Welcome to the show today. Today we are bringing
you a very special edition, and I am just so
excited to get into this one. It's going to be
a great one. It really is. If you look at our
title for this deep dive, it reads the deep dive
unpacking madman season one Don Draper, 1960s
advertising in TV history. And that is exactly
what we are going to do today. We are stepping
way back in time. Right straight back to the
smoke -filled, cocktail -drenched offices of
Sterling Cooper in the year 1960, we are unpacking
the critically acclaimed first season of the
American television drama series, Mad Men. Which
originally aired on AMC from July to October
of 2007. Exactly. We're going to explore the
hidden past of its enigmatic leading man Don
Draper. We'll look at the rapid ascent of secretary
turned copywriter Peggy Olsen and the meticulous
historical detail that completely redefined television.
Truly groundbreaking stuff. So whether you are
a longtime fan looking to revisit a masterpiece
or you're just insanely curious about TV history
and you want a shortcut to being well informed
on one of the greatest character studies ever
put on screen, you are in the right place. Our
source material today is a comprehensive, deeply
detailed Wikipedia article breaking down the
cast, the intricate plot, the episodes, the production
history, and the massive critical reception of
this show. It is a remarkable piece of television
history to explore. Our mission today is to truly
understand how a show about a fictional 1960s
ad agency became an absolute television masterpiece.
Right, an agency filled with incredibly complicated,
often deeply flawed characters. Yes, and framed
by a staggering commitment to historical accuracy.
We are going to look at what this first season
reveals about identity, about the ruthlessness
of ambition, and about the fundamental illusions
of the American dream. Because what this show
does so brilliantly is use the past to examine
the present. That is exactly it. OK, let's unpack
this. We are looking at a season of 13 episodes
each running about 47 minutes. Standard cable
drama length. Yeah. But before we even get into
the heavy plot points, I want you, the listener,
to just imagine for a second stepping into a
workplace that is completely devoid of the modern
rules you're used to today. It's almost jarring
to think about. It really is. Imagine walking
into an office where chain smoking at your desk
is practically mandatory, where the liquor cart
is rolled out before lunch, and where overt unapologetic
sexism is just another Tuesday. And you have
to ask yourself, how would you navigate that?
Exactly. Because that is the immersive world
of Sterling Cooper the creator Matthew Reiner
plunges us into right from the opening frame
The season spans from March to November of 1960
and right out of the gate in the pilot episode
titled smoke gets in your eyes We don't get a
slow introduction. No, not at all. We are hit
with a massive existential crisis for the agency
I was reading through the notes on this pilot
and they are essentially facing an extinction
level event for their biggest client, right?
Exactly. What's fascinating here is how that
initial crisis perfectly sets up the thematic
core of the entire series. The agency's biggest
client is Lucky Strike Cigarettes. Huge account.
Massive. And they are panicking because the Federal
Trade Commission and Resurgent Medical Research
are suddenly making it very clear to the public
that smoking is harmful. It literally causes
cancer. Right. It is physically toxic. For decades,
tobacco companies had advertised health benefits.
Doctors recommending certain brands to soothe
your throat. Which is wild to think about now.
Completely wild. But suddenly they can't do that
anymore. So the executives at Sterling Cooper
are forced to figure out how to sell a deadly
product by completely changing the narrative.
They have to manufacture a new reality to distract
the consumer. Precisely. They can't talk about
health, so they pivot. And this isn't just a
plot device to show us how advertising works.
It feels like it's saying something much larger
about the people in that room. It is. If we look
closely, manufacturing a new reality to cover
up something toxic is exactly what these characters
are doing in their own personal lives. Oh, yeah.
They are constantly packaging something deeply
flawed, something potentially destructive, and
figuring out how to make it look appealing to
the outside world. The series is just as much
about the lies we tell ourselves as it is about
the lies these ad men are telling consumers.
It establishes from minute one. that advertising
is just a metaphor for human denial. That makes
so much sense when you look at how obsessive
they were about making the denial look authentic.
The commitment to selling that illusion visually
is just stunning. The production design was legendary.
Right, the source points out that Matthew Weiner
and his writers amassed absolute volumes of research
on the period to make every single aspect of
the series historically accurate. detailed set
designs, exact mid -century costumes props, even
the specific way people spoke. It created this
authentic visual style that critics instantly
praised, but that visual authenticity came with
a really hefty price tag. It wasn't cheap. Not
at all. The pilot episode alone had a budget
of over three million dollars. Which for Basic
Cable in 2007 was a significant investment. Especially
for a period piece with no major action sequences.
They shot the pilot at Silver Cup Studios in
various locations around New York City before
moving subsequent filming to Los Angeles Center
Studios. And speaking of filming in LA, there
is a fascinating detail from the production notes
about the smoking. Oh, my absolute favorite detail.
