Oh, man. This show. Love! Let's get right to it.
Previously: Don made out with Rachel, but she dropped him when she found out he's married; Don's brother Adam (last name Whitman, which just might be significant) showed up, and Don paid him five grand to go away. Lots of other stuff happened, too, but I'll recap it all eventually. Oh, and I'm not explaining who all these people are here -- I'll do it when I go back and do the first episodes, but in the meantime, that's what the AMC site is for.
We open on some quick stylish shots of the Draper kitchen; among them is a look at two perfectly singed pieces of toast popping out of the old-school toaster and someone dumping a can of frozen orange juice into a glass pitcher. I won't go on and on about how enjoyably stylized and period-accurate the show is, especially when The New York Times just ran a big piece on that very subject, but it hasn't gotten by me, you can be sure. Turns out Don is making breakfast in bed for Betty, and he grabs a section of the paper on his way, but as he starts up the stairs with the tray, he unwittingly steps on a toy that's been left out, and everything goes flying and he lands on his back at the foot of the stairs. We then seamlessly see an older man in a cardigan vest admonish him: "Dick Whitman, you watch where you're going!" Also in the shot are two older-school-dressed and miserable-looking women, who are watching him, and two female attendants, who are not. The camera moves closer to Don as his eyes unfocus into the memory, and then, after a cut to the man asking him if he's going to cry or get up, we see the young Dick, dressed in period-appropriate shorts and suspenders and lying in Don's place, tell his "Uncle Mack" that he's getting up. The young Dick has an extremely unfortunate bowlhead haircut, which could go a long way to explain why Don is so desperate to forget this chapter of his life. Uncle Mack asks Dick what he's afraid of, and Dick tells him there was a lot of screaming. Mack: "Always is." That comment is clarified when the party moves over to a beatifically smiling woman who's holding a newborn in her arms; she tells Dick he has a new brother. Dick denies that he's his brother, but Mack says they have the same father (...interesting -- where is he?), and we learn that, of course, this is the young Adam, named "after the First Man." Dick regards his new brother balefully; we then cut to Don, still lying on the floor with his head raised, watching the scene, and then Don and young Dick share a long, inscrutable look before Dick turns back to the tableau in front of him. You see, kids, if you don't put away your toys, you force your parents to relive haunting, painful memories from their childhoods. I hope you can live with yourselves. Anyway, Don's reverie is broken by the appearance of his family at the top of the stairs. Sally calls to him, and then Betty hurries down and asks if he's okay. Don: "Happy Mother's Day." I hope that means you're at least going to clean that mess up, Don, but if you ad men were good at that, you wouldn't need Joan around the office.
That night, I guess? Don and Betty enter the darkened house, each holding a sleeping kid; they've been having a little family Mother's Day celebration, if the balloons attached to the kids are any indication. They head up the stairs and disappear into one of the bedrooms, with a red balloon lagging behind for a few seconds. It would be cool if that signaled a smash cut to the streets of Paris, but somehow I can't really see where the story would go from there. The door closes...
...and then later Don, in those really sweet blue striped pajamas he has, is reading The Best Of Everything. Heh. Betty comes to bed as Don comments that the book is fascinating, and Betty snarks that it's better than the Hollywood version. "Joan Crawford is not what she was." And this way before Mommie Dearest. Betty goes on that Crawford's eyebrows are completely unnerving, "like a couple of caterpillars just pasted there." I hate to make fun of crazy dead actresses, but Betty's not exactly wrong here. Don, however, says that men like Joan Crawford. "Salvatore couldn't stop talking about her." Ha! I originally thought they weren't going to push Salvatore's swishiness any further than they already have, but now I see he's heading for Far From Heaven territory. Maybe he'll get lucky and bag Dennis Quaid. Don and Betty lie in each other's arms as Betty remarks, basically, that when she gets old and her physical beauty diminishes, she just wants to disappear. Don, I don't know if they had this term in 1960, so I'm going to tell you that what she just said qualifies as a RED FLAG. Seriously, though, this show is so great at letting us see beneath the veneer of marital happiness to the ugliness and paralyzing fear below while not letting the characters in on the secret. In an age when therapy was still taboo, it's not surprising that people played their roles while escaping into rampant adultery and alcoholism. And pursuant to that, the conceit that people's desire to be told that they're okay is at the root of successful advertising is both neat and brilliant; I think it still applies today despite society's changes, which makes the show a lot more relevant than just a simple period piece. I could go on and on, and probably will, but I'm at like, minute three here and I do have a deadline.
