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Wow. Both Don and the show disappear down a rabbit hole this episode, and I'm not at all sure they're coming back. It's going to be enough of a chore just explaining what happened, so I'll try to save the commentary for the full recap, but as far as I could tell -- I'm a little exhausted myself -- here's what's going on at the outset: Don is stalking Sylvia to the best of his ability, which entails standing by her back door for hours on end and smoking cigarettes, the butts of which he leaves for Rosen to find, because that will obviously get him what he wants. Also, he explains to Sylvia that he's "feeling emotions." Between this, the fact that Chevy doesn't like any of SCDPCGC's ideas, and Gleason's death, which takes Ted out of action for a bit, Don's exhausted -- so much so that he gets a cough, which apparently has nothing to do with smoking and everything to do with whorehouse childhoods.
Perceiving that Don and others are going to need an energy boost, as they're going to be working nonstop through the weekend to try to jump through more of Chevy's innumerable hoops, Cutler brings in a "doctor" who gives the employees what seems like a B12 shot combined with No-Doz, which basically sends half the SCDPCGC employees, onto the equivalent of a cocaine trip. No one feels the effects more than Don, as aside from the many coughing whorehouse flashbacks, he runs around the office manically searching for an old soup campaign that doesn't exist and ends up babbling some gibberish to Ginzo and Peggy that he thinks will solve their Chevy problem. Unfortunately, Don's supposed to be at home watching the kids, so Megan's forced to leave Sally in charge. Soon, Sally discovers an African-American woman in the place who pretends to be a friend of Don's as she robs them blind; Sally's take-away from the experience is a realization that the woman was able to dupe her because she knows absolutely nothing about her father. After five and a half seasons, I'm not sure the rest of us are that much better off.
In the end, after the walking fever dream fades, Don takes another interminable elevator ride with Sylvia, again, some more -- but this time he's ignoring her, so everything's chill? Also, Don kind of withdraws from Chevy, because apparently it's like a whorehouse, so I guess he's afraid working on it would cause him to cough himself to death. I'm not seeing the problem there, I must admit.
Want more? The full recap starts right below!We open on a car horn, dissonant even by industry standards, before panning up to show Ken. He's driving with a carful of drunken yahoos, and if the horror-movie lighting and jumpier-than-usual camerawork don't clue you in to Ken's terror, the unkempt state of his hair should. Oblivious to, or turned on by, the mortal danger they're in (from all the honking from passing cars, it seems very likely that they're driving on the wrong side of the road), one of the drunken idiots in the back seat raises the stakes by pulling out a gun and then covering Ken's eyes. The squeal of brakes makes us wonder if this is actually happening, but Ken's not a major enough character for the show to display his nightmares, I don't think. So take a good look at what we bailed out forty years later, I guess.
In far, far, far less interesting news, Don has taken to standing outside Sylvia's back door for minutes (hours)? at a time (the collection of cigarette butts he thoughtfully has left on the floor is the evidence of his lingering presence) as inside Sylvia calls to the yet-again-absent "Rosen" about dinner or whatever. These people really need to get out of the building more.
Cross-fade to Don in the CSGDPCC (I think that's right) conference room staring up at the ceiling as Ted, looking a bit crazy-eyed, sniffs at a sandwich like he's on something. Jumping the gun, there, Ted, but not by much. Cutler and Roger are playing checkers, and it's not clear why they're all sitting around like minimum-security prisoners until Ken limps in -- literally; he's using a cane, and his face is at least minimally banged up. He delivers the news that Chevy didn't like their last round of ideas, which is a dance that apparently has been going on for a while. Don half-barks that it's Ken's job to make the Chevy execs like the ideas, as if anything he's churned out in recent memory has been fit for life outside a porcelain bowl. Roger tries to get Don to back off, but Don, sounding a bit hoarse -- stalking is hard on your throat, don't you know -- goes on that they've given Chevy seven rounds of ideas, and they haven't even gotten to talk to their people. "We have to depend on this cripple?" Charming. Roger defends his fellow Accounts man, and Ken adds that he needs to sit down, but he won't bother if Don's just going to insult him. I guess he's too nice and/or on too many painkillers to add that Don's got an awful lot of nerve, given that he fucked up both Jaguar and Beans, acted like Chevrolet was his idea, and now is pointing fingers at a guy who's not even a partner.
