While Don considers his future, with one foot in New York and the other in California, and neither on especially solid ground, another New Yorker has made a fast adjustment to the California lifestyle.
Mad Men is back, and I'm glad. Even though the two-part premiere episode wasn't perfect, it brought some keen acting, sharp dialogue, and stunning visuals. And it brought the show fully into the beginning of the fire that consumed the late 1960s.
Well, we knew it was coming. There has been such an overwhelming sense of doom hanging over this season with death symbols popping up at every turn: mass murders, sniper shootings, empty elevator shafts, dream-murders and Don doodling a noose.
They stand on opposite ends of the show, as counterparts to one another -- the sexy, damaged powerhouses with perfectly crafted exteriors. When they finally come together, their chemistry is so explosive that we simultaneously want and fear their union.
It's so sad (and Moss is so great) as you can see Peggy's hopes dashed across her face while she sits there smiling. She keeps herself together and says yes anyone to this second-rate proposal -- ironically getting to say 'I do,' only when asked if she'd like to eat.
He finally has all the pieces in place; he should be able to make the music as loud as he wants but it's not working -- the sound of his symphony is not coming out. Something's wrong, a chord is loose. It's not Beethoven's 9th, it's the drops of the leaking faucet.
This week's episode, "Tea Leaves," deals with the passing of time. The constant fear of death and change are both about the fear of being replaced, of the younger honchos taking over as time moves forward.