Anyway, Don jokes that at the first sign of crow's feet, he'll put Betty on an ice floe. I understand that's what Eskimos do as well. Betty reminisces about how her mother kept her looks even into her older years, but tellingly, she says she was "vivacious and positively cheerful" right up until the end, emphasizing the tie in her mind between beauty and happiness. Don wonders why Betty's dwelling on her mother, and Betty tells him that her shrink suggested a book that said it's healthy, and "part of the mourning process." She says she thinks the therapy is helping, but Don rather condescendingly opines that mourning is "just extended self-pity." He goes on that pygmies grind up their ancestors and consume the powder in a beer, which I guess means that I'll be drinking wine tonight. After some derisive comments about pygmy culture (fueled by the Intro to Anthopology course Betty apparently took in college) Don starts nuzzling Betty's neck; some flirtation about "Advanced Reproduction" gives way to Betty teasing that he failed the course because he got "caught cheating." A mistake he seems to be taking care not to repeat. At Betty's request, Don turns out the light; he starts to go for it, but Betty seriously tells him that she wants him all the time; it's all she thinks about, every day. She heartbreakingly goes on that everything she does in her daily routine is just like walking in a fog, because she can't stop thinking about him and when he's going to come home. Whether this is a conscious attempt to draw him closer (and rein in his vaguely suspected infidelities) is unclear and probably irrelevant -- it still signals the crumbling of one of the walls around her. Her voice breaks as she says she wants him so bad, and he takes her non-physical meaning as he tells her she has him. "You do." I know words are at a premium in your line of work, Don, so I'll hold my comments to this: Dubious. They get going as we fade out.
An establishing shot of the lobby at Sterling Cooper gives way to Don entering a meeting room, in which Roger introduces an executive from "Olympic Cruise Lines," a guy from the Israeli Ministry of Tourism, and a woman whose affiliation isn't mentioned, although she seems to be with the Israeli guy, especially given her thick accent. In keeping with the spread on the table, Roger plugs "caviar, blinis (I'm assuming it's "blinis" the pancake, given the caviar, and not "bellinis" the drink; as usual, closed-captioning lets you down when you really need it), mai tais -- we're thinking of a land of exotic luxury." I'm listening. The cruise guy (Nick is his name) says that they want to make Haifa the Middle East's Rome to Beirut's Paris. Don wonders what physical landmark Haifa has to sell that image, and Roger pipes up that apparently, Haifa is about to get a Hilton. Nick adds that Olympic is going to have its finest luxury liner visiting several ports on the Israeli Riviera, and the woman (Lily) tells Don and Roger that while they're going to visit a competitor of SC's up the street, "some of us find his humor to be kitsch." Hee, but what really sells it is the "Not this argument again" side-eye her partner gives her. The Israeli team suggests a more glamorous approach, and Lily produces a copy of Exodus, saying it's been on the bestseller list for two years in the States, and is soon to be a major motion picture starring Paul Newman. I'd imagine Don and Roger know this already, but humoring the client seems like the better part of valor here. Lily goes on, "America has a love affair with Israel, and we would like to bring the two parties together." Sure, plenty of people may have been stuck in loveless marriages, but it's nice to know that in some ways it was a happier time. After a joke about the Bible, Don asks what their target tourist's salary is, and Lily dryly responds, "Whatever you make." Roger, just as dryly, says clients always say that, and we end the scene on a shot of Nick stuffing his fat face. Hey Nick, the ocean called -- they're running out of caviar.