Because they are in California by law. The actors
couldn't actually smoke tobacco cigarettes in
their workplace because the set is legally their
workplace, right? So what do they do? They smoked
herbal cigarettes I read this quote from Matthew
wiener where he actually went on record saying
Doing this show without smoking would have been
a joke. It would have been sanitary and it would
have been phony. Yes I love that. It tells you
everything you need to know about the show's
DNA. He refused to put a modern sanitized filter
over the 1960s. It truly is a defining characteristic
of the show. That insistence on authenticity
forces the viewer to confront the era on its
own terms. You aren't given a comforting modernized
filter. Right, where the good guys act like people
from the 21st century and only the bad guys hold
antiquated views. You are sitting in the room
breathing in the herbal smoke watching genius
advertising executive Donald Draper operate in
a world that goes by very different rules. And
Jon Hamm plays him so brilliantly. He really
does. Don is the absolute center of gravity at
Sterling Cooper. But as the first season unfolds,
we realize that Don Draper is in a way the ultimate
advertisement himself. A beautifully packaged
exterior. Exactly. An incredibly handsome exterior
that is hiding a deeply complicated, fundamentally
altered interior. Okay, here's where it gets
really interesting because Don Draper isn't even
Don Draper. No, he is not. I remember reading
through the plot summary of the first season
and just being completely floored by this. The
massive revelation is that the suave, confident,
impeccably dressed man we see manipulating clients
in Charming Women is actually a man named Dick
Whitman. It's a huge twist. Can you walk us through
how a secret like that even happens? How does
someone just completely erase their own identity?
It is a phenomenal piece of storytelling. The
source material details how this incredible backstory
is revealed to us very slowly through fragmented
flashbacks. You don't just get an exposition
dump. Exactly. We learn about Dick Whitman's
incredibly grim early life in pieces. He was
raised in sheer poverty. He had an unloving,
pious stepmother who literally refers to him
as a whore child. Which is just awful. Because
his biological mother was a sex worker who died
in childbirth. His father, Archibald Whitman,
is a deeply abusive and cruel man. There is that
one incredibly poignant flashback you see in
episode eight. Yeah. The Hobo Code, right? Yes.
That is a pivotal moment for understanding who
Dawn becomes. In that flashback, a hobo approaches
the Whitman family farm, asking for food in exchange
for doing some manual labor. And Archie Dick's
father tells the man he'll pay him the next day.
Right. The man does the work, but then Archie
refuses to compensate him, basically laughing
him off the property. Young Dick later discovers
that the hobo has carved a symbol into the fence
post of their home. A symbol from the Hobo Code?
Yes, a symbol that translates to a dishonest
man. Wow, so even as a kid, he's realizing his
father is a cheat. If we connect this to the
bigger picture, that carving on the fence post
is the absolute defining trauma of his childhood.
He is raised by a dishonest man in a loveless,
brutal environment. And he learns early on that
the world is transactional, hypocritical, and
often cruel. That sets the stage for everything.
It does. So years later, when he finds himself
in the horrific environment of the Korean War,
he is serving under the command of an engineer
lieutenant named Donald Draper. The real Donald
Draper. Yes, the real Donald Draper is a man
who is soon to be sent home because his tour
is ending. And then the unimaginable happens.
Right. The source describes how they are under
fire and an accidental explosion partially caused
by Dick dropping his lighter kills the real Draper.
Just absolute chaos. In that moment of sheer
chaos, Dick Whitman makes a split second life
altering decision. He looks at the dead officer
and he switches their dog tags. Wow. He assumes
the identity of Donald Draper to completely erase
Dick Whitman. It allows him to escape the war.
Yes. But more importantly, it allows him to escape
his grotesque past. He literally sheds his skin
and takes another man's name. The execution of
that lie is just chilling because the army believes
Whitman is dead. Right. So they have the new
Draper, our Don, escort Whitman's body back to
his family. The coffin is dropped off by train.
I was reading the description of this scene and
it is so Now, Don is on that train. He doesn't
step off to greet his family. He just watches
from the shadows of the train car. But his younger
half -brother, a young boy named Adam Whitman,
sees him. Yes, Adam sees him standing inside
the train as it pulls away. Just think about
the psychology of that. How does someone watch
their own family receive a coffin that they know
contains a stranger and just ride away into a
fabricated future? It requires a profound level
of compartmentalization. He has to completely
sever his own empathy. The psychological weight
of that secret is immense. It has to be crushing.
And this is why his career choice is so brilliant
on a narrative level. Don Draper's entire career
in advertising a profession entirely dedicated
to inventing desires, crafting personas, and
selling a lifestyle that doesn't really exist
is essentially just an extension of him inventing
the persona of Don Draper. He is the product
he has pitched most successfully. Exactly. He
observed what society values a handsome war veteran,
a confident executive, a family man, and he built
that suit from scratch and put it on. But living
a complete lie has to be exhausting. You are
constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.
You must be always looking over your shoulder.
