And so another Mad Men season finale came and went, a blur of impulse judgments and thinly veiled sadism slopped between slabs of Walking Dead commercials like so much gooey, processed cheese. Indeed, congratulations are in order to Don Draper, who once again proved his flagging constitutional mettle at the expense of everybody and everything he touched. This is progress! Cue the Sonny and Cher!
It's funny, because in a Mad Men offesason-odds article I undertook and promptly aborted out of boredom last week, "Don and Megan elope" came in at about 5-1. "Don and Faye elope" was way up at 15-1; it seemed so much likelier that Don would go for the young, easy, ambitious prey than the 30+, established, educated career woman. But in fairness to Matthew Weiner, probably no one foresaw the obvious Don/Megan coupling arriving this swiftly -- and certainly not at the outset of the episode, with Faye bidding Don good day and good luck with his American Cancer Society meeting. He confesses to feeling sick; Faye advises that his apprehensions are not all about work, and the sooner he can reconcile the present with the past, his life and disposition will improve. "I'm gonna miss you, you know that?" he tells her. She rises and smiles; we wince, knowing there's a schoolteacher up in Westchester County somewhere wondering how a variety of that line ever worked on her a couple years ago. (How did it ever work on us?)
Don is on a roll, though, landing in the wood-paneled conference room at ACS headquarters where a gang of old farts in charge wants to get to the bottom of his recent public letter about quitting tobacco. It's tricky territory; as one ACS-er acknowledges, there are smokers among the leadership. Don smokes, too, of course, so what gives? What independent-minded adult would play ball with such glaringly specious hypocrites? None, Don admits -- but their teenagers might if a new campaign showcased the rush to mortality as epitomized by cigarettes. Seeing their parents suck down coffin nails prompts an existential crisis in their young, selfish minds: "They're mourning for their childhood more than anticipating their future. [...] They don't want to die." Heavy! The Draper Hush silences the board.
It's not quite the Wheel of Life monologue from season one's finale, but it hooks the Society into at least another meeting with Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce. (NB: Are we stilling calling it SCDP since Bert took his shoes and went home? Partner emeritus? Loose ends, gah!) And it's a much better result than the one Don and Pete have with Ken Cosgrove, who refuses to exploit his family connections as a means of getting closer to Dow Chemical's ad budget. Elsewhere in the office, Lane promotes Joan to Director of Agency Operations, a title that will look dandy on a doorplate but not so hot on the pay stub; there is no money in it -- yet. Bums.
Ken and Peggy might have a lead on Topaz Pantyhose, meanwhile, a slumping brand that just fired everyone affiliated with its ad campaign -- including the model whom Joyce brings in to see if Peggy has any work for her. Peggy can't help (Harry might be able to, but only if you call dog-on-steak-level leering "helping"), but she can mobilize the creative side to court Topaz. Ken gets a meeting with the boss ("Art Garden -- yes, it's his real name"), and off they go to Topaz HQ, a dingy, sweatshop-looking joint with mortality issues of its own. "We don't have much time," the ad tandem is told, prompting Peggy into pitch mode -- with resounding success. "Topaz: The only pair of pantyhose you'll ever need," she chirps, followed soon after by, "Single pair, singular comfort." Art Garden is happy! This is a quarter-million dollars' worth of billings we're talking about -- not enough to save SCDP from its post-Lucky Strike woes, but the first new business in three months and a sign of the deus ex machina fortuitousness of other finale events and encounters.
It all started at the Francis household, where last week's sudden motivation to move has in fact resulted in the family moving. While Carla packs in the kitchen, Evil Glen just appears through the back door. He really wants to say goodbye to Sally, despite Betty's having forbidden the kids to see each other; Carla notes this prohibition before making the crucial, ridiculous mistake of allowing Glen an audience with Sally -- in her bedroom. It's chaste and somewhat wounding to the extent Marten "Son of Matthew" Weiner can act; even at his most wooden, a line like "I say goodbye to people all the time" leaves a mark. And the inevitable confrontation with Betty -- who just happened to come home from grocery shopping as Glen made his exit -- is probably his most searing scene to date. "Why do you hate me?" he bellows. "Just because you're sad doesn't mean everyone else has to be!"