In the main area, Roger comes out to reception to find his wife Mona and teenaged daughter, "Margaret." Mona informs him that they're going to get Margaret's hair cut, and Roger tells Margaret that he likes her ponytail, as it makes her look young. Margaret: "I like your hair, Daddy, it makes you look old." Not that I don't respect the bitchery, kid, but there's a reason the term "Silver Fox" enjoys popularity. Mona isn't sure where to take Margaret (...I'm sure Mona gets her hair done, but maybe she wants a place younger people go for Margaret?) and just then Don and Joan stride up, prompting Mona to say they make a handsome couple. Joan: "I don't go for handsome." If that's a dig at Roger, ouch! On the plus side, though, it looks like Joan and Margaret will hit it off. Mona asks Joan for help, and Joan mischievously shepherds Margaret away to make a hair appointment with Mona following with barely a word for Roger. Roger muses, "She used to love being in my office."
We hear Roger wondering How You Solve A Problem Like Margaret; he's lying in bed in dress shirt and boxers. He talks about how "we" raised her, so we're meant to think it's Mona in the bathroom, but it's actually Joan, who's getting dressed; she comes out and remarks that she thinks Margaret reminds Roger of himself. "You're both spoiled." They're both pretty masculine, too, but hopefully the haircut helped Margaret in that department. Joan tries to get Roger to zip her up; he in turn tries to get her to go another round, but she points out that while he doesn't have to go back to work, she does. He talks about the pearl necklace he gave her and the spread he ordered, but Joan distastefully says she doesn't like eating in the hotel room. "Food that close to the bed reminds me of a hospital." Roger suggest things would be easier if Joan had her own place; she counters that she thought he liked things the way they are, but while he agrees that "this year" has been the best of his life, he's getting tired of all the sneaking around. Yes, what a burden it must be for you, not being able to bang Joan on the living room couch while your wife merrily cooks dinner for the both of you. Joan gives us some truth, saying that the sneaking around is his favorite part; she goes on that while she likes what they do, she has an enjoyable social life that includes many men, and in fact, she and Carol, her roommate she's known since college, have something of a rotation in that department. You know, Joan may be, to use the language of the period, one opportunistic, brazen hussy, but you kind of have to admire a woman who knows exactly how hard she can get away with squeezing a man's balls. Roger calls Carol a "disaster," but Joan says she's a good friend, and without her, she'd only have half the fun she does. Roger suggests that Joan get a bird instead, and then he pulls her down and lies on top of her as she asks if they can't just enjoy what they're doing; in fact, as they both know she'll eventually get married and he'll "find a newer model," it seems illogical to do anything else. Roger seems to accept the wisdom as he gears up for Round Two, but I have a feeling that might be a coincidence.
In Don's office, he, Pete, Salvatore, and Paul are having a brainstorming session about the Israel campaign and the problems the violence endemic to the region present. Pete suggests pushing the danger as an "adventure in travel" angle, and I get what he's saying but I think most people would opt for a safari instead. I mean, at least you're the one holding the gun, right? Salvatore suggests a parting of the Red Sea yielding a resort idea, and if I didn't reject that on taste principles alone, I'd certainly kibosh it on the grounds that most people don't go on vacation to wander the desert for forty years. There's discussion of kibbutzes and Communism and the creation of the Israeli state that doesn't really go anywhere, and then Salvatore suggests that Israel's biggest asset is that the people are hot. The meeting breaks up without any resolution, and I know attitudes were different back then, but if I have to sit through two minutes of blatant racism, I at least want a pithy ad slogan for my trouble. We switch to an exterior shot as the boys file out, and Don asks Peggy for a private line and closes his office door. Back inside, he dials...