And that shoe does drop in episode 5, which is
titled 5G. Don has recently won an industry award
for his advertising work, and his picture ends
up in the local paper. That's dangerous. Very.
This attracts the attention of a man who shows
up right at the front desk of Sterling Cooper.
It's Adam Whitman, his younger brother, all grown
up. Adam recognizes the photo not as Don Draper,
the ad executive, but as Dick Whitman, the brother
he thought was dead. Imagine the sheer icy panic
for Don in that moment. His two worlds literally
colliding in the lobby of his office. They meet
at a diner. And Don admits he changed his name,
but he absolutely refuses to share anything about
his life. He just shuts him out. He coldly tells
his own flesh and blood that he has no place
for Adam in his life. He meets Adam again later
and offers him $5 ,000 to leave New York to make
a new life and to never ever contact him again.
I looked this up. $5 ,000 in 1960 is the equivalent
of nearly $50 ,000 today. It's a massive payoff.
It is. He is literally trying to buy his brother's
silence. But ask yourself, is it really about
protecting his family or is it just absolute
raw selfishness? It feels like he's just protecting
his own ego and the comfortable life he stole.
It is deeply selfish, but in Don's mind it is
survival. The starkness of that rejection is
magnified when you contrast it with the life
Don is so desperately protecting. The suburban
dream. Right. At the end of the very first episode,
after we've seen Don at work, after we've seen
him cheat on his wife with a beatneck artist
named Midge Daniels, after we've seen him flirt
with a department store owner named Rachel Menken,
Don takes a train out of the city. And the audience
finally sees his real life. He arrives at a picturesque
suburban home, and it's revealed to the audience
for the first time that he has a beautiful wife,
Betty, and two sleeping children. It's the ultimate
American dream tableau. That is the life he is
paying Adam $5 ,000 to protect. It's an impenetrable
fortress of normalcy that he has built to keep
Dick Whitman out. But you can't just buy off
your past. The consequences are devastating.
In episode 11, titled Indian Summer Adam, who
is heartbroken and completely rejected by the
only family he has, left males a personal box
to don at the agency. A very dangerous box. Filled
with Dick Whitman's dog tags and childhood photographs.
Yeah. And then Adam hangs himself in his hotel
room. It's an absolute gut punch of a storyline.
It is. And Don doesn't find out immediately.
But when he does in the season finale, the grief
is overwhelming. It is a crushing guilt. And
how does Don process this profound grief? He
certainly doesn't go to therapy. Definitely not.
He doesn't talk to his wife. He channels it into
his work. He takes that raw, bleeding emotion
and uses it for the masterpiece pitch of the
season. OK, we have to talk about that pitch
to Eastman Kodak because it is widely considered
one of the greatest scenes in television history.
A master class. The executives from Kodak want
Sterling Cooper to sell a new slide projector.
They view the technology as a wheel like a Ferris
wheel. But Don, who is just fueled by the staggering
loss of his brother and the crumbling reality
of his own fabricated life, completely reframes
it. He pitches it around the concept of nostalgia.
Yes. He dims the lights in the conference room,
he loads the projector with his own personal
family photos, photos of his wife Betty, his
children, moments of genuine happiness that he
feels he has already lost. And he tells the Kodak
executives that in Greek nostalgia literally
means the pain from an old wound. The pain from
an old wound. He says it's a twinge in your heart,
far more powerful than memory alone. It takes
us to a place where we ache to go again. It's
incredible. The source notes that the Kodak clients
are so incredibly moved and impressed by this
emotional presentation that they instantly cancel
their meetings with all other advertising agencies
on the spot. Don wins the account. He is selling
them their own memories, but he's doing it by
bleeding his own suppressed trauma into the room.
And the tragic irony of that season finale is
just unparalleled. It really is. Don gives this
beautiful, tear -jerking speech about the egg.
to go home again to a place where you know you
were loved. On the train ride back to the suburbs
that night, he envisions walking through his
front door and announcing to Betty and the kids
that he's joining them for Thanksgiving. Repairing
the rift that's been growing between them all
season. Right. But reality shatters the illusion.
Exactly. He opens the front door to find the
house completely dark and empty. Betty and the
kids have already left for her family's house
without him. He just sits alone at the bottom
of the staircase as the season closes. The man
who can sell the Dreamer family to the entire
country is sitting completely alone in the dark.
It is such a haunting image. It perfectly encapsulates
the tragedy of his character. He is surrounded
by people yet profoundly isolated. But Don isn't
the only one navigating a complex dual existence
at Sterling Cooper. No, not at all. The first
season is deeply invested in exploring the rapidly
changing roles of women in 1960s America. The
workplace we described earlier, the smoking,
the drinking, the overt sexism, was an incredibly
hostile environment for women trying to build
a career. It's just a minefield. And we see this
brilliantly juxtaposed through four central female
characters. Peggy Olsen. Betty Draper, Rachel
Minkin and Joan Holloway. Each taking a different
path. Each of them represents a completely different
strategy for surviving and advancing in a society
that is fundamentally rigged against them. Let's
start with Peggy Olsen played by Elizabeth Moss.