Ken does, however, produce a piece of paper on which is Chevrolet's calendar for the work they expect from PGCCCDS. It lays out three years of monthly deadlines for them to meet, and probably means all their ideas will have to filter through so many levels of bureaucracy as to make the Federal government seem efficient. When Ken adds that GM wants another packet on Tuesday and him back in Detroit on Sunday, Don complains that they can't go on like this, but it's hard to feel too bad for him when he pissed all over clients who were small enough to be manageable. Cutler, however, thinks the truckloads of money they're getting means they need to jump through however many hoops GM sets in front of them. It's not like anyone's going to come up with an easy answer here, so it's probably just as well that Moira interrupts to tell Ted that his wife is on the phone about "that... matter." I wondered on first viewing what personal foible of the Chaough household this might portend, but Ted gives nothing away.
Once he's gone, Dawn appears. Don tells her to get Creative together, as they're working the weekend, but while she agrees, she's there because Rosen is on the phone. Don's poker face is rather worse than Ted's as he first tells Dawn to take a message but then belays his own order once she mentions she'll find out what the call is regarding. Don leaves the room, whereupon Cutler announces that Don's given him an idea -- he's going to call his doctor and get Ken fixed up. "I'm gonna get everybody fixed up!" Given what happens, I have to give him credit for accurate word choice there.
In his office, Don nervously braces himself before picking up the phone... only to learn it's Sylvia. What, we couldn't at least have gotten to hear her trying to imitate her husband's voice? Jeez, is this show no fun anymore. Don takes a moment for the contents of his stomach and bowels to resettle before saying he's glad to hear that, and Sylvia's basically like, no shit you are, so how about you quit it with the harassment, especially since Rosen saw all the cigarette butts and now thinks I'm smoking again? Don, infuriatingly, gets all patronizing about how he knows she wants to see him, and it's not like I have any affinity for her, but I do appreciate her telling him in no uncertain terms that she's not scared of her husband -- she's scared of him. She tries to explain the situation again, this time telling him that she only got involved with him because she thought he had as much to lose by getting caught as she did, and as such she figured she'd be able to trust him when the affair inevitably ended. "Right now I'm wondering how I ever trusted you." I hope this one gets through to him; if not, it might be time to bust out the sock puppets and semaphore flags. Sylvia's voice breaks as she asks him to stop if he ever cared about her, to which Don replies, "I'm feeling a lot of emotions, too." I guess I spoke too soon when I said the show has lost its sense of humor. He pathetically drags it out as long as he can, but she finally hangs up on him, whereupon he throws the phone into the wall, breaking some glass in the process. This is work? God, grow up.
Dawn buzzes, and after Don takes a few moments to recover from not getting his way, he tells her he's tired and is going to take a nap. I hope Dawn completes the spoiled-child profile by waking him up later with some juice. Don then starts coughing...
...which transitions seamfully into his younger, whorehouse-living self doing the same. Abigail tells the girls to back away -- it's hard for them even when it's nerdy young Dick Whitman -- and then, after listening to his breathing through a glass pressed to his back, tells him to get his bedroll and quarantine himself in the cellar. She does allow that if his fever doesn't break, they'll call the doctor, but her added statement of "better for you than for everyone," while true, isn't the most maternal offering one could hope for. Dawn's voice buzzes, and then Young Don turns around like he heard it, and the flashbacks are generally bizarre enough but this is just straight-up indulgent. I suppose that's fitting for this episode, though.
Apparently having heard his hacking, audible in multiple decades as it is, Dawn buzzes again and asks Don if he'd like some water. He declines, possibly because he's never heard of anyone drinking the stuff straight. He then sits against the desk like he's going to die. Don, enough with the middle-distance stares already -- if you're going to take a nap, TAKE A FUCKING NAP.
