Sad Men: Does Don Draper Finally Find Peace in the Mad Men Finale?

Don Draper loses himself in the "Mad Men" finaleA

And at long last, Don Draper has died.

No, he didn’t fulfill a popular fan theory and jump out of his office building as pictured in the long-running opening credits. He didn’t die in the middle of a pitch, as his friend and mentor Roger Sterling had predicted. He didn’t die of lung cancer (though his ex-wife soon will). And, most mercifully, he didn’t get shot in the back of the head like what maybe happened to that other guy Matthew Weiner used to write about. But while the final scene of The Sopranos—the show on which Weiner cut his teeth, writing episodes as far back as 2004—will be debated pointlessly until the end of time, Mad Men‘s finale demonstrates the insignificance of that discussion. The Sopranos possibly ended with the death of Tony Soprano’s body. Mad Men concluded with something far more terrifying: the death of Don Draper’s soul.

That, of course, is just one interpretation. Undoubtedly, a pocket of viewers will insist that Don didn’t dream up the Coca-Cola ad that played this majestic series off the air, that he’s still meditating peacefully out in Big Sur, that the show’s final image of his lips curling into a smile proves that he finally found true enlightenment, not that he’d just experienced an epiphany on how to sell soft drinks. And maybe they’re right. Maybe that final chime wasn’t the sound of another lightbulb going off in Don Draper’s head, the instinctive response of a man who built himself into an executive of such towering potency—the man from the opening credits who tumbles from the top of a skyscraper, then suddenly reemerges, sitting confidently in his armchair—that he reflexively transforms human feelings into ad sales. Maybe Peggy wrote the Coke ad.

But I can’t accept that reading, because it doesn’t square with the Don Draper whom I’ve followed over the past seven seasons. That Don didn’t even start out as Don—he was Dick. But then a cigarette lighter collided with a puddle of fuel, and from the ashes sprang Don Draper, advertising genius. He knew he was living a lie, and he was forever haunted, not just by the terror of being discovered (recall the opening dream of the penultimate episode, when the cop bluntly informs Don, “You knew we’d catch up with you eventually”), but by the possibility that all of the monumental effort he’d expended to build his life anew was meaningless. “I took another man’s name,” he confesses to Peggy, his protégé and most faithful friend, “and made nothing of it.”

That’s a matter of opinion—Peggy vehemently disagrees, and if nothing else, Don fathered three kids with Betty, the oldest of whom is pretty awesome—but Don certainly believes it. It’s why he recently decided to repeat history and reinvent himself once more. These last few episodes of Mad Men involved Don stripping himself of the artifices that he accumulated upon his return from Korea. He quits his job. He gives his Cadillac to a hustler and admonishes him, “Don’t waste this.” He tracks down Stephanie, his de-facto niece, and offers her Anna’s old ring, a family heirloom. But he isn’t getting the rebirth he wanted; instead, he’s overwhelmed with grief and regret. “You’re not my family,” Stephanie spits at him, and the words are like a knife to the gut. Betty has already told him, quite accurately, that their children are accustomed to his absence, that his return home would only upset them. So, what now? If he isn’t Don Draper anymore, who is he?

Enter Leonard.

The finale's show-stopping moment came from little-known actor Evan Arnold

Now, every season of Mad Men has featured memorable monologues, but they’ve invariably belonged to Don, that artful manipulator of language. Whether he was filtering images of his home life through Kodak’s Carousel in “The Wheel” or revealing his impoverished origins to the Hershey’s execs in “In Care Of”, Don’s eloquent dialogue formed the backbone of Mad Men‘s biggest moments. But he was almost always talking, not listening. So it took some serious stones for Weiner to write one of his grandest, saddest speeches for the finale, then give it to someone we’ve never even met before. And while I can’t pretend that I expected a significant portion of Mad Men‘s final episode to take place at a California ashram, my bafflement proved unfounded once a soft-featured, middle-aged man shambled to an empty chair and started talking. Read More

The Best Performances of Tom Hardy, Star of Mad Max: Fury Road

Tom Hardy in a scene from Christopher Nolan's "Inception"

Tom Hardy has arrived. With today’s release of Mad Max: Fury Road, the English actor is officially a movie star, headlining a big-budget Hollywood production for the first time. I’ve yet to see the movie—something I intend to remedy this weekend (a review should be up in this space next week; UPDATE: that review is now available here)—but to fans of Hardy’s work, his presence in the lead is both highly gratifying and rather surprising. The 37-year-old’s brief but extraordinary career has thus far been characterized by a superior slipperiness, an uncanny ability to slide from one role to the next, submerging himself so deep into each performance that the actor disappears and only the character remains. It is odd, if nonetheless intriguing, to envision him plying his trade in a high-powered reboot of an age-old franchise, a genre that typically exalts star power and relies on brand recognition. (Hardy has of course appeared in summer tentpoles before, but only those directed by Christopher Nolan, an auteur masquerading as a blockbuster filmmaker.) Read More

