 |
| (AMC) |
The first of Mad Men’s last batch of episodes derives its name, literally, from the firing of Ken Cosgrove (Aaron Staton). “Severance” is offered to him in faceless, compensatory fashion: you’ve been with us a long time, Roger (John Slattery) and Pete (Vincent Kartheiser) seem to be telling their longtime co-worker, so here’s a little package as gratitude for what you’ve given us.
Fittingly, I can’t recall an episode of Mad Men as baked in its own history as this midseason premiere. The ostensible interpretation of the title comes through Ken’s firing, but in each of the circulating episodic arcs, the past -- as in, the years that we as viewers have beared witness to -- is a bittersweet commodity. It’s a place that tells you how far you’ve come, but also reminds where you once were. It’s an idea we selectively choose to nostalgically look back on, or aggressively wipe out of our minds. And as Mad Men jumps from one decade to the next, the intertwining consideration of past, present and future is irrepressibly salient.
“Severance” opens as Mad Men-meta: Don (Jon Hamm) is instructing a woman on how to be sexy, beautiful and sellable, with director Scott Hornbacher’s camera claustrophobically cutting between the man and his object (naturally, we eventually learn they’re in a room full of leering ad executives). Matthew Weiner’s script quickly calls back to that conflation of sexism and advertising so intrinsic to the world of Mad Men, and characteristically levels and textures it with an era-appropriate (and precise) tune: Peggy Lee belting out “Is That All There Is?” It’s a wink, a knowing gesture from the period drama’s mastermind: it’s as much a reflection of Don’s state of mind as it is an acknowledgment to the audience.
Don spends the episode primarily old-hat, pitching, showing up late, napping and sleeping with multiple women within the hour. But his deviation in “Severance” is thematically vital. Immediately after envisioning the return of season one lover Rachel Menken (who since married, and became Rachel Katz) in a dream, he sets out to find her and reunite. Rachel, that independently-minded, bracingly intelligent, strikingly beautiful old fling of his, certainly connected with Don in a way no subsequent woman -- and that includes his second (ex) wife, Megan (Jessica Pare) -- ever has. And whether it’s because of Maggie Siff’s transcendent performance, the fact that Rachel was a part of the show’s early days or because she brought out something primal in Don that no one else really did, Rachel’s ghost has hovered over Mad Men, however distant and quiet, throughout its run.
That Rachel is revealed to be dead, then, is less surprising for a viewer than for someone within Mad Men’s universe. She is merely a memory, a woman who came into Don’s life at the exact time he was confronting his massive secret and establishing an irrevocable distance from Betty (January Jones, absent tonight). Don’s instability at that time was so rampant, in fact, that he offered to abandon his wife and children and run away (literally; to another country) with Rachel -- a proposition, it’s worth reminding, that drove Rachel away in the first place. And yet who is Rachel to Don, a decade later? She’s a sexy illusion, irresistibly confident and smart enough to put him in his place -- the cure-of-the-moment for his pervading loneliness. Throughout “Severance,” Don is chasing the ghosts of the past. He runs into a melancholic waitress, played by Elizabeth Reaser, and is sure he knows (ergo, slept with) her. For an audience member, it might be tricky: Don’s been known to hook up with underused character actresses, from Rosemarie DeWitt to Melinda McGraw to Abigail Spencer to Cara Buono to Linda Cardellini to -- well, you get the point. The casting isn’t an accident. And neither is the question. Don had never wanted to look back, but in 1969, he can’t help himself: it’s his only answer to “is that all there is?”