In Rye, despite his protests, Sally orders Bobby to fetch Gene's suitcase. A re-blonded Betty -- she looks like she's lost the fat suit too, at least in the face -- then enters, and when Sally asks where "Daddy" is, Betty informs her that she's going to be taking them. Not that this necessarily means anything, but it doesn't seem like picking up the kids during a work day is something that Don would have agreed to, so does that mean that Sally's taken to referring to Henry as such? I think it's beyond argument that she likes Henry a lot better than Don these days, so I guess it wouldn't be surprising. Sally tosses a disparaging comment Betty's way, but Betty's too focused on the short-ish skirt Sally's wearing, asking if Megan bought it for her. Sally replies that she earned the money for it babysitting, as Megan pays her to watch her brothers. Betty's apparently too focused on her petty dislike of Megan to bring up any safety concerns with the arrangement. You don't much need me to tell you that's going to change.
Don's lying on the couch when Dawn enters after a quick knock and apologizes for the intrusion, but tells him Cutler wants to see him. She adds that it's been two and a half hours, and after an awkward "...Oh" pause, she asks if she can clean up the mess from his abuse of the telephone. He tells her yes, adding that she should put the Chevy materials on the coffee table before walking out...
...and approaching Cutler, who's giving a little speech to the tearful CGC people. Gleason has died, so I'm guessing Ted's wife called to tell him to get his ass over to the hospital to say goodbye. After Cutler finishes, Ted tells the group that Gleason was a great artist and friend before informing them that he's going to be unavailable through the weekend. Everyone nods in understanding, and Peggy pipes up that while she'd like to attend the funeral, she'll still make herself available for Chevy. Don, still possibly feeling all those EMOTIONS, does a credible job of expressing sympathy. The stygian meeting breaks up, at which point Cutler informs Don that the doctor is there, and he'd like Don to see him. Don isn't thrilled, but doesn't refuse, and then we get an inkling of what's to come when Cutler positively bounds up the stairs. Good thing Harry Hamlin keeps it tight.
Upstairs, Stan and Roger are chatting a bit about Gleason. Cutler, who's with Don, Mathis and his nerdy art guy for whom I'm still not sure we have a name in tow, interrupts. Ken then emerges from the office within which the "doctor" has set up, and Stan, who apparently already got the "treatment," asks Ken if he feels anything. Ken replies that it's supposed to take a minute, and then Cutler sends Don in to see "Dr." "Hecht," who asks Don if there's anything in his medical history he'd like to make him aware of. Don replies in the negative because apparently he is not aware that whorehouse coughs can have unforeseen side effects. Don also admits that he's not sure why he's there. The doctor, in a very "these aren't the droids you're looking for" manner, tells him he's exhausted, so he's going to give him a shot of a proprietary "energy serum" that's made of B vitamins and a "mild stimulant." Don is skeptical, but of course he's going to be secretly predisposed toward any procedure that calls for him to drop his pants. As the "doctor" prepares the shot, he makes small talk about what the company's new name might be, adding that "SCDPCGC" is quite the mouthful. In response, we get a slow push-in on Don's face, so I guess we're meant to conclude that Something Is Happening despite all evidence to the contrary. Sorry about it, Camera Guy, but I'll draw my own conclusions there.
Don emerges from the office to find Stan beating Cutler out in a race around the office or whatever. Before Stan can then get into an arm-wrestling match with Mathis, Don takes off, but his typical blithe disapproval doesn't last long as voices start to echo in his head and he's wracked by a coughing fit on the stairs. Given the upcoming metaphor, I guess that means that tricks have been turned on this very spot, and while it doesn't seem that comfortable, I wouldn't rule anything out around here. Through his watery eyes, he see through Ted's open office door that Peggy is comforting him, even opting for the classic prelude-to-an-affair move of putting her hand on his arm. He stares somewhat uncomprehendingly...
...which takes us back to the Best Little Coughhouse in Pennsylvania. Don is carrying his sad Bedroll of Illness when a blonde employee invites him into her room. She listens to his breathing without the benefit of a glass, and as she's doing so, Don notices a photo of a baby stuck to her mirror and asks if it's her. Without elaborating, she says no -- this, at least, was a nice subtle moment -- before telling him that she's seen a lot of consumption, but he merely has a chest cold. She has him lie down as she comments that his mother doesn't know how to take care of anyone, to which Don reflexively replies that Abigail isn't his mother. The woman just regards him appraisingly, speaking of reflexive reactions.