The Water Diviner: Searching for Sustenance, and the Dead

Russell Crowe cast himself as the hero in his directorial debut

The Water Diviner, the directorial debut of Russell Crowe, is a tumultuous mishmash of tones: part Indiana Jones adventure, part fish-out-of-water comedy, part Nicholas Sparks romance, all mystical goop. A throwback historical epic that’s as overwrought as it is uneven, it is almost redeemed by Crowe’s evident passion for his subject matter, which involves the Battle of Gallipoli and its woeful aftermath. Crowe clearly felt compelled to tell this story, and his ambition is admirable. His execution is another matter.

Crowe stars as Joshua Connor, a hardscrabble farmer whom we first see prowling the barren Australian landscape, searching for signs of water. It is 1919, four years after the wartime events at Gallipoli, which are presumed to have claimed the lives of Joshua’s three sons. After his wife, disconsolate from her children’s death, drowns herself in a makeshift pool of her husband’s own construction (oh, the irony!), Joshua resolves to travel to Gallipoli and locate his sons’ remains. When he arrives in Turkey, however, he learns that securing passage to the ruins is no easy task, and he takes up temporary residence in an Istanbul hotel operated by a fetching proprietor, Ayshe (Olga Kurylenko, stiff). Read More

Avengers: Age of Ultron—Heroes Assemble, then Cower, then Fight

Your Avengers, from left: Black Widow, Captain America, Thor, Iron Man, and the Hulk

It seems ludicrous that I should pity Joss Whedon. A visionary so accustomed to having his magical creations snuffed out by the pitiless forces of commerce and TV ratings, he has finally ascended to the summit, piloting the most unstoppable comic-book franchise in cinematic history. Yet after watching Avengers: Age of Ultron, which Whedon both wrote and directed, I cannot escape the feeling that he is exhausted, browbeaten, defeated. He has acquired an unlimited budget and a top-notch cast, not to mention the adoration of legions of fans. But in his feverish efforts to satisfy those fans, he has made not so much a movie as a bloated, hulking anthology, a cluttered collection that dutifully affords screen time and subplots to each of its many, many heroes. There are few films where more happens, but in this movie, more is somehow less.

This is not to say that Age of Ultron is entirely lacking in personality. Whedon’s dialogue still sings, and his gift for witty, easygoing banter remains evident. There are numerous character-driven scenes in which the film’s noisy, explosive bedlam surrenders to pensive, welcome quiet. The problem is that rather than forming the fulcrum of the movie, these human moments feel shoehorned into the larger narrative, stolen respites wedged between the obligatory scenes of violence and spectacle. I am not suggesting that Age of Ultron should have been entirely bereft of action. I simply wish that its action served a greater purpose beyond sating hungry viewers’ appetites with such rote sound and fury. Read More

Ex Machina: Of Gods and Men, and Their Beautiful Machines

Domhnall Gleeson and Oscar Isaac in Alex Garland's "Ex Machina"

“Deus ex machina,” the literary term used to describe the contrived resolution of a complicated plot, translates as “God from the machine”. You might think, given that the title of Alex Garland’s arresting, deeply promising directorial debut is merely Ex Machina (sans “deus”), that there are no gods to be found here, only hubristic men and their miraculous machines. You’d be right, but only from a literal perspective. The two characters at the center of Ex Machina may be men, but they act like gods (one even proclaims himself as such), and while they play different parts—one fancies himself the benevolent savior, the other the impassive creator—they each seek to manipulate the fates of others. They soon learn that playing God comes with a cost.

Of course, they themselves are behaving at the whim of their own maker. Every director is the god of his own movie, and Garland hurls a Zeus-like thunderbolt in the film’s very first scene. His camera opens with a close-up of Caleb (Domhnall Gleeson, nicely cast and effectively blank), with rivulets of electronic-blue light dancing across his face as though constructing a topographical map. An email with the subject “Staff lottery: WINNER” flashes across his computer screen, his cell phone blows up with congratulatory messages, and then without a word he’s off, flying via helicopter over the frigid lands of Norway. Garland conveys a reel’s worth of exposition in a few silent seconds, and this extraordinary economy demonstrates that Ex Machina isn’t interested in second place. It wants to be great, and it mostly is. Read More