Peggy's arc in season one is staggering. We see
her walk into Sterling Cooper on her very first
day as a naive, incredibly green secretary from
Brooklyn. She's wearing a modest dress. She's
nervous and she is immediately thrown to the
wolves. The office manager, Joan Holloway, takes
her under her wing. But Joan's advice is incredibly
cynical. Joan essentially tells Peggy that her
primary asset is her physical appeal to men.
She advises her to enjoy it while it lasts, regarding
the constant sexual harassment from her male
colleagues. And we should clarify when we say
harassment, we mean relentless daily commentary
on her body, inappropriate touching, and a culture
where secretaries are viewed as perks of the
job. Junior accounts manager Pete Campbell, who
is literally weeks away from getting married
to his wealthy fiance, hones in on Peggy immediately.
He pursues her relentlessly. Showing up at her
apartment making crude remarks, and they end
up having sex on an office sofa the night of
his bachelor party. Which is just so dark. But
this raises an important question for you, the
listener, to consider. What is the cost of ambition
for a woman in this era? Because Peggy quickly
realizes that playing the game Jones Way using
sexuality as currency isn't what she wants. She
wants to be recognized for her mind. Exactly.
And the turning point comes in a very unexpected
way. Senior ad man Freddie Rumson is hosting
a focus group for the secretarial pool to test
out a client's product, Belle Jolie lipstick.
He overhears Peggy make a very astute observation.
She says she doesn't want to be one of a hundred
colors in a box. She wants to be a woman who
is given a basket of kisses. A basket of kisses.
Freddie recognizes her raw talent. He actually
brings her suggestions to the creative team and
eventually she is asked to write copy. She is
stepping out of the secretarial pool and into
the creative domain, which is strictly a boys
club. And her rise is phenomenal. She even gets
put in charge of her own account for a weight
loss device that vibrates. I have to mention
this because it is one of the season's more darkly
comedic moments. She takes the device home to
try it, and she realizes that it provides sexual
stimulation. Yes, the rejuvenator. Right, the
rejuvenator. And the men in the office are too
embarrassed to talk about it directly. But Peggy
just walks into Dawn's office and gives a completely
straightforward, brilliant presentation on how
to market it. Dawn is so impressed by her professionalism
and her creative angle that he gives her a raise
and a day off. By the end of the season, she's
writing copy for the Clearasil account. But you
mentioned the personal cost of this ambition
earlier. And for Peggy, that cost is monumental.
It is massive. Because while her career is skyrocketing,
her personal life is a literal hidden trauma.
We need to unpack this carefully because it's
a shocking storyline. Peggy begins experiencing
severe stomach pains late in the season, right
around the time of the Nixon -Kennedy election.
She eventually goes to the emergency room completely
unaware of what is happening to her body. The
doctor examines her and tells her she's in labor.
She is about to have a baby. You mentioned the
term cryptic pregnancy in the notes. For those
of us who aren't medical professionals. How does
a woman literally not know she's pregnant until
she's in labor? A cryptic pregnancy is a rare
medical phenomenon where a pregnant person is
entirely unaware of their pregnancy until the
final weeks or even until birth. It can happen
for a variety of physiological reasons like irregular
periods or lack of typical symptoms, but in Peggy's
case it is deeply psychological as well. The
psychological dissociation here is profound.
Peggy is so hyper -focused on her career. So
determined to survive and thrive in this male
-dominated corporate world that her brain literally
walls off what is happening to her own body.
especially an out -of -wedlock pregnancy with
Pete Campbell, would mean the instant termination
of her career at Sterling Cooper. It's a complete
psychological disconnect as a survival mechanism.
That is horrifying to think about. When she gives
birth to the baby boy in the hospital, she refuses
to acknowledge him. The nurse tries to hand her
the baby, and Peggy literally turns her head
away. She won't look at him. Because looking
at him makes it real. And if it's real, the career
she just fought so hard to build is over. If
you think about it, both Peggy and Dawn are doing
the exact same thing. They are. They both have
these massive life -altering hidden traumas.
Dawn's secret past and dead brother Peggy's secret
pregnancy, an abandoned child that they are actively
burying so they can keep functioning in the corporate
machine. They are survivors, but their survival
requires a ruthless severing of their own humanity.
That is a brilliant connection. They are mirrors
of each other in that regard, which is why Dawn
eventually becomes a mentor to her. Now, while
Peggy is fighting her way up the corporate ladder
from the bottom, we have Betty Draper, played
by January Jones, who is trapped at the supposed
absolute pinnacle of female success for the era.
Right. She is the affluent, beautiful blonde
suburban housewife. She has the handsome husband,
the nice house in assigning the perfect children.