Back on the stairs, Don continues to stare to the point where I'm surprised a crowd hasn't gathered to see why he's catching flies, but thankfully Moira shows a little discretion and closes the door before uncertainly asking Don if she can help him. Don's eyes are glazed, though, and he dreamily asks if they know each other. She's eventually basically like, I'm just going to go over here now. After another several moments with echoing sound effects and rando close-ups of Moira's face, he jauntily heads to his office. Ladies and gentlemen, I'm not sure exactly what the "it" is, but I think it's fair to say that whatever it is, it has kicked in. [Note: "It" is speed, basically. -- Rachel.]
In the Creative area, Stan and Mathis can't stand still. Peggy asks where "Ed" is, so I guess we've got the name I was wondering about earlier. After some "serum"-related bullshit answer, Ginzo tries to get everyone on track with a new general concept; he's sweaty enough that he could be high too, but it's a lot harder to tell with him that with most of these open books. A passing Pete asks the group if they heard about Gleason, and when Mathis laughs that dreams do come true, Pete tells him he thinks that's in poor taste. This may also be hilarious coming from him, but unlike Don, he's got a leg to stand on here. However, Mathis tries to get Peggy to tell Pete what a bitter pill Gleason was, but Peggy declines, telling Pete she liked him. Pete then leaves Creative to it, whereupon Stan starts babbling ideas and gets mad when Ginzo chimes in, and Ginzo avers that he is not, in fact, on the same trip as the two other boys. I applaud his discretion, but I do admit I'd like to see him in some altered state before the series is over. This goes on for a while...
...and in his office, Don is also being creative at a questionable level as he's rifling through magazines, ripping images out and throwing them on the floor. He then gets a buzz that Ken is there to see him...
...so he pops out and asks Ken how he's feeling. Despite the fact that he's still holding the cane, Ken claims that his foot is like new before manically asking if Don will have new work by Monday. Just as crazily, Don says he will, but Ken has to get him in a room with Chevy, as the timbre of his voice is important to the pitch. Ken starts talking about how he's Chevy's favorite toy... and he starts doing a little tap routine that's positively awesome on its own merits but does make me wonder why Ray Wise isn't here, since we're basically watching a routine from Twin Peaks. (I happen to know that Aaron Staton is a fantastic singer, but I didn't know he could also dance. This week it was all over the Internet that he was in Mamma Mia! on Broadway several years ago, which I had forgotten about. Also, if you haven't seen any Ken Cosgrove Dancing GIFs, here you go.) Anyway, Ken's point is that it's his job to dance like a monkey for the GM guys, and he then heads off with a flourish as both Don and Dawn stare after him in what better be awe.
Back in the Creative area, the altereds and non-altereds have found a topic of discussion they can all enjoy -- the Cheshire Cat in Alice In Wonderland -- and then Ken goes running by with Don in hot pursuit. Hilariously, Don then appears on the other side of the room and is all "What?" about it, but moments later he betrays his state of mind by solemnly announcing that he knows they're all feeling the darkness, "but there's no reason to give in." He goes on -- in cadence that makes it sound like he learned English phonetically like, Ace of Base -- saying that "this process" will not take years, and their patience and commitment is being tested. The altereds appreciate this speech to the same degree the non-altereds are WTF about it, so I guess I'm at least being consistent in my reaction here. Peggy is like, so your idea is what now, and when Don admits he doesn't have one, she sighs and suggests they order dinner. His "work" here done, Don marches off, but suddenly the Early Forties Megaphone hits, and he sweatily stops in his tracks...
...before we cut back to The Best Little Coughhouse in Pennsylvania. Don's caretaker somewhat languidly tells him he's burning up; then, with more urgency, she says he has to eat something, but he tells "Miss Swenson" he can't. Despite his protests, though, she feeds him some broth...
...and then, back in the present, Don rushes back into the Creative area... only it's clearly the day. It's barely worth nitpicking, but it's irritating how Don's unreliability as a narrator changes from scene to scene based seemingly on the director's whims; just because a visual concept may have some style doesn't mean it should stay in if it distracts from the story. Did he stand in that spot overnight?