The fallout probably wouldn't have gone well for Carla even if the humiliating blow-up hadn't happened right in front of her. But that it did all but sealed her fate; Betty turns her rage on the veteran nanny, prompting a rare bit of self-defense before Betty straight-up fires her. Whether or not Carla's insubordination and the family's imminent move to Rye justify Betty's actions (and you certainly could make that argument), the larger point is that Weiner needs a set-up to A) make Betty look as appalling and cruel as possible and B) leave Don hanging without a nanny before his and the kids' trip to California. Because that puts the nanny-hunt on Don, which puts the nanny-hunt on his secretary/erstwhile cock-pocket Megan, which... well, you know.
Don recruits Megan to join him and the family in California, where he's got some affairs with Anna's house to look after. Stephanie greets him and Sally and Bobby there; virtually all that remains is a piano, the hand-painted "Dick + Anna '64" from Don's previous visit, and the engagement ring (ahem) that Anna left behind. Stephanie doesn't want it ("I don't believe in it"), so it's Don's ring now. Which is convenient since he's already doubled Megan's salary to play nanny; God forbid he should have to shell out any more for jewelry.
Anyway, he and Megan obviously wind up sleeping together again. It's the night before a big trip to Disneyland, and Megan had a pretty lame night out with her former college roommate. She's so much better when she's singing French-language folk songs with Don's kids; "You're like Maria von Trapp," he says, stunned that this expert phone-answerer and office seductress also has just the right touch with a young psychotic like Sally. It's evinced all the more the next day as the bloodthirsty girl tips over a milkshake in a rage at her brother. "Don't get upset," Megan purrs, wiping up the spill with all the Canadian equanimity in her being. "It's only a milkshake." Astounded at this poise, this class, Don observes the scene with brow-folded, incredulous awe. This calls for action of his own.
It will have to wait until they return to New York. Contemplative Don is back, cleaned and dressed for work, perched on the edge of the bed where Megan lies asleep in the sweeping morning light. Who needs a junkie's painting for inspiration when you have your nubile secretary naked under your covers? Of course, marriage is a much, much more intense sell job than a full-page ad about quitting tobacco; Megan is a lot of things, but she's neither desperate nor the slightest bit dumb. Don has her tendency toward impulse indulgence -- and the faith she puts in it, not so unlike his own -- going for him, but still. As quickly as this moment occurred for both of them, it's arrived even quicker for us. Forget whether or not you believe this is actually what Don wants; the fundamental Mad Men question of "What would Don Draper do?" must come first. They're not always the same thing, though they may often seem like it. For example, he wanted Suzanne Farrell last year, but he committed to his identity.
That commitment has been weakening all season, but forgoing Faye to be with Megan seems to nudge the Dick Whitman skeleton further into Don's closet, so I really have no idea why any of this went down the way it did. I don't know Don's motivations anymore, I don't know who Megan even is except for someone good with kids, sex and message-taking, and I wonder what's in any of this for Weiner but the chance to crush Faye and Betty a little more. "I hope she knows you only like the beginnings of things," Faye tearfully shouts at Don over the phone -- spurned, rash and clearly not seeing eye-to-eye with the bigger Draperian picture.
Weiner tacks on a coda back in Don's apartment -- a glimpse of him and Megan in bed beneath the soothing strains of "I Got You, Babe," the camera swooping into the optimistic night over Manhattan. It's not that optimistic, keep in mind: Peggy is beside herself, not sure whether jealousy, anger or repulsion is the more appropriate response. Joan tries to calm her down ("They're all just between marriages"), later passing her ambivalence on to Greg via phone: "He was smiling like a fool, like he was the first man who married his secretary." But then Greg asks if and when she might break her own news: That she's pregnant. Say whaaaa? Maybe she is, maybe she isn't? Did she actually go through with the abortion in Morristown? Greg wants to know why she isn't showing in her recent pictures (though yes, she says, her breasts are bigger!) -- and, uh, yeah. So do I. I'm so confused.
But is that what we get for a finale -- after all this? Bert's AWOL and Joan may or may not still be carrying Roger's baby? Does it even matter? If the series ended last night, would you miss it? Or are we Faye to Matthew Weiner's Don -- loyal to the last, excusing, sympathetic, lovestruck and bruisingly swatted aside after a few fateful days in California? Maybe he, too, only likes the beginnings of things. Or maybe all of us do. Thank God for Walking Dead, I guess.