But she is suffocating. The source material outlines
how following the death of her mother, Betty
starts experiencing unexplained severe physical
symptoms. Her hands go completely numb. They
start shaking uncontrollably. She even gets into
a car accident because she loses feeling in her
hands while driving. Her doctors examine her,
find nothing physically wrong, and suggest psychiatry.
They believe it is a psychosomatic manifestation
of anxiety or depression. And Don is initially
completely resistant to the idea of his wife
seeing a psychiatrist. He actually proclaims
that therapy is for people who are unhappy, which
is a massive tell about his own worldview. He
refuses to believe his wife could be unhappy
because he has provided her with the perfect
life. He views her unhappiness as a failure of
his own provision, or worse, a crack in his perfect
facade. He eventually relents and lets her see
a psychiatrist named Dr. Wayne. But here's the
truly twisted part. Dawn secretly calls Dr. Wayne
to get reports on what Betty is saying in her
private sessions. And Dr. Wayne actually tells
him it's a complete violation of her privacy
and medical ethics, but it highlights how women
were viewed as the property of their husbands.
And Betty's frustration just simmers under the
surface because she has no voice. In episode
four, New Amsterdam, she babysits her divorced
neighbor, Helen Bishop's son Glenn. Glenn is
this strange, quiet kid who develops a crush
on Betty. He asks her for a lock of her hair.
Betty is hesitant, but she is so desperate to
be seen to be valued by someone that she actually
cuts off a piece of her hair and gives it to
him. And when Helen Bishop finds out she angrily
confronts Betty in a grocery store parking lot,
Helen tells her to stay away from her son. Betty,
who's been repressing all of her rage, her grief
about her mother, her suspicion of Dawn's infidelity
just snaps. She slaps Helen across the face.
It's this sudden violent explosion of repressed
anger. Because Betty has absolutely no outlet
for her ambitions or her desires. Everything
she does has to be channeled through Dawn. There's
a heartbreaking arc in episode nine's shoot.
Jim Hobart, the head of a massive rival ad agency
called McCann Erickson, approaches Dawn with
a job offer to leave Sterling Cooper. As part
of the lure to get Dawn, Dawn Hobart gives his
business card to Betty and tells her she would
be a perfect model for their new Coca -Cola campaign.
And Betty is thrilled. She had modeled in Manhattan
before marrying Dawn, and this is a chance to
have her own identity again, to earn her own
money, to step outside the house. She goes to
the casting. She does the shoot, and she feels
alive again. But Don is ambivalent about leaving
Sterling Cooper. He ends up using Hobart's offer
merely as leverage to negotiate a higher salary
and better terms at his current agency. And once
Don formally declines Hobart's offer, Jim Hobart
immediately fires Betty from the Coca -Cola shoot.
Hobart was just using her as bait. And it crushes
her. Yeah. But the saddest part of that whole
situation is that she doesn't even tell Don she
was let go. She lies to him. She says she voluntarily
quit the modeling gig because she just didn't
like the idea of not being home enough for the
kids. She internalizes the defeat to protect
Don's ego and the illusion of their perfect marriage.
We see a sharp contrast to Betty in the character
of Rachel Menken. Rachel is the Jewish owner
of Menken's department store who comes to Sterling
Cooper for marketing help. Rachel is a businesswoman
holding her own in a room full of men who don't
take her seriously at first. She tells Dawn early
on that she understands what it is to be an outsider.
They have this intense intellectual flirtation
that eventually turns into a full -blown affair.
But Rachel isn't just another conquest for Dawn,
is she? No, she isn't. Rachel sees through Dawn's
facade in a way no one else does. She recognizes
the brokenness in him. But she also respects
herself deeply. Later in the season, during the
Cuban Missile Crisis scare, when everyone thinks
the world might end, Dawn shows up at her apartment
in a state of sheer panic. He asks Rachel to
abandon her life, her business, everything, and
run away to Los Angeles with him. And this is
where Rachel proves her strength. She realizes
he isn't asking her to run away because he loves
her. He's looking for an escape hatch. He's running
from his life not to her. She rejects him calling
him a coward and effectively ends the relationship.
She is the only woman who really holds up a mirror
to him and walks away. And then there's Joan
Holloway. Joan is such a fascinating character
because she doesn't try to tear down the patriarchal
system, nor is she a victim of it like Betty.
Joan is hyper aware of the power dynamics and
she uses them. She uses passive aggressive hostility
to keep the secretarial pool in line, acting
as the enforcer of the male executives rules.
And she is navigating a complex secret affair
with Roger Sterling, one of the founding partners
of the agency. Joan's strategy is to weaponize
the patriarchal system to her advantage. She
knows her beauty and her sexuality, grant her
a specific type of power over men like Roger,
and she wields it expertly. When Roger suggests
she get her own apartment, which he implies he
will pay for Joan, outright rejects the idea.