Anyway, in the room are Cutler, Ginzo, Peggy, Harry and a young woman whose peasant blouse and unfamiliarity with conditioner make it no surprise that she's doing some kind of reading. Also, Gleason's funeral apparently happened, and while Cutler offers that it was "rough," the greasy hippie demurs, saying it was beautiful. Lying on the couch, Harry introduces her as "Wendy." The fact that he doesn't even open his eyes suggests that he's not particularly attracted to the demographic. Wendy tells Don to ask a question -- he doesn't have to say it out loud -- and even though his only response is a blank stare, she says that's perfect and throws her coins or whatever on the table. The hippie nonsense apparently being enough to snap Don partially out of his trance, he asks Peggy if she remembers some soup account. Ginzo pipes up that Don asked him yesterday, and he doesn't believe it exists, but Don's like, did not! I'm not sure how realistic it is for no one to pay attention to the fact that Don is, if you'll forgive a scientific term, tripping balls. Falling-down drunk, that's a different story. He asks Peggy if she'll check the archives, but Ginzo pipes up that he already looked, so why is Don asking her now? Given Don's mental state, I suppose this is neither here nor there, but Roger, Bertram, or Joan would be able to give a definitive answer on this off the top of their heads.
After Stan runs in, wearing the same clothes as the day before (and if he was up tripping all night, I can't believe he left Don alone that whole time) and babbling about how he has six hundred and sixty-six ideas, Peggy suggests Don lie down, but Don tells her to look for soup. "You'll know it when you see it, and it's gonna crack this thing wide open." Peggy looks like she's figuring out they probably should have had a memorial for the Chevy account along with Gleason. She turns to Cutler and asks if he sees the mess he made. And speaking of, how did he get through the funeral without doing ten inappropriate things? (Another Twin Peaks parallel.)
This time, Don makes it down the hallway without falling into the 1940s, but he looks baffled at Dawn's empty desk (at least she's been in the episode, guy), and then when he enters his office, he finds Wendy sitting on the couch. She was in the scene he just left, so either he lost more time or this is another hallucination, in case you're keeping score, which I doubt at this point. She explains that he told her they were going to have a drink and watch the sun set, which I feel obliged to point out doesn't sound like more than fifty percent him. Soon, she predictably calls him "uptight," and then he notices that she's wearing a stethoscope around her neck, which she says she found in one of the offices. He tries again to get rid of her, but she tells him that his question was "Does someone love me?" He's stunned, but she replies that it's the question everyone asks. She then listens to his heart and tells him, "I think it's broken," and even for an underage hippie with appropriate props, that is an inexcusably bad line. Don is shocked she's able to tell... but it turns out that she was talking about the stethoscope -- ba-dum-bum. Finally, she leaves. I wish I had a debilitating cough right now to relieve my boredom.
Don's kids are watching The Prisoner, and I'll applaud their good taste, but in the interest of fair reporting I'll point out that the fact that AMC remade the series suggests there may have been some network encouragement there. The phone rings. Megan calls to Sally to get it; it's Don. Megan, dressed to go out, comes to answer. She asks where he is, as she has to leave, but he apologizes and tells her he's not finished. She doesn't know what to do about that and also worries about him working so much, but he tells her he's got a second wind before hanging up. Out of options, Megan offers Sally "some boots to go with that skirt," and Bobby isn't happy, but Megan explains that she's going to see a play, and "Jeff, my agent" (mm-HMM) is going to introduce her to some producers. They wrap up a few logistical details...
...and then we're back to the office, in which Stan is tying a tie around his eyes and standing in front of a poster-board wall; above his head is a drawing of an apple, so you can see where this is going even without Mathis' comment that Stan is "going to look like St. Sebastian." Still, hee. Stan tells them they have to go one at a time, so Ginzo steps up, a cup of writing implements in hand, and says he's going first because Peggy's drunk. "In fact, I believe I am the only person in the Time-Life building who is not out of his mind." Peggy, giggling, "But you hate him." Hee. I didn't think that was necessarily true, but still. Ginzo lets fly, and Stan puts up his arm to cover his face -- and then there's a pen stuck in it just like a hypodermic needle IN CASE YOU DIDN'T GET IT. Stan pops it out, observing the blood flowing from his arm with scientific curiosity, but even though he laughs that he doesn't feel a thing, Peggy drags him off to clean the thing up. After that display, I'm not sure anyone's dying to be the son of William Tell here.
