Mad Men Power Rankings, Week Thirteen: 'Well, Gentlemen, I Suppose You're Fired.'
It's over. Just like that. Thirteen weeks, gone, in the blink of a bourbon-reddened, smoke-teary eye. For the last time this season, please join us for our appraisal of where our favorite Sterling Cooper players stand in the post-JFK world in which they suddenly find themselves. After the jump, the Power Rankings for Mad Men's surprising, utterly satisfying finale:
1. Don Draper (up) Last week: 2
Don's weathered his fair share of blows -- from sex-crazed hippies who want to screw in his motel bed, from fed-up trophy brides looking to move on, from exasperated bosses desperate to get him to sign on the dotted line -- over the past few weeks, and yet here he is, his Brylcreemed dome dented but not cracked, showing that he's still got a little fight in him. Putnam Powell and Lowe is being sold to McCann Erickson? Fine, let's buy this motherf*cker back from those penny-pinching Brits. Betty's hiring a divorce lawyer? Great, she will get nothing, he'll take the kids, then skullf*ck this Henry Francis monster until he begs Don to withdraw his rage-engorged member from his ruptured eye-socket so the coward can explain why he's stealing his wife out from under him. (Until he cools off and decides not to go to war with his already irreparably damaged family.) He's a fighter, at least when there's no conveniently slain compatriot offering up his dog-tags when he feels the need for a fresh start. Sure, he could probably lure Pete Campbell into a supply closet, garrote him with some packing string, and abscond with his identity to Chicago for yet another life-reset, but Don now sees the possibilities of his once-disastrous-seeming situation: Let's reset everything. Put a foot so far up those Limey asses that they can taste high-quality American leather, rob them blind in the middle of the night, and set up shop down the street. See the kids when he can. And wait for the moment when he can bury himself deep in a girlishly weeping Henry's cranium, because that grudge isn't one he's going to give up. Come on, that dude just stole his family.
Season four really can't arrive fast enough. Really, what the f*ck are we supposed to do until then?
Don Draper Fingerbang Threat Level: Mouthy Underling in Grave Danger!
As Peggy sat across from an all-business, no-time-for-niceties Don, who just wanted to offer her a chance to escape professional imprisonment within the McCann Erickson Sausage-Fabricating Concern, defiant and demanding of the respect she felt her mentor/tormentor far too grudgingly offered, Draper's fingers stirred atop the desk he'd soon be abandoning. Does she not realize we don't have time for this whiny sh*t? whispered Index Draper. Seriously, doesn't she know this has to happen this second, and we can save the fatherly hugs and pats on the head for after we ransack this place? answered Thumb Draper, while Middle Draper hissed impatiently, We've gotta get inside her, right now, before she starts running at the mouth about her other job offers and lack of respect and career goals, oh Christ, here she goes. Get in her! Get in her! Now now now! But no. Don merely drummed his agitated minions atop his blotter, letting them march in place while Peggy let him know she's tired of the boss taking credit for all her work, that she's not willing to be the poodle he kicks each time he fails. And later, he would appear, hat in hand, vowing to pursue his talented protege to the farthest ends of Manhattan, prying her out from the camisole-shredding death-grip of Duck Phillips' teeth if necessary. Sometimes, the best fingerbanging is the one you never give.