cry real tears, give her space, sleep alone, be gently deferential the next morning, read the situation, follow her lead, head off to work. Let her think she's in charge. But she's not in charge. What's she going to do, take the kids and leave? Leave the kids with him? There's really only one possible outcome.

So here we have Don, at Number One. Though Betty, still Number Two, thinks she's on top. (See what we did there, with the numbers?) Everyone can feel good about that, right? Come on, Don's survived blackmail, grifting hippies, a suicidal brother, a moon-colonizing lunatic, pervy Europeans in California, and, so far, Sally. He's not giving up the top spot just yet.

Don Draper Fingerbang Threat Level: Depressingly low.

As Don stumbled into the kitchen, legs suddenly rubbery, he fumbled at his tie, releasing himself from its suffocating pressure, exposing his throat. His fingers brushed against an unprotected Adam's Apple. Is this it? This could be it. She knows. Do I just end it right here, right now? The fingers tensed, ready to jam themselves into his windpipe in an honorable hiri-kiri if given the order, allowing their commander to escape an undignified fate of blubbering through a litany of his lies. But the order never came. They relaxed, wrapped themselves around a cigarette and a highball glass, and awaited further instructions. Perhaps next week, after this all blows over, there'll be a chance to relive the glory days, get all up inside a comedian's mouthy wife or a hotel maid or something. But for now, nothing.

Pages: 1 2 3 4