...and we cut to Rachel, who looks chagrined once someone informs her via intercom that Don is calling for her. She eventually answers, and Don expresses the desire to meet up with her. She's extremely reluctant, but he tells her it's important, so she agrees to lunch the day in the tea room at the Pierre. I hope that's not where Joan and Roger conduct their assignations, because that would make for one awkward afternoon back at the office. When they hang up, Rachel looks pensive, and Don goes back to looking at the photo of the Israeli woman on the magazine cover.
Back from the break, Betty is starting to get undressed for bed and making offhand comments to Don, who's reading Exodus and clearly not really listening to her. Yup, she's got him, all right. She attracts his attention, however, by saying the first boy she ever kissed was Jewish. It seems pretty clear at this point that the first boy you married was also Jewish, the usage of "was" being significant rather than lazy in this case. Don perks up, and asks how that happened, and apparently, one of Betty's childhood pals had a Jewish friend, and she invited them to a charity fundraiser at her synagogue. A boy named David Rosenberg (I personally have known two of those) danced with her all night. Don asks if he was a good kisser, which between most couples would seem light and normal but is oddly creepy coming from him, and Betty responds that she thinks he had had a lot more practice than she. The day, Beth, the Jewish girl, told everyone Betty was necking with David Rosenberg, which I guess means that if Betty knows only one Yiddish word, it's got to be yenta. Betty finishes the story by saying that the girls all gave her looks, but were all blondes by the summer. So...they all wanted to make out with David Rosenberg? He must have been a really good kisser. Not speaking of which, Betty leans in and kisses Don for a bit, but when she realizes he's not even as into it as Salvatore would be, she stops. Don tells her it's hot, and he has to read the book, and Betty too-brightly agrees. She tries to save a little face by suggesting they get an air conditioner in the bedroom, but Don noncommittally replies, "We'll see." Betty heads into the bathroom, probably to silently castigate herself. As well she should -- directly telling your spouse you want to be with him is no way to conduct yourself in marriage! Also, Don's kind of a dick.
Ken and Salvatore go into an older guy named "Frederick"'s (I think he's new to the show; the AMC site describes him as a "lifelong midlevel copywriter") office; after some talk of a Mickey Mantle glove theft that I'm guessing actually happened, Salvatore makes a snide comment about waiting for Frederick to finish his breakfast, and Frederick opines that a day without orange juice is a long day indeed. That may well be true, but a day where the breakfast orange juice includes vodka, as indicated by the bottle of the stuff on your desk, can be not only long but also quite ugly. Hypothetically speaking, of course. Anyway, the topic is lipstick; the client makes tons of different shades, but the sales are crap, and Salvatore opines that maybe that's due to the cheesy names the company gives all the colors. Ken asks if they knew that lipstick was created to simulate the flush on woman's face after you nail her. Frederick stares at him: "If you're going to quote the research report, don't start with 'did you know.'" Heh, and also, I was wondering why Ken used the euphemism "treat her right" instead of something vulgar (like some people I could mention), but if he was quoting right off the page, it makes a lot more sense. I could be imagining things, but if that was done on purpose, it's a deft touch. Everyone laughs at Ken's ineptitude, and Frederick says he doesn't really understand the research, as he doesn't speak moron. "Do either of you speak moron?" When Ken and Salvatore shake their heads, Frederick suggests they "throw it to the chickens." What, is it Pete's day off?
