“Midway in our life’s journey, I went astray from the
straight road, and awoke to find myself in a dark wood, alone…”
When last we saw Don, he was still recovering from the
suicide of his business partner Lane Pryce, and finding his way after the
departure of Peggy Olson for a rival agency. He spent the first year of his
marriage seemingly committed to his second wife Megan, but we were left with
the impression as the season ended that 1967 would see the end of his fidelity.
And after a period of near failure, his advertising agency is finally beginning
to assert itself as a player on Madison Avenue, following the firm’s securing
an account with Jaguar.
But what can we make of Don’s dipping into Dante? The answer
comes at the end of the season opener, “The Doorway,” when we discover that Don
has been having an affair with Sylvia, the wife of his neighbor, the heart
surgeon Dr. Arnold Rosen. “Did you read
my Dante?” she asks, during their New Year’s Eve rendezvous. We understand from
their dialogue that Don wants their affair to end, but he, of course, sought
her out.
“The Doorway” is chiefly concerned with mortality, which you
might expect from an episode that begins with the first lines of “The Divine
Comedy.” Dante, in exile, writes of a supernatural encounter with the ghost of
the classical poet Virgil, who then takes him on the beginning of a journey
through Hell, Purgatory and, and eventually, Heaven. It is there that he will
be reunited with his love Beatrice, and come face to face with God.
As Don puts down his book on the beach, he notices his watch
has stopped. Time has seemingly come to a standstill in paradise. But time is
chiefly what Don and his coworkers are obsessed with. It is New Year, after
all, the one time of life when we have no choice but to note its passage. There
is Jonesy, the doorman for Don’s apartment building, who had a heart attack
shortly before their trip and was saved by Dr. Rosen. There is Roger, who has
to deal with the death of his mother after a long life. But time and mortality
haunt Don, to the point where he can’t sleep and drinks so much that he vomits
at the Sterling funeral, during a speech about what Mrs. Sterling’s life meant.
These intimations of death have clearly gotten to Don (or is
he still thinking about Lane’s death?) when he pitches an ad campaign using his
Hawaii trip – and inadvertently leaves the impression of someone killing
themselves. This references the very first episode of “Mad Men,” when Don
struggled to come up with an ad campaign for Lucky Strike, knowing the product
causes cancer. Roger comments on this:
“We sold actual death for 28 years with Lucky Strike. You
know how we did it? We ignored it.”
In that first episode six years ago, Don said that
advertising is a sign saying whatever you’re doing is okay. That’s perhaps what
is being said throughout the episode – why do we take vacations to paradise?
Why do we drink? Why do we worship? Because we know we will die, but as Dr.
Rosen observes at episode’s end – “People do anything to alleviate their
anxiety.” They want the sign by the side of the road assuring them that all is
well.
Don’s choice of reading material also reminds us of an earlier
moment in the series. Don sent a copy of “Notes In the Middle of an Emergency”
to Anna Draper, the wife of his dead namesake in season two. This was at a
moment when Don began to grasp the loneliness of his double life, and the
ethereal quality of his success. This time, however, it is a woman who has
given him poetry.
Dante’s work – our jumping off point – begins with a journey
through Hell. John Ciardi, who translated “The Divine Comedy” says that the
souls who find themselves in Dante’s Hell insisted upon it. “One must
deliberately exclude himself from grace by hardening his heart against it. Hell
is what the damned have actively and insistently wished for.” It is a hallmark
of “Mad Men” that Don never stays happy for very long, that he seems insistent
on melancholy. As Peggy told him last year, at the moment of the Jaguar triumph,
he never seems to appreciate the good moments in life.
There is also a spiritual subtext to “The Doorway,” much
more vivid than is usually the case for “Mad Men.” (I continue to be amazed at
how many times the characters refer to Jesus, and not just as a profanity.) For
example, after his mother’s funeral, Roger feels moved to give his daughter a
jar filled with water from the Jordan River. His father procured it on a
business trip, and it baptized not only Roger but his daughter.
Peggy Olson deals with a work crisis while unable to get
hold of her boss. We learn, through her end of a phone conversation with a
pastor, that he seems to be on some sort of “religious retreat.” When he
returns, he informs Peggy that his wife thinks he works too much. We also
notice that Teddy is not the same character we were introduced to in the fourth
season – a scheming, frustrated second-fiddle to Don Draper. He looks somehow
content in a way that Don never seems, and that Peggy can’t seem to find
either.
When Don meets Sylvia
later, the camera pans across the bedroom to reveal a plastic mockup of a human
heart – and a cross. And what day is it? Of course, it’s Sunday.
But where the Inferno begins on Holy Thursday in the year
1300, “The Doorway” takes place in the week between Christmas and New Year’s
Eve, 1967. “World Bids Adieu to a Violent Year,” is the headline in The New
York Times when Don returns to his apartment. What neither he nor anybody else
can know is that they are about to enter the bloodiest year of the 1960s, the
most turbulent, and the most dispiriting. The Tet Offensive, the assassinations
of Martin Luther King Jr. and Bobby Kennedy, the riots, the Chicago Democratic
Convention, the hints of absolute disorder are right around the corner. But the
future always looks bright on the first day of the year.
Jules Whitcover, in his book, “The Year The Dream Died,”
tells us that 1968 was a nightmare. “It was the year when the sensitivities and
nerve ends of millions of Americans were assaulted almost beyond bearing,” he
writes, “and the hopes of other millions were buried beneath a wave of
violence, deception and collective trauma unmatched in any previous January
through December in the nation’s memory.”
Essentially 1968 was a paradox. After less than a decade of
expanding civil rights, loosening social attitudes, and unprecedented
prosperity and technical innovation, American society descended into chaos,
leaving one with the impression that things were not moving toward a social
utopia. Where Don Draper’s generation
may have felt a self-satisfaction at the pace of liberal American democracy,
the younger, more radical left felt democratic pretensions were a sham, and American consumerism a dead end.
!968 offered a clash of these sentiments, and many others. Instead of paradise,
many were moved to remark, “This country
is going to hell.”
Perhaps “Mad Men” – and the journey of Don Draper – is “The
Divine Comedy” in reverse. Don begins in the 1960s in Paradise. “Who couldn’t
be happy with all this?” he asks Roger over a drink in his office in the show’s
second episode. But he loses his marriage at the same moment he must build a
firm from nothing. The season he spent building it, and rebuilding his life,
could function as a kind of purgatory. But as Don sits on the beach reading
Dante, we wonder if he’s learned anything from his journey.
Dante’s Hell was not a metaphor to him, just as any man’s
suffering is not an entertainment. But as the sign above the gates of Hell
reminded the poet, what makes Hell hellish is its never-ending absence of hope.
It remains to be seen what awaits Don Draper in the new year.
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Excellent analysis! "Mad Men" is a terrific show; I never feel like I know where it's going, but when it gets there it always feels like it's arrived at just the right place.
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