Don is back at Sylvia's door, again, some more, and he tries a soft knock, but no one is in the kitchen, and the radio playing covers his noise. He presses his ear up to the door like it's his BROKEN HEART. We cut back and forth to close-ups of the radio playing "Goin' Out Of My Head," and speaking of scientific curiosity, I would like to know whether the manipulative camerawork and editing is more or less objectionable than the on-the-nose song choice. Doubt the show's going to answer that one for me, though, especially not given that even after we get off the clock, we stay with a shot of Don leaning against the door for almost twenty seconds. With everything the show's lost recently, why not throw in its economy?
Peggy is attempting to wrap up Stan's cut and fend off his amorous advances, with limited success on both fronts. She tells him he's like her brother, and that is indeed the vibe they were giving off earlier in the season, but Stan pays this no mind and eventually pulls her into a kiss. Underneath all the "vitamins," I think he really does care about her, but she soon reiterates her "no," not that she should have to. He tells her he needs "this," and goes on to confess that his cousin "Robbie" was killed in action in Vietnam and was only twenty. Peggy's appropriately sympathetic, and asks for details as she sits to him, but Stan reveals that they don't tell you that part -- they just tell you when it happened. He goes on that it was three months ago, which means that his aunt sent sixteen letters Robbie never saw. He sadly laughs about what a terrible job delivering mail to the front lines must be. While I don't love the setup of Stan confessing this while under the influence of whatever -- here's a well-reasoned explanation of why -- I do like the writing in this scene on its own merits, not to mention that this relationship continues to be one of the most enjoyable on the show. Peggy tells Stan that she is really and truly sorry and then takes his hand off her leg and clasps it in a gesture of friendship as she tells him she's known loss, and she knows you have to let yourself feel it. She goes on that you can't dampen it with drugs or sex, and I'd object to her over-closing here, but she is dealing with a Stan who's not even at his highest level of maturity. Appreciative of what she's doing, he nonetheless tells her that maybe they're different, but she merely suggests he go home. She leaves, but not without him complimenting her ass and her thanking him. All right, not quite brother and sister, but at least still intact.
Sally's in bed reading Rosemary's Baby -- if she's taking that in at night, girl's made of sterner stuff than I am -- when she hears something in the living room. When she investigates, she finds an older African-American woman, a suspiciously large bag slung over her shoulder, looking around at various Draper possessions. When Sally gets her attention, the woman tells her she startled her -- nice trick, trying to appear vulnerable -- and then amiably tells Sally to go back to sleep. Sally, however, is not going to be swayed so easily when new boots are on the table and asks the woman what she's doing there, so she tells her she's visiting -- she's her grandma! Sally is like, [eyebrow], but the woman goes on that she "raised your daddy." Sally doesn't address that, but does tell her no one said she was coming; the woman, however, replies that she was supposed to be a surprise, and Don gave her a key -- she just thought no one was home. "Come over here -- give a hug to your Grandma Ida!" Like I said, I'm not much for scary bedtime stories, so I don't know why I'm writing this part at like 11:00 PM. Sally doesn't move, at which point Ida's eyes go a little crazy as she tells Sally not to be rude to her. The standoff continues a bit longer, but when Ida pulls out Don's name, Sally consents to the embrace. One lesson from all this presumably is going to be not to leave the mail out where anyone can see it. Ida continues her fishing expedition -- kind of funny that in an episode with a supposed psychic, she's using the same general-statement techniques fraudulent ones employ to gain trust -- as she asks if Don is "still handsome" and if Sally's mother is "still a piece of work." And that's some sold business from Ida, as what teenage girl in the world would give a negative answer to either question, and you'd better believe that second one brings the first genuine laugh of the scene from Sally.
Don's digging through the archives in search of soup, and instead finds... oatmeal? Specifically, it's a boy eating the stuff and smiling up at his mother to the tagline "Because you know what he needs." I'm surprised they didn't make the drawing of the woman look exactly like Miss Swenson, as that's about how subtle this whole plotline is...
...and let's drive that home by taking yet another trip back to The Best Little Coughhouse In Pennsylvania. Don is looking better, and as he sits up, Miss Swenson tells him that his fever broke, and to call her "Amy," not "Aimee" as she had earlier told him. She then asks him if he likes the mole she apparently just painted on her cheek, and by the way, the woman in the drawing we just saw had the same beauty mark, so apparently I'm not even safe using hyperbole to make a point about the show's lost subtlety. Anyway, when he tells her he is in favor, she asks him if he likes girls, and he gets shifty and embarrassed in response, just in case you were wondering if that had ever been possible. After pulling up the covers to get a non-verbal answer to her question, she gets into bed with him and promises him they'll do everything...
