'The Whole Country's Been Drinking': Mad Men Recapped

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Margaret's actually in pretty hale shape a day later at the reception. This, despite the significant number of no-shows, the cake's failure to materialize, and the cluster of guests watching news coverage in the kitchen. Jane's among them, and Roger's none too happy about it. He'll cart her drunken, dead-weight frame over his shoulder like wounded war buddy that night, even threaten to cut her out of her dress as she zonks out on the bed: "He was so handsome, and now I'll never get to vote for him!" That's his cue to call Joan, for what that's worth; she's no consolation to Roger, and no real use to us.

Not among the TV-bound at the reception: Henry Francis. "Of course," Betty mutters under her breath as he enters, recalling their introduction months ago during Roger's troubled Derby Days party. Attending with his daughter, Henry says nothing he can't telegraph across the dance floor with his eyes. Woozy with lust, confusion, terror or some cocktail of all three, Betty loses step with Don. "Everything's going to be OK," he lies to his wife before answering her tense reply -- "How do you know that?" -- with a long kiss. Steadfast concern masks her face, clings to it until a gunshot in Dallas shatters it the next day. She shrieks like Betty Draper isn't supposed to shriek -- like her dignity died Nov. 22, having bled nearly to death in the weeks since Don's confession, put out of its misery with a single long-range shot from the sixth floor of the Texas School Book Depository. Its ghost isn't quite as stoic.

And now, as Lee Harvey Oswald perishes, so do the Drapers. Betty awakens Don from a nap, and you can see more than ever where Sally gets her embittered quietude. "I'm going for a drive," she announces. "I need to clear my head." Translation: Another illicit meeting with Henry Francis, who always knew she'd come to him and now wants to marry her himself. That was fast! He'd settle for a date at the movies, though -- Betty's favorite (Singin' in the Rain, trivia buffs) -- and their own longer, more passionate kiss in the front seat of he car. You'd think Don would have at least called Miss Farrell at this point, a little parallel plotting for those of us still mad at him for leaving her hidden in his car last week, but no. Instead he squares up, awaits Betty's return, and absorbs the blunt trauma force of her rage: "I want to scream at you for ruining all this. ... I don't love you anymore." The words ricochet off him. "You can't even hear me right now," she whispers. "You're right," Don replies.

There's a Pete coda here and a Peggy coda there, the latter coming as Don heads into work on Monday's day of mourning. He pours a stiff drink in a dark office and faces the long emptiness ahead. It feels a lot like today.

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Comments

  • sweetbiscuit says:

    No mention of Duck actually UNPLUGGING the TV to make sure and get his rocks off before facing reality? I just love that he couldn't settle for just turning the damn thing off, he had to yank the cord from the wall.

  • snarkordie says:

    Not sure I agree with the idea that Betty's words 'ricochet[ed] off him.' When Don sits down in the bedroom, you can see how frightened and affected he is.
    Kudos to Hamm, and Schroeder, for that scene.

  • Brandy Heard says:

    This is completely true, thanks for having my evening just a little more tolerant.

  • Golf says:

    In pertaining reports, following his touch convention admitting his indiscretions, Tiger Woods started apologizing towards the ladies with whom he received affairs. Twelve hrs later they are saying he barely scratched the floor.

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