So Joan leads a bunch of empty-headed, giggling women into a room containing numerous small mounted makeup mirrors on the desks and a severe-looking, matriarchal woman. Joan locks the door and tells them that their client wants the women's opinions on their new line of lipstick. Meanwhile, on the other side of the one-way glass, the male regulars are observing the proceedings. Salvatore pours himself a drink, and Joan tells the girls that what they're going to do is called brainstorming. Some bimbo says that sounds intimidating, and thank God Peggy is there so this won't turn into a total debacle. Joan opens up a large lipstick case, and there's vociferous and irritating oohing and aahing. Meanwhile, Salvatore is snarking on the women: "Has no taste...ugly dress...horrible wig." It's a good thing the internet wasn't around back then, or he might have beaten Heather and Jessica to the Go Fug Yourself idea. Harry enters the secret room, setting off a round of insults at the women's expense, and Paul asks, "Anybody mind if I take off my pants?" Laughter ensues, but the editors screw up here, because we get a reaction shot of Ken, when the line was simply begging for one of Salvatore.
On the other side, the severe-looking woman does nothing to soften her image by talking, as she's got a thick, strident German accent. She questions one of the bimbos about her lipstick habits, causing her to stare blankly at Joan. Joan, not surprisingly, enjoys fucking with the woman a little, saying that the question she just asked sounds loaded. Frau Commandant: "It is unloaded, and I insist you curb your editorial comments." Suddenly I want to hang out with this woman. I think she'd be a hoot and a half after a couple extra-large steins of beer. She asks another question and gets another pleading stare toward Joan, prompting her to acidly address Joan: "You, stand over there." Hee. Joan, for her part, moves all of six inches and blows smoke in Frau Commandant's direction. Joan Crawford's got nothing on these two, and tell me Salvatore isn't loving that.
Pete joins the boys, and Roger right after him; as if on cue, Joan waggles her ass in front of the mirror. She then turns to face the boys with her best sultry pout; Ken stands up and cheesily salutes, and the other boys follow, but Roger looks pissed. You should see what she does when she has Carol to play off of, dude. Paul then, referring to Peggy, asks what's with "Mouse Ears" (hee) there; she's sitting by herself quietly observing the proceedings. We get a long look at the bunch of other women blotting their lipstick, and then the one on the end stylishly and in slowish motion drops her paper into a wastebasket filled with it.
At the Pierre, Don is already seated and smoking and drinking away when Rachel appears, clad in a red suit that's practically begging for a pillbox hat. Don gets her chair, and she stiffly sits down while refusing his offer of refreshment. He tries to tell her she looks beautiful, but she's having as much of that as she does of pork and shellfish, and asks him to get down to business. He tells her about the Israeli campaign, and she can't believe she's the only "Jew" he knows in New York. He replies, "You're my favorite." Oy, gevalt. He then spills some of his drink on his tie, which flusters him a little, but Rachel reaches out and cleans it off, and the ice is pretty clearly starting to melt as she comments that he's usually "so put together." She counsels Don not to cross an Israeli, but isn't forthcoming with any more advice, as she doesn't consider herself overly Jewish, and certainly doesn't think she's any kind of expert on Israel. He keeps after her, though, so she ruminates that Jews have lived in exile time out of mind -- in Babylon, Shanghai, Brooklyn -- and they've survived. She pointedly adds, "Maybe it's the fact that we thrive at doing business with people who hate us." Don defensively says he doesn't hate her, and she counters, "No. Individuals are wonderful." I'm starting to think that forecast of melting ice might have been a little premature. Rachel's point, though, is that an actual Jewish nation is a very big deal, prompting Don to ask why she's not there herself. She tells him her life is in New York, and for her, it's the concept of Israel that's the important thing. Don takes her hand as he smiles, "Utopia," and Rachel struggles with herself for several seconds before pulling it away. She ruefully gives Don a lesson in Greek etymology, saying that the word "Utopia" has two derivations, the first being "the good place," and the second being "the place that cannot be." It sure was nice of those Greeks to come up with a word that can easily be used to parallel the tragic nature of Don and Rachel's relationship! Don looks somewhat gobsmacked as Rachel gets up and says she has to get back to the office. "I'd better not see this on my bill." Heh.