She knows the reality of her situation. She suspects
that if she becomes entirely dependent on him,
Roger will eventually just leave her for someone
younger and she'll be left with nothing. She
is incredibly pragmatic about the transactional
nature of their relationship. If Joan is using
the system to survive... How are the men using
it against each other? Because it seems like
the guys at the top and the guys trying to get
to the top are playing an entirely different,
incredibly vicious game. Which brings us perfectly
to the intense office politics inside Sterling
Cooper. The power dynamics among the men are
just as treacherous as the gender dynamics. Absolutely.
You have Pete Campbell, played by Vincent Kartheiser.
Pete is this highly ambitious, deeply insecure
junior accounts manager who constantly feels
he deserves more than he has. He comes from a
very old money aristocratic New York family,
the Dykmans. But his parents are incredibly stingy.
They won't even give him a down payment for an
expensive new apartment that his new wife Trudy
desperately wants. So Pete is constantly trying
to prove himself to make his own mark and he
is deeply jealous of Don Draper's effortless
authority. Oh, Pete is relentless. I was reading
about episode four where he secretly pitches
his own advertising idea to an executive at Bethlehem
Steel without telling Don or getting approval.
Don finds out and is absolutely enraged. He fires
Pete right on the spot. But it doesn't stick,
does it? No. Don marches Pete into the office
of the senior partner, the eccentric shoeless
Burt Cooper. Don explains that Pete went rogue
and needs to be fired. But Burt steps in and
tells Don they have to keep Pete. Why? Because
Pete's family has extensive societal connections
and his mother is friendly with the CEO of a
massive potential client. Bird explains that
Pete's lineage is too valuable to lose. So Don
and Roger have to put on this whole theatrical,
humiliating show for Pete, claiming that Don
actually fought with management to save his job.
It's all smoke and mirrors to keep Pete in line
without letting him know he's unfirable. But
Pete's insecurity and his propensity to snoop
lead to the most explosive conflict of the entire
season. Yes, the blackmail plot. This is where
the tension between Don and Pete just boils over.
Remember the box that Adam Whitman mailed to
Don before he took his own life? Well Pete is
sitting in Don's office waiting for him one day
when a mailroom boy walks in. The boy mistakes
Pete for Don and hands him that exact package.
Pete being Pete opens it. He finds Dick Whitman's
dog, tags the childhood photos, and a letter.
Pete suddenly realizes he holds the key to destroying
his boss. He has the ultimate leverage. During
episode 12, Nixon versus Kennedy, when Don refuses
to promote Pete to the position of head of accounts,
Pete corners him with the box. He thinks to blackmail
Don. He basically says, give me the promotion
or I am going to expose you to the partners as
a deserter and a fraud. It's a brilliant high
stakes sequence. Don is utterly terrified. This
is the moment that triggers that panicked visit
to Rachel Menken we discussed earlier, where
he begs her to run away. But when Rachel rejects
him, Don realizes he can't run. He has to face
the music. He goes back to the office and completely
neutralizes Pete's threat in the most strategic
Machiavellian way possible. He calmly tells Burt
Cooper that he has already hired an external
candidate, a man named Herman Duck Phillips,
to be the new head of accounts. He knows this
will push Pete over the edge. He's baiting him.
Exactly. And it works. Pete is furious. He marches
straight into Burt Cooper's office with Don and
steals the entire secret. He tells Burt that
Don is a fraud, a deserter from the army, that
his real name is Dick Whitman, and he shouldn't
be working at this agency. I want to focus on
Burt Cooper's reaction here because to me, this
is one of the most defining moments of the show's
entire philosophy. Burt, who is this elder statesman
of the agency, looks at Pete. He processes this
massive revelation of federal treason and identity
theft and desertion, and he simply says he doesn't
care. He literally says, Mr. Campbell, who cares?
It is the ultimate expression of raw mid -century
American capitalism. I mean, think about it.
Does identity theft matter to Bert? No. Does
desertion matter? No. Don Draper is a creative
genius who is making the agency millions of dollars.
The truth of his identity, his morality, his
past, all of it is completely irrelevant compared
to his output and his value to the bottom line.
Burke then turns to Don and says, one never knows
how loyalty is born, effectively giving Don the
power to either fire Pete right then and there
or keep him close knowing Pete's ultimate weapon
is now entirely useless. Results matter far more
than truth. One never knows how loyalty is born.
It's chilling. It's a profound takeaway about
how corporate America operates. Don decides to
keep Pete on forging this bizarre, incredibly
tense alliance built on mutual destruction. But
Pete isn't the only one causing chaos in the
upper ranks. Let's talk about Roger Sterling,
played by John Slattery. Roger is the acerbic
silver spoon son of the agency's founder. He's
coasting on his father's name, he's cheating
on his wife Mona with Joan, and he's drinking
heavily and smoking constantly. And his lifestyle
catches up with him in a major way. Yes, in episode
10, Long Weekend. It's Labor Day weekend and
Roger's feeling lonely and rejected because Joan
turned down his offer to spend the weekend together
in the city. She chose to hang out with her roommate,
Carol, instead. And as a side note, in a surprising
twist during that weekend, Carol actually reveals
she has deep romantic feelings for Joan. Which
Joan politely rebuffs for their complicating
Joan's understanding of her own desirability.