It’s the inverse for Joan (Christina Hendricks), who’s trying desperately to shed the trappings of her old identity for the new one she’s earned at a great moral and emotional cost. Joan’s savviness was always there, and deemed transferable to a more “male” role as early as season two when she was tasked with helping Harry read TV scripts. In her new job, with her stature and stability, you might think she’s made it. Weiner’s first scene major scene with Joan in “Severance” pits her next to Peggy (Elisabeth Moss), pitching their McCann partners to take on a client who sells leggings. Naturally, Joan isn’t taken seriously: “Why aren’t you selling brassieres,” one McCann ad-man boorishly inquires. Weiner’s smart enough to know how obviously this is playing all out, and immediately after, he searches for nuance. A breathtakingly genuine argument between Peggy and Joan subsequently ensues in the elevator, arguing about who deserves what and whether Joan should be taken seriously, given how she “dresses.” There’s jealousy, anger and just a smidge of respect coming from both sides, even as the broader issue concerns a lack of understanding. Faced with very different challenges and overcoming them in very different, equally arduous ways, Peggy and Joan can’t find common ground. And that’s mainly because it appears as if -- to them, anyway -- they’re not fighting the same battle.
Joan goes, in a bout of self-affirmation, to spend a whole lot of money on clothes and jewelry. At the store, she’s recognized: “Didn’t you used to work here?” the sales clerk asks. Well, she did, back in season three while husband Greg was fighting a losing battle and she gave up employment at Sterling Cooper to raise a baby -- but without enough money to do it. Again, the past calls back, and Joan is so firm in her rejection of it that she won’t even take the discount that comes with a past connection to the store. Hendricks is so expert at finding that confident center to Joan, identifying with crucial empathy the need she has to dress and act as herself, even if that means taking more crap than is deserved. But throughout season 7 -- that is, last year’s batch of seven episodes included -- Mad Men has reminded that Joan can only get so far; that she’s still judged, and underestimated, and marked by a dark past. Don Draper ran away from Dick Whitman; Joan Harris is running away from Joan Holloway. It’s the same deal for Peggy, who after a lengthy stint with the counter-culture crowd is turning to a more old-fashioned approach to romance and connection; those “contemporary” ways of doing things didn’t work out so well.
But how much of a difference, really, is it? Everything in “Severance” is pointing to the limitations of change and the illusive nature of total fulfillment. Pete reflects on his California days as if they were a dream; “but they were real,” he reminds himself. Sure, they were. But in “Severance,” he’s back in the New York office, enviously and sneakily undermining Ken’s writing aspirations with as much subtle snark as he did back in season 2. He fled to the Sunshine State, tried out a fling with a hot real estate agent -- but he didn’t get very far. Pete’s risen exactly as he intended, making moves with shameless gusto. Yet he’s still incomprehensibly bitter, curiously unsatisfied with what he’s got.
That is, in effect, “Severance.” It’s a tangible, bittersweet reminder of what you’ve left behind. It’s an identity; a girlfriend; a job; a state -- a person, place or thing (let’s call it a noun) that feels old and dusty. Maybe you’re pining for it; maybe you can’t stand the smell of it. “Severance” bridges that gap. You can’t chase after the past, and you can’t block it out either. But it creeps up; it reminds. It compels comparison, a wrestling with who you are and who you were. Thus, the sad, wistful question lingering over “Severance” is conveyed with immense feeling, even if blatantly obvious: is that all there is?
Grade: A- to A
Notes
* Rebecca Creskoff returns for the first time since season one as Rachel’s sister, Barbara. Rachel would tell her sister all about their torrid affair, and it’s a moment of fascinating silence when Don introduces himself to Barbara. “I know who you are” says a lot: Don’s ostensibly changed dramatically since we last saw Rachel/Barbara, and yet we know exactly what she’s talking about.
* Andrew made sure to remind me that the final shot (beautifully) pays homage to Edward Hopper’s “The Nighthawks.” Like the painting, it’s an interpretive way to close -- but that unshakable sense of loneliness doesn’t waver, either.
* No, I didn’t forget Roger’s mustache. No, it’s nothing less than flawless.
* Elisabeth Moss’ reaction to the way Peggy is described as “Funny” and “Fearless” utterly exemplifies how good and careful of an actor she is.
* And, while on the topic of acting, Jon Hamm was absolutely fantastic upon Don’s learning of Rachel’s death. He’s able to dig into what it means to Don, beyond what’s on the surface, without going maudlin or treacly. Stellar stuff, as per usual.