Back at the office, Joan calls an end to The Lipstick Review. Most of the girls file out, and Frederick says they have to count the shades the girls tried. He asks Peggy to bring him the wastebasket full of tissues, and she complies while calling it a "basket of kisses." He compliments the turn of phrase, which isn't lost on Joan, and asks where she heard it, but she tells him she thought of it herself. Intrigued, he asks which shade of lipstick she liked, but she tells him someone took the one she fancied, and she didn't pick another one because she's "very particular." I'll assume she's referring solely to her taste in lipstick, because hooking up with a besotten Pete days before his wedding doesn't exactly scream "choosy" in my book. Joan is getting more and more irritated (although the annoyance could easily be partially directed at Freddy for, in her view, looking to bag Peggy) as Peggy goes on that she doesn't think anyone wants to be "one of a hundred colors in a box," but Joan cuts in, saying that that's "enough complaining" from Peggy. Peggy leaves, and Frederick watches her go, prompting Joan to sneer, "Bet you wish you could pour that in a glass and drink it." Damn, girl. I'd ask if you kiss your mother with that mouth, except I'm starting to think you might have been spawned by something else.
Back in his office, Don gets Peggy on the intercom and asks her to clear his afternoon. She reminds him of an appointment he has, but he tells her to have a box of cigars sent over to the client with his apologies. He gets up to go, but Frederick and Salvatore enter at that moment, with Frederick heading straight for the bar. So much booze gets consumed in this office that even Jack London would be impressed. Frederick tells Don that Peggy is full of surprises, and calls her "pretty Peggy Sue." Don: "I try to avoid eye contact to avoid being blinded by the earnestness." I suppose it's just as well the lights were off for Betty's little speech earlier, then. Frederick rehashes the things Peggy said, and Don seems intrigued. They then look out at Peggy's back as Frederick remarks that hearing her brainstorm was like "watching a dog play the piano." I believe that's a play on an old saying, the idea being that while the dog plays the piano badly, it's amazing that he can do it at all. Not that it's not mean, but it's mean with a purpose, and I probably don't have to tell you that we kind of go for that around here. We get an exterior shot of Peggy smilingly accepting some files with the boys watching her, and then Don chuckles to himself at the turn of events. It won't be so funny when you're fetching her coffee, bub.
An auburn-haired woman answers her phone and finds Rachel at the other end; she turns out to be her sister "Barbara," but I don't believe we've seen her before. After a mention of Barbara's daughter being asleep, Rachel tells her that she thinks she might have met someone, although he has "some serious limitations." Also, he's married. Rachel tells her sister that their Dad would hate him, causing the sister to sigh, "So he's not Jewish." I guess she missed the opening scene. Barbara tells Rachel it doesn't matter what their dad thinks, and learns that Don has a full head of hair and is sometimes funny, "after a couple." He's also sometimes a misogynistic asshole, such as when you first met, but that was way back in the first episode and I'm surprised I even remember it. Rachel confesses that her attraction to Don is getting hard to resist, although she wants to deny it, and sometimes in life, good things come, but there's no future in them. As her kid wakes up and starts crying, Barbara counters that she'd do anything for some romance right now. Well, knowing Don, he probably wouldn't have any problem with dating both of you at once.
Peggy is filing something when Joan comes up to her and tells her that Frederick would like her to put her "industrious little mind" toward coming up with copy for the lipstick campaign, although she won't get a raise and she'll have to do it on her own time. She turns to leave, and Peggy asks if she should thank the higher-ups, but Joan breezes that there's no need, as she was asked to tell her. "They were very specific about it." I'm guessing they were also very lewd about it. Joan strides off, and despite her chilly attitude, Peggy looks thrilled. I don't know, though -- does it make sense for Peggy actually to be writing copy? Couldn't they just have a lengthy, focused interview with her? It feels like the show is reaching to pit Joan against Peggy, but I'm not sure it's completely organic, here.