...and then we cut back to Don staring at the woman in the drawing, and I think it is fair to say at this point that we get it. Doesn't mean we're not going to linger here for like ten more seconds, though. This is why every episode this season is four minutes longer?
Back at the Draper apartment, now that Sally has eaten most of the eggs Ida made for her, her suspicions are once again on the rise as she asks Ida what she's doing looking through all the cupboards. Ida distracts her with the promise of presents, as she does to Bobby when he sleepily emerges all WTF before feeding him a cock-and-bull story about a gold watch she bought Don for which she got a new band -- has Bobby seen it? Bobby points Ida to Don's bedroom, but when she's gone, Sally picks up the phone, saying she thinks Ida's lying. As she dials, Bobby earnestly asks Sally, "Are we Negroes?" Seems a little much, but it's nothing compared to Chris "Mike Made Huevos Rancheros" Brody over on Homeland, so I'll let it slide. Sally calls the police, and I'd think just buzzing down to the doorman would be more efficacious and less dangerous, as whoever answers the phone is obviously wary of kids playing pranks, so she hasn't given all her relevant information before Ida returns, grabs the phone, and tells the person in a sugary voice that the kids are supposed to be in bed, and they're not so well-behaved. Sally and Bobby exchange a fearful look, which proves to be well-founded when Ida puts down the phone and glares at them with at least a few toes in Lake Crazy. However, presumably sensing that she can't risk overstaying her "welcome," she settles for telling the kids they hurt her feelings, so she's going to go get some air, and when she returns, they'd better be in bed. Ida heads out through the back, whereupon Sally follows in that direction, presumably to secure the entrance. Ida, if you're looking for greener pastures, I can tell you to skip the Rosen apartment, since that back door is definitely locked.
Don's typing away in his office; he then pulls a sheet of paper out of the machine and after reading some disjointed phrases from it calls Peggy in. She and Ginzo appear, and Don, with that dippy smile we've seen from him when he's high on love or other drugs, tells them he's got it. Taking him at his word, Peggy expresses enthusiasm, so he hands her the drawing of Swenson Oatmeal and tells her it says it all. Ginzo peers at him with a healthy amount of skepticism, that being "total," but Don babbles on that it's all about what holds people together and it's a history that people don't even have to have shared and if their strategy is successful it'll be way bigger than a car! He then starts analyzing advertising in general, and Ginzo, surprisingly, goes along in encouraging Don's prattle, although maybe he decided he couldn't get through this weekend playing the straight man and got a "serum" shot of his own. When Ginzo concludes that the answer people are looking for is a Chevy, though, and Don tells him it isn't, he deflates: "Then it's oatmeal?" Hee. Peggy, for her part, got off at the last spastic lurch of Don's train of thought, and as Don continues to make no sense, she finally asks him what the hell he's been doing all weekend, but with that same punchable smile, he tells her he has to go and bails. Ginzo, unfazed, wonders if Don will care if he takes a nap in there, but Peggy steps out into the hallway to call after Don. He doesn't break stride, but she does see Cutler standing by an office whose door is ajar, and he silently beckons to her to join him. When she walks over, she sees Wendy grinding away atop Stan, and she walks away in disgust as Cutler, entranced, continues to watch. I'll admit I kind of enjoy how unapologetically weird Cutler is, but still: I know I can't get Twin Peaks out of my mind, but when did SCDP become the Black Lodge? Has it always been?