So Roger, feeling sorry for himself, goes to
an advertising casting call, meets a pair of
young twin models, and propositions them. And
the physical toll of his hedonism finally hits.
While attempting to have sex with one of the
young women, Roger suffers a massive, debilitating
heart attack. He survives, but it drastically
changes his outlook on life, and more importantly,
it sends shockwaves through the agency's clients.
The vulnerability of the agency is suddenly exposed.
Lee Garner Sr., the abrasive owner of Lucky Strike,
their biggest client, warns Burt Cooper that
keeping their massive account requires Sterling
Cooper to show Don Draper that they appreciate
him. Garner knows Roger is incapacitated and
fears Don might jump ship to a rival agency.
This external pressure forces Burt to officially
offer Don a 12 % partnership stake in the business.
Which is huge. Don is finally an owner. And it's
a good thing, too, because Roger actually suffers
a second heart attack shortly after returning
to the office right in the middle of a meeting
with Lee Garner Sr. But we can't talk about Don
and Roger without talking about my absolute favorite
dynamic between them, which happens earlier in
the season in episode 7, Red in the Face. Ah,
the oyster revenge plot. It is so p - and so
brilliant, Roger, feeling entitled, invites himself
to dinner at the Draper's suburban house. He
gets completely drunk and blatantly makes a pass
at Betty while Dawn's back is turned. Dawn is
absolutely furious, but he doesn't just yell
at Roger. He actually takes some of his anger
out on Betty, first accusing her of leading Roger
on and calling her a little girl. Which terribly
echoes exactly what Dr. Wayne, the psychiatrist,
told him in those secret phone calls. It's a
classic Don Draper deflection projecting his
anger and his own guilt about his infidelities
onto his wife. But his actual revenge on Roger
is meticulously coldly calculated. Don doesn't
confront his boss. Instead, he plots. He bribes
the elevator attendant at their office building
to claim the elevator is broken at a specific
time. He then takes Roger out for a massive indulgent
lunch. He aggressively encourages Roger to eat
plates and plates of rich oysters and drink heavily
right before they have a crucial afternoon meeting
with officials from Richard Nixon's presidential
campaign. Yes. They get back to the building
and the attendant, right on cue, tells them the
elevator is out of service. They have to walk
up 23 flights of stairs. Roger, an older man
filled with dozens of oysters and martinis, is
absolutely exhausted. They reach the top and
Roger projectile vomits right in front of the
Nixon campaign officials. It is a perfect example
of how Don wheels power silently. He destroyed
Roger's dignity without ever throwing a punch.
Speaking of the Nixon campaign, we have to discuss
how the series weaves real world history into
its narrative. The backdrop for the climax of
the season is the 1960 presidential election
between Vice President Richard Nixon and Senator
John F. Kennedy. And the show handles this in
a fascinating way. Sterling Cooper is actually
working for Nixon's campaign gratis, meaning
for free, unbidden, because the partners believe
a Nixon victory a Republican administration will
be better for their corporate interests and deregulation.
It's really interesting to watch them strategize
for a political campaign the same way they strategize
for a deodorant or a car. We should note that
we are impartially looking at the tactics they
use based entirely on the source material. Pete
Campbell comes up with a particularly ruthless
strategy. He suggests buying up television advertising
space in crucial swing states, but not for Nixon
ads. Instead, he suggests buying the space for
one of their clients, Secor laxatives. Right.
By taking up the limited television inventory
with laxative commercials, they prevent the Kennedy
campaign from being able to purchase that airtime
to run their own competing political ads in those
vital markets. It's a backdoor way of suppressing
the opposition's airtime. It shows how advertising
and politics were becoming deeply intertwined
mediums in the television age. But what makes
it so compelling for the audience is the dramatic
irony. You, the listener, know exactly how the
1960 election turns out. You know Kennedy wins.
But the characters in the show are living through
history in real time. They don't know the outcome.
They are completely invested in their bubble.
Exactly. Episode 12 is literally titled Nixon
vs. Kennedy. The employees at Sterling Cooper
throw a raucous all -night office party on November
8, 1960 to watch the election results roll in.
They are drinking heavily, making out in the
offices, tearing the place apart, absolutely
convinced that Nixon is going to pull it out.