Don goes to see Midge and wastes no time in shoving her up against the wall and starting to disrobe her. However, there's an insistent knock at the door, and Midge pulls her sweater back on (although she's just got panties on downstairs) and gets it. It's some dude named "Roy," who's a stereotypical poetry douchebag, complete with unkempt hair and beard and black turtleneck. I'm thinking he left the house in a hurry, given the absence of a beret. Midge somewhat awkwardly introduces the guys, and then Roy says that "Ian" is playing down at the Gaslight, and a bunch of them are going to support him and "pass the basket." Knowing the quality of the upcoming poetry, I hope there's enough room in said basket for everyone to vomit. Anyway, Roy somewhat snidely invites Don to come along, but he's not a taker until Midge whispers that she'll wear a skirt "and nothing else." Don's face: "SPROING!"
Joan enters the hotel room to find Roger waiting for her, and he complains that she's late, but she explains she couldn't shake this guy who wanted to share a cab with her. Roger picks her up for a moment and suggests that the guy couldn't help himself, "the way you glide around that office like some magnificent ship." Make your own joke about ports of call. Joan then hears a bird chirping softly, and looks over to see a sheet thrown over a cage. Roger goes over and uncovers it to reveal a parakeet or something, and Joan's bemused, but Roger says she can't blame him for trying. "I just hate the thought of having to share you." You'd think Roger, being in advertising, would have learned the occasional value of subtlety. Also, I think Carol's going to give that thing one look and hire the neighbor's cat to take it out. Roger talks about having to spend a weekend with Mona's in-laws while starting up foreplay, but Joan isn't having any of it until the birdcage is covered back up. Heh.
Some guy with an Eastern European accent of indeterminate origin is, for some reason, reading the society pages aloud as Roy, Midge, and Don enter the Gaslight. Roy is talking about some guy who collects miniature replicas of monuments from around the country -- "Washington Memorial, Bunker Hill, Mount Rushmore" -- and sticks them up his ass. Wow. Even among people who are into that, I'd think the Washington Monument would be a tough sell. Anyway, Roy douches it up, sitting in between Midge and Don and going on in an aggressively pretentious and boring vein, and then talk turns to Don's work, as Roy wonders how, given that he perpetuates lies, Don sleeps at night. Don: "On a bed made of money." Well, that's good news -- you can afford that air conditioner! Also, if that's a shout-out to Rainier Wolfcastle, that's awesome. Roy, undeterred, says that "hucksters" like Don created "the religion of mass consumption," and thankfully, Midge asks them if they want to go do some literal dick-measuring. Watch out, Roy -- Don's secretly Jewish. A woman then starts reading her "poetry," which is about a fantasy of making love to Fidel Castro; some guy then yells for her to take off her shirt, which she does. Don: "I should go. Too much art for me." Thank you, Don -- you may have been an ass for most of this episode, but redemption starts with an act of kindness. But the universe is conspiring against us, as Ian, the guy they came to see, is up, and Midge insists Don stay. And I suppose it's just as well, because Ian sings a song about Zion and the waters of Babylon. I'm all for tying up the theme, but this is a bit too on the nose for my taste. The song continues as we see shots of Rachel and Barbara in their respective houses, and then we cut back to Don, looking pensive and conflicted. Then we see Roger and Joan getting ready to leave the hotel room; she takes the bird and goes. Outside, she waits for a cab, and then Roger comes out and takes up a position several yards from her, and they don't look at each other. Very odd ending -- in the first place, this last shot of them is framed beautifully, but it makes no sense -- there's no way they would leave at the same time, and this business of not talking to each other would be suspicious to anyone that knows them. On top of that, though, the song about Israel made thematic sense over the shots of Don, Rachel, and Barbara, but including Joan and Roger in the montage feels off; it seems like maybe the show is trying to parallel the tragic nature of Don and Rachel's relationship with these two, but Joan and Roger's relationship doesn't have that feel to me at all, so connecting the song to them doesn't fly. Much like Joan's poor bird. Anyway, that's it -- see you time!