Don gets out of the elevator in his building and babbles OUT LOUD about how he's going to tell Megan he's going for cigarettes and then he's going to knock on Sylvia's door. I assume he's actually planning to get the smokes first, just in case Sylvia doesn't answer. He chatters on some more about what he's going to say, and it sounds just like his ad pitch to Peggy and Ginzo, so you can imagine he won't be getting nearly as lucky as his teenage self this episode. All this becomes irrelevant, though, when he enters to find Megan standing with two police officers and Henry, with Betty in a chair holding Gene and the other two kids on the couch. It must be pretty late, if for some time Megan has been done not only with the play but the schmoozing afterward, so obviously Betty uses her least-amused tone of voice in telling Don what happened. Megan adds that Ida robbed a bunch of places in the building, and she got in through the back door, which was open. Not sure if Don left it open through carelessness or in the pathetic hope that Sylvia would come knockin'. One of the cops pipes up that they think they caught Ida boarding the IRT. Betty barks that this happened because no one was there (with a pretty good, if inaccurate, burn about Megan being off "on the casting couch"), and frankly, I'm surprised she didn't make more of a stink earlier when she found out that Sally was being left alone to watch her brothers, but I can hardly blame her for being opportunistic in lambasting Don. One of the cops thinks the burglary could have happened to anyone, but Betty snaps back that it could only happen to "anyone who lives in this disgusting city," so I guess she really got her little bohemian nostalgia out of her system in the season premiere. Megan tries to apologize to Sally, but Sally, fixing Don with a look, says she wants to go home -- at which point Don literally swoons, falling to the floor in a dead faint. I know you generally have to care to do this, but is no one going to stage an intervention just out of pure embarrassment?
Back in The Best Little Coughhouse in Pennsylvania, Mack kicks Miss Swenson out of the house over a money dispute, but not before she announces to everyone that she "took that boy's cherry." After Mack gets rid of her, Abigail starts beating up on Don with a wooden spoon, calling him trash. I'm sure I'm supposed to care about how Abigail's Puritanical hypocrisy effed Don up; if he'd do anything interesting and/or tolerable in the present, I'd consider it.
In the dark, Don sits on the bed morosely as Megan sympathetically tells him he's been working too hard, and honestly, she's part of the problem too; the fighting last season got repetitive at times, but I at least respected her for standing up to Don and his never-ending bullshit (tm Betty). He doesn't react to her and stares off into space looking SAD and FEELING EMOTIONS...
...and oh, good, another interminable elevator ride. Sylvia gets on with him and asks how he is, to which he tersely replies, "Busy." We then stay with them for an unforgivable thirty seconds, and it's clear during that time she's interested at least in some small talk, although I can't imagine why, but he's determined to turn his recent behavior into some sort of victory, so he steadfastly ignores her. I saw less predictable and more sophisticated patterns of relationship behavior in my junior high school. Don may still look good, but gone are the days when he had panache.
In Rye, Henry encourages Sally to talk to Don, so she takes the phone. He tells her he's okay, health-wise, and after a moment, she confesses that she's embarrassed to have been taken in as she was. Don's sure Ida fooled lots of adults too, but Sally tells him she said she knew him, and she asked Ida everything she could think of. "And then I realized I don't know anything about you." As crap as this episode is, that is an AMAZING offhand burn, and Don has no answer to it, so he sits in silence until he's rescued by Dawn buzzing that Ted wants to see him. He tells Sally that she did everything right, so she should try to forget about it, and then at least takes responsibility for leaving the door open. "It was my fault." Sally does appreciate him giving those words a test drive...
...and then Don comes into Ted's office, followed by Cutler. It comes out that Wendy is Gleason's daughter, and Ted isn't thrilled that Cutler brought her there and is even less so with the work produced over the weekend, saying that half of it is gibberish. "Chevy is spelled wrong." Heh. In response, Don tells him that he'll evaluate other people's work on the account, but that's all he can do going forward. Ted can't believe what he's hearing, but Don tells him, "Every time we get a car, this place turns into a whorehouse." Couple things. First off, given all the flashbacks and metaphorical allusions, to make the whorehouse comparison textual via dialogue is redundant and frankly insulting. And second, Don is a partner in this firm; are we to believe the rest of them will accept his withdrawal from the biggest account they've ever seen based on the intimidating strength of that one line? This show is so far up its own and Don Draper's ass that I guess the only way out is forward, but as such it's starting to look like it's going to be nothing but shit for a while.
John Ramos is a writer and film producer living in Los Angeles. His new film, a documentary on online privacy and the sale of personal data called Terms And Conditions May Apply, will be in theaters in July. You can get news on it from the film's Twitter account. Also, you can email John at couchbaron@gmail.com, follow him on Twitter at https://twitter.com/couchbaron, or check out his blog, "Pull Up A Chair," which he'd just love for you to stop by.