And the episode ends with Don having just survived
Pete's blackmail attempt standing in the quiet
of his own home watching Nixon's concession speech
on the television. The old guard is changing
both in the country and within the wells of the
agency. The shifting of eras is so palpable in
that final shot. And that brings us to the meta
story of the show itself. The man behind the
curtain, Matthew Weiner, was the showrunner,
head writer and executive producer. He contributed
to every single episode. The source notes he
was notorious for his extreme secrecy regarding
plot points and his selectiveness and casting
and design. He essentially applied the same obsessive
control over the show that Don Draper tries to
apply to his advertising campaigns. And the result
was a cultural phenomenon. It really was. It
shifted the entire landscape of what basic cable
television could be. So what is this? all mean
for television history? The accolades listed
in the source material are just staggering. The
first season scored an 85 % on Rotten Tomatoes
and a 77 on Metacritic. It won a Peabody Award
for Outstanding Achievement in Television. It
won the Golden Globe for Best Drama Series and
Jon Hamm won Best Actor. And then there was the
massive Emmy sweep. 15 nominations and 6 wins
for the first season alone. outstanding drama
series, outstanding writing for the pilot, and
creative arts Emmys for art direction cinematography,
hairstyling, and main title design, it completely
dominated the conversation. But here's the paradox
that I find most interesting, and I think it
requires some context. Despite being the defining
critical show of 2007, the ratings were incredibly
modest. The premiere episode hit a 1 .4 household
rating. Wait, I need some context on that. A
1 .4 household rating, which the source says
was about 1 .2 million households. Was that considered
good or bad in 2007? Because 900 ,000 average
viewers sounds tiny for a show that won the Emmy.
In the context of 2007, network television shows
like CSI or Grey's Anatomy were pulling in 15
to 20 million viewers a week. Even on premium
cable, The Sopranos, which ended the same year
Mad Men premiered, was a massive juggernaut.
But AMC was a network primarily known for showing
old classic movies. They had no original programming
footprint. So a 1 .4 rating was actually the
highest ever for an AMC original series at the
time. However, it was not a mass market hit.
It was a niche show that demanded patience from
its audience. It really did. The critical reviews
reflected that split, too. You had critics like
Tim Goodman of The Hollywood Reporter saying
each episode unfolded like a small movie, calling
it an adult drama of introspection. Robert Bianco
of USA Today called it a smart, complex drama,
grappling with generation gaps and sexual revolutions.
The New York Times praised it for breaking new
ground by luxuriating in the not -so -distant
past. But not everyone was on board with the
slow burn. Tom Shales of the Washington Post
wrote a very negative review. He called the pacing
desultory and dry, complaining that the directors
loved long pauses that just made it look like
the actors forgot their lines. Which is a fundamental
misunderstanding of what the show was trying
to achieve. Those long pauses, the deliberate
pacing, the quiet moments of characters just
smoking and thinking that was revolutionary for
basic cable. Television audiences were used to
fast -paced dialogue, constant action, or procedural
case -of -the -week formats. Mad Men trusted
the audience to read the subtext. It asked you
to watch the micro -expressions on John Ham's
or Elizabeth Moss's faces to understand what
they weren't saying. It paved the way for a new
era of prestige television that wasn't afraid
to be novelistic. It's an incredible journey.
To briefly recap what we've unpacked today, Season
1 establishes this intoxicating, deeply toxic,
1960s ad world. We witness the complete psychological
unraveling of Don Draper's fabricated identity
and the tragedy of his brother Adam. We followed
the cutthroat ambition and heartbreaking secret
trauma of Peggy Olson. We looked at the tragic
constraints placed on women like Betty Draper
who were trapped in golden cages. We explored
the ruthless corporate survival tactics of Pete
Campbell and the cold capitalism of Burt Cooper.
And all of it is set against the monumental historical
backdrop of the changing of the guard in the
1960 presidential election. It is a season of
television that forces you to look beneath the
pristine surface of mid -century America. It
strips away the gloss. the beautiful costumes,
and the clever advertisements to reveal the complicated,
often broken humans creating them. It asks us
to confront the fact that the good old days were
actually deeply painful for a lot of people.
And that leads me to a final provocative thought
for you to mull over. We talked about Don Draper's
legendary pitch to Kodak where he defines nostalgia
as a twinge in your heart far more powerful than
memory alone. He notes that in Greek nostalgia
literally means the pain from an old wound. So
if nostalgia is fundamentally about pain, masquerading
as comfort is the entire first season of Mad
Men, actually a warning to us, the audience.
Are we in our own romanticization of the fashion
during the mid -century modern aesthetics of
the 1960s, buying into the exact same illusion
the ad men are selling? Are we the ultimate consumers
being manipulated by the myth of Don Draper from
beyond the screen? That is a brilliant question
to leave on. It asks us to examine our own relationship
with the past and the media we consume. Are you
nostalgic for a time we never actually lived
in? Thank you so much for joining us on this
deep dive into the smoke and mirrors of Sterling
Cooper. Keep questioning the sources, keep looking
past the pitch, and keep exploring the stories
around you